A LIGHT ON THE HILL

The new Australian air-warfare destroyer Hobart swept out of the Williamstown yards and sped south to the Heads and the open sea. The bay was shrouded in morning mist and container ships, queuing to ride in on the tide, flashed their presence on its all-seeing radar screens, as the sleek grey-ghost lost them in its wake.

Captain Anderson, and all its crew, felt pride in their new charge and especially those on the bridge who controlled its steerage and navigation. Routine as a sailing from Melbourne should be, this was the pride of the fleet, and nobody was taking any chances. Soon they were passing Queenscliff and setting course to broach the Heads when the first Officer drew the captain’s attention to an approaching ship. The strengthening sea breeze rent the curtain of mist and an early shaft of sunshine lit-up the approaching vessel.

It was another naval ship, whose camouflage paint bore the salt-encrusted evidence of having passed through heavy weather. At first glance, apart from its old-fashioned appearance and huge size, it seemed unremarkable, but then the Captain saw the thick black smoke billowing from its twin funnels and that it was flying a tattered Australian ensign.

“Are my eyes deceiving me, number one, or is that coal-burning museum-piece one of ours?”

“No sir, you are right, it’s one of our warships, but certainly a vintage model.”

“Did you recognise her Bosun?”

“I took her name and number, Captain, but they don’t correspond with any vessel in our current fleet.”

“Get on to Canberra and report this sighting. Ask whether they can throw any light on this mystery. It could be something to do with the making of a movie but at risk of an embarrassing encounter we had better go back and check her out. Get ready to go about!”

“Aye! Aye! Sir.”

General Elliott, Commander of the army contingent on the battleship heading into Melbourne, took a good look at the Hobart as it came abreast and swept past

“Excuse me, Captain, but what was that ship that just passed us?”

“I’m not sure, General, it’s a type I’ve never seen before. It looked brand new and seemed to have a powerful turn of speed, yet it wasn’t making any smoke. But then it was flying the ensign, so it must be one of ours. Look, it’s coming about and when it passes us again we’ll soon get a better look.”

“Perhaps it’s come out to escort us up the bay?”

“You may be right General. As we’ll be docking at Princes Pier soon, I suggest you prepare for the embarkation of your men.”

The Hobart’s powerful turbines soon brought her up with the older warship and as they approached, her captain was astonished to see that her decks were crowded with khaki uniformed figures who waved and whistled as the destroyer approached. All of them wore slouch hats and some sported emu feather plumes.

“Look sir, amongst those men there are stretchers and some nurses, they must have wounded aboard.”

“But how can that be Lieutenant, we haven’t been at war with anyone since we withdrew from Afghanistan.”

“Captain, we have a reply from Canberra and they say that The Australia was a First World War battle-cruiser which was scuttled off Sydney in nineteen twenty four!”

Messages were exchanged between the vessels and it was agreed that the captain of the Hobart and his medical officer would go aboard the Australia. After completing the traditional navy ritual of piping aboard the visiting Captain, the Destroyer’s medical officer went off with the General to see what help he might be able to give those looking after the wounded and the captains retired to the ward room to talk. They had agreed to keep it strictly a naval affair at this stage and would include the General when they knew what they were facing and what had to be done.

The Captains had only talked for ten minutes when the steward was called to serve them much needed stiff drinks.

“I can’t believe you’re just returning from Gallipoli. Come on mate, fess-up, you’re making a film and you’re having a lend of me.”

“When your doctor returns from seeing to the wounded men he will convince you. But then why don’t you believe me? We are due to dock on the first anniversary of our landing in Turkey, so what date do you say it is?”

“Oh yes, you are right about that. It’s the twenty-fifth of April-a day we celebrate as Anzac Day, in honour of you blokes, but this year is two thousand and twelve.”

“My God, that’s impossible! How can it be? I know this is the same Melbourne we left over a year ago. The Heads and the bay seem just the same.”

“My dear captain, when we are in sight of Port Melbourne you will be amazed to see the height of the city buildings and you will soon be passing what we call container ships that can carry more cargo than a whole convoy of your era. When you’ve visited my ship and seen the engines, our communications systems and our missile armaments, you will believe me. But, here, look at this. See this gadget. It’s both a mobile telephone and a camera. Look, you can watch the replay of last year’s traditional Anzac day football match between Essendon and Collingwood, which they will be playing as usual this afternoon at the MCG.”

The Captain of the Australia peered at the phone quizzically and was amazed to see moving figures on the screen, and quipped,

“God it is the future and Collingwood is still winning.”

“But, what about you and your men? If it’s true that you are, who you say you are, and if you land at Port Melbourne today, there will be nobody to welcome you because the war’s been over for almost a hundred years and I’m afraid your wives and most of your children are no longer alive.”

The shocked and tortured look on his fellow sailor’s face made him regret the insensitivity of his statement, but it had the desired effect of making them both face-up to the frightening implications of this meeting that had revoked the laws of time.

“I can see from your face that you believe me now and I apologise for the brutality of my argument. This is too big an issue for you and me to tackle alone. We shall have to inform the navy and our political masters. In the meanwhile, I suggest we moor our ships beyond hailing range of each other, keep the news from the troops and call a meeting of our officers and the General to decide what we should do until we receive our orders from above.”

Both downed double tots of rum, shook hands and went to make their dispositions.

For both ships’ captains, the next few hours severely tested the credibility of what they learned from each other and which they would never forget. The medical officer’s report on the condition of the returning troops dispelled all of Anderson’s doubts, tapped the depths of his compassion and fired his admiration for these sailors and soldiers from another time.

“Their injuries are horrendous and even our best surgeons could offer little more than cosmetic repair. Some limbs would have been saved if there had been medi-vac helicopters then, but at that time their medics didn’t even have penicillin. Even worse are those with lungs scarred by inhaling poison-gas and many of the able-bodied are damaged in their heads, such that we would diagnose these cases as suffering post-traumatic stress disorder and prescribe drug therapy.”

“Is there nothing we can do for them?”

“Their medics have more experience of treating war-trauma than I will ever get and they are totally dedicated to those they call ‘their boys’. Naturally, they are proud and protective of their craft and wary of accepting outside help, but I have given them all the drugs we have for relieving pain, soothing tortured lungs and calming troubled minds.’

“My God Doc, after this we can no longer treat Anzac Day observance as just another duty.”

After the captains had inspected their respective ships, they were stunned by what they had seen and heard.

“Good grief, did you see those radar scanners that can look over the horizon? Their rockets can kill multiple unseen targets, both on the sea and in the air. How we could have used them at Jutland against the Kaiser’s Fleet.”

“Captain, I could have eaten my dinner off the Engine room floor and the power of those motors. I couldn’t believe how quiet it was and they don’t need stokers.”

“Yes Chief, we would not want to face them in battle.”

The Hobart’s skipper commended the seamanship and endurance of the battle cruiser’s captain and crew.

“Can you imagine the strength and discipline it took to keep manhandling and loading those huge shells in a heavy sea, whilst threatened by return fire as destructive as a second-world-war bomber raid?”

“Yes.” The Doctor concurred. “How did those stokers keep on shovelling coal in the stifling heat, choking dust and noise of the engine room?”

When both sides had satisfied their curiosity about each other’s ships, their different capabilities and naval experiences, their conversation turned to more prosaic topics and the men returning from the war asked;

“Do they still run trams in Melbourne?” “Did you say that Canberra is now our version of Washington?” “Who will win the flag this year and which horse is the favourite for the Cup?” “Is that amazing shell-like building in the picture of Circular Quay, really a world-famous opera house and who has replaced Dame Nellie Melba?” “Can it be true that in only twenty-three years from now we will be at war with Germany again and Japan?” “What’s the basic wage worth and how much for a schooner of beer and a pack of fags?”

The men of the present were equally enthusiastic with their interrogation.

“How did you put up with those appalling conditions at Gallipoli and in France?” “What made you volunteer for a European war so far from home?” “What was it like when Australia was declared a nation?” “How did you manage to feed a wife and so many children on one wage?” “How do you think footy has changed?” “How did you manage to live and work in woollen clothes on stinking hot summer days without the automatic cooling and power tools we depend on?” “What will you do when you get home?”

Late in the afternoon, orders arrived from Canberra. It was decided that the returnees needed; protection from the predatory media, medical treatment, preparation for repatriation to a different Australia and, of course, a spell in quarantine. The Hobart was ordered to escort them back out to sea and land them at a vacant refugee reception camp on an island off the WA coast.

The captain of the Hobart had no easy task in coming up with a plausible excuse for this diversion but somehow managed it, although it was with considerable regret.

“Poor bastards! After all they have been through. Foreigners and even our former enemies have found it easier to get into Australia than these returning heroes of ours. There’ll be a riot for sure and hell to pay when the troops get a whiff of the truth. Still, we have our orders gentlemen and ours is but to hear and obey.”

The sea journey along the southern coastline was uneventful apart from the usually rough crossing of the Bight and by the time they reached the southern coast of WA, the troops looked healthier from exposure to the mild autumnal sunshine and salt-sea air. In anticipation of reaching the Indian Ocean, the captain of the Hobart extended an invitation to the officers of the Australia to dine aboard the destroyer and both ships anchored off Albany for this purpose.

Despite the bizarre situation and strained atmosphere created by the failure to dock in Melbourne the natural bonhomie and youthful enthusiasm of the officers of both ships soon broke any residual ice and such a convivial evening followed that most of the visitors needed considerable assistance in boarding the boat that waited to return them to their ship. The Hobart’s captain was delighted with the evening and, when their guests had gone, he thanked his officers for putting on such a fine display of hospitality.

“Thank you gentlemen for a very successful evening of fellowship, which I am sure has done much to ease the concerns of our guests and should enhance the smoothness of our onward journey tomorrow. Good night to you!”

At dawn on the next day, Captain Anderson was surprised to receive a call requesting his urgent attendance on the bridge. When he got there he found the ships officers standing silently in a semi-circle. They were gazing out across Albany’s harbour towards the shore. A first shaft of morning sunlight spotlighted the Mt Clarence memorial, built to commemorate the departure, in nineteen fourteen, of the Anzacs troop ships with the Japanese submarine that escorted them to the war.

Spectacular and symbolic as this sight was, it was not what held the officers’ attention. As the sun cleared the sea mist from the harbour, he could see that the Australia had sailed in the night and was gone. When his initial sense of shock had abated, and he had regained control of his turbulent emotions.

He turned to face his men and said,

• “Lest we forget! Gentlemen. Lest we ever forget!”