‘You want to see me, Dig?’ Green prompted
Ellis pulled himself together. ‘Sorry, Sarg,’ he said hastily. ‘You’re wanted by the 2ic up at the School Headquarters. Right away, they said.’
Green frowned. Any attention from Major Allan Cook, the School 2ic, did not bode well for a happy conclusion for one Robert Green. He made no comment regarding this augur to Ellis, but simply nodded his assent…then he asked, ‘Why didn’t they phone the Mess?’
‘The Mess phone seems to be out of order,’ Ellis replied. ‘The Sergeant of the Guard sent me to let you know.’
Green grunted disinterestedly. ‘Okay, thanks.’
For a moment, Ellis waited, hoping to prolong the meeting, but Green turned back into the Mess and quietly closed the door.
Chapter 2
The Chief Clerk of the Musketry School glanced fearfully out of the Headquarters door for a sign of Sergeant Green’s approach. The road from the Sergeants’ Mess was empty and the Chief Clerk returned to his desk, fearful in the knowledge that he would be the victim of the choleric Major Cook’s evil temper if Green was late.
In fact, even the kindest of Major Allan Cook’s associates, believed he was mentally unwell. There was no medical diagnosis to support this theory, and in spite of concerns raised in hushed tones in the Officer’s Mess, the Major’s behaviour was a general concern that had never been appropriately addressed. Certainly, he was an angry and disillusioned man, and aspects of his behaviour could best be described as “odd.” However, the majority of those who were unfortunate enough to come under Major Cook’s influence were not prepared to accept this benevolent explanation of Cook’s behaviour and simply considered him to be a right bastard.
Before the war, Cook had been a country lawyer and on enlistment he had used his professional qualifications as a means to gain an immediate appointment as a captain. In those early days of the AIF, his officiousness was mistaken for efficiency and he was soon promoted to the rank of major and appointed as a company commander. It was then that things started to go badly awry. Instead of further promotion as he was sure he deserved, others were selected to command battalions or to important staff positions. However, rather than addressing his own shortcomings, Cook blamed his men for this oversight and he began a ruthless program of discipline to ensure they did not disgrace him again. He awarded harsh punishments for minor infringements of military law, and while his commanding officer managed to head off some of his more excessive punishments, by the time the unit left Australia, Cook’s men were united in a common hatred of their commander.
Cook was unmoved by their hatred; indeed, he thrived on it wrongly believing that while his men his men may not have liked him, that they respected him. However, about a week into the Gallipoli campaign when he and his men had been sent to a forward area at Pope’s Hill above ANZAC Cove, Cook received a bitter lesson in the truth. Coincidently, this was the first time Cook had come across Robert Green and it was not a happy meeting.
At that time, Green was a corporal carrying out a special assignment for Brigadier John Monash, a task that had taken him into Cook’s area of responsibility. When Cook challenged Green regarding this assignment, Green had informed him that knowledge regarding the purpose of his mission was on a “need to know” basis, and that so far as Green had been concerned, Cook did not need to know.
Cook found Green’s attitude to be insubordinate and had him placed under close arrest. That had been a mistake. Somehow Monash came to hear of the arrest, and he had personally visited Cook’s headquarters to order Green’s release. During that visit, Monash had made it abundantly clear that Green was to be afforded Cook’s complete cooperation.
Cook’s reaction to Green’s enforced presence was to increase the tyranny he inflicted on his own troops. In spite of the filthy conditions associated with trench warfare, he insisted his men spit and polish their boots and polish their brass. There would be, he had announced, a parade next morning when he would personally inspect each man.
No one believed Cook would call a parade, but they were all wrong. The next morning on the very edge of No-Man’s Land, he ordered his men to form up in three ranks.
The result was entirely predictable. The no doubt astounded Turkish soldiers machine gunned the formation and several of Cook’s men were killed and others wounded. He was sorry about that, but he firmly believed his decision to hold the parade was entirely justifiable. Indeed, he announced another parade would be conducted next morning to show the Turks that his men were not afraid.
The next morning as he stepped out of his dugout and blew his whistle for the parade to assemble, he was struck down from behind, by an unseen assailant who was armed with a tin of canned peaches.
The injury Cook suffered during the assault was not insignificant; he had a fractured skull and as a result he had been evacuated to hospital in Egypt for treatment. However, during his recuperation, reports of Cook’s battlefield parades reached the ears of senior staff within the AIF and a court of inquiry conducted into the incident. Cook, however, was certain the inquiry had been called to identify and punish his assailant, and he eagerly offered his version of events to the board.
‘This native fellow, Corporal Green and two of my men were close by when I was preparing for company parade. The men call him “Darkie,” which is entirely appropriate as the fellow has more than a touch of the tar brush about him.’
The president of the board was a Brigadier, a man of little patience. ‘Yes, yes, Major Cook, but we are not interested in the racial profiles of your men. Please stick to the point. Do you know who, or what, struck you?’
Cook was flabbergasted by this rebuff. ‘I assure you I do, sir,’ he blustered. ‘However, I hasten to establish Corporal Green is not one of my men! No indeed!’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ the Brigadier snapped. ‘Answer the blasted question!’
Cook smiled to himself. He felt confident his years as a civilian lawyer were standing him in good stead and that he was in complete control of the board’s proceedings. He allowed himself to grasp the lapels of his uniform tunic with his hands, and armed with this pose of self-assurance, he continued his account. ‘As I said previously, I was preparing for my morning parade. I blew my whistle to assemble the men and as I left my dugout, I heard one of my men say, “What do we do Darkie?” There may have been some profanity intertwined with the question, but that is the gist of it.’
‘Do you know the identity of the soldier who asked that question?’
‘No sir, I do not. Had I known I would have taken steps to discipline the fellow, for I can’t abide profanity!’
‘And what do you recall happened next?’ the Brigadier asked wearily.
‘I heard Green, the native Corporal, say, “I’ll fix it.”’
‘That’s all?’
‘Yes sir, the next thing was I was struck down from behind, with a can of peaches, I believe.’
Several members of the board smiled wryly.
‘Peaches,’ the Brigadier inquired, ‘how do you know it was a can of peaches? Might it not have been a tin of bully beef, perhaps? Besides, I understand the blow rendered you unconscious, so I am at a loss to see how you can be so certain of this.’
Cook was indeed certain a can of peaches was involved for he had a fondness for the fruit and had been deliberately withholding all rations marked “PEACHES CANNED” for his own enjoyment. However, the morning of the assault just prior to leaving his dugout for the parade, he noticed that one of the boxes containing his prized supply had been broken into. The obvious culprit was Green, for he was certain none of his men would dare do such a thing. This was, however, information Cook thought the Board need not be made aware of.