CHAPTER VIII
THE INTRODUCTION OF “UNIVERSAL
SERVICE,” AND TWO VOYAGES
HOME
From the very time that I took over the duties of my first appointment I had thought that a considerable improvement could be made in the organization of the existing forces. I had encouraged the formation of cadet corps, as far as lay in my power, and I had been splendidly supported by the Education Department in my efforts, with the result that, when I assumed the command, the cadet system was a flourishing institution. The success that attended the cadet movement, the support given to it by the parents, and the keen enthusiasm of the youngsters in their work, led me to think that the time was ripe for the introduction of a universal system of National Service, the ultimate aim of which was to ensure that every youth should, by the time that he had reached the age of manhood, twenty-five years, have undergone a course of training, which, without interfering with his civil avocation, would render him a desirable asset as a soldier. With this object in view I submitted a scheme to the Government.
General Hutton, who had by this time been appointed Commandant of New South Wales, arranged a conference of the Commandants of the States in Sydney to discuss several important matters in connexion with the defence of Australia as a whole. Two very important agenda were: (a) the necessity for determining the nature of the heavy armaments of the forts, in point of uniformity and efficiency, and (b) the co-ordination of the several systems of enlistment then in vogue throughout the States.
I informed my brother Commandants that I intended to recommend my Government to merge our Volunteers into the partially paid force, which would be a substantial move towards the simplification of the conditions of service. Further, I suggested that if the South Australian Government carried out the proposed change it would assist them materially towards effecting a similar change in their own colonies.
I did not, however, deem it advisable to mention the plans I had with reference to the introduction of universal service, for the change was a radical one. I knew that if any suspicion arose that it was proposed to introduce a form of military service compelling citizens by law to devote no matter how small a portion of their own time to military training, such proposals would at once be looked upon as simply an insidious way of creating conscription, a compulsory system of service—a form of service absolutely distasteful and foreign to us British, and even more so to British colonists. It was therefore necessary for me to take the greatest care very gradually to prepare and school the public mind so that the term “National Service,” which I had adopted for my scheme, should in no way be misunderstood for conscription, but rather that it should be looked upon simply as a personal responsibility on the part of every youth to fit himself to take part in the defence of his country, just in the same way as it was his duty to attend school or submit to any other laws governing his civil and economic life.
Kingston, with whom I had many conversations, was a most keen supporter of the Universal Service system. He agreed at once with the proposition as regarded the amalgamation of the Volunteers with the partially paid forces, and, what was more to the point, promised to find the funds required. He was very anxious to introduce and carry through Parliament, while he was Premier of South Australia, a system of National Service, which, he foresaw, would sooner or later find its way into the statutes of Federated Australia. Even so early as this Kingston was paving the way for a united Australia. He was at that time considered, notwithstanding his personal foibles, one of the ablest of the Australian Premiers.
He gave me instructions, confidentially, to draft two Bills, one embodying the provision for the adoption of the universal service, the other simply dealing with the proposed changes in organization. When the time arrived to place the proposals before Parliament Kingston had come to the conclusion that the expenditure involved in initiating National Service was greater than he could ask Parliament to vote at the time. He determined, therefore, to pigeon-hole it. The Re-organization Bill was promptly carried by both Houses and became law. The Act of Parliament fixed a date for the carrying out of the change. To avoid the clerical work involved by the carrying out of the re-attesting of the whole of the citizen forces, partially paid and Volunteer, under the new Act it was provided that every officer, non-commissioned officer and man who did not, in writing, notify his intention to sever his connexion with the forces owing to the new conditions, would continue in the service, and the date for the beginning of his period of service under the new Act, namely, three years, would be entered in his existing attestation papers by the respective commanding officers. If I remember rightly, not one and a half per cent. withdrew.
The eventful day arrived on which every member of the force ceased to be a soldier. The next day all willing to do so would be soldiers again. That night we were dining at Government House. After dinner it happened to strike the Governor that there were no soldiers in South Australia that evening with the exception of myself. So lifting up his glass he said, “Behold our army! Every soldier except one has been disbanded to-day. He is our army. Good luck to him.” And “The Army” I became to all my friends in Adelaide, and, later on, right throughout Australia.
Jubilee Year, 1897, was now close at hand. I had been steadily at work since my trip home in 1889, and was now finishing my fifth year as Commandant. Everything was working smoothly, and I was asked by Kingston if I would like to take a trip home and attend officially the Jubilee celebrations in London. I talked it over with my wife. Our two children were then just four and three years old. My wife thought that it would be more enjoyable for her and for the children if we let alone the Jubilee festivities and got six months’ leave, reaching London later on in the early summer, so that we could enjoy the autumn in Scotland and return to Australia at the end of the year. Kingston fell in with this suggestion, and I was granted six months’ leave of absence and reappointed Commandant for a further period of five years.
We sailed in the Damascus, myself and wife, little Eileen and Carlos, my youngest sister-in-law, Geraldine, and my wife’s companion, Miss Ryan, who was specially in charge of the children. The Damascus, an Aberdeen liner, was a comfortable boat; she had been a short time before fitted up to take Sir Henry Loch to South Africa. We had chosen the Cape route to avoid the Red Sea in the very hot weather. We spent a couple of days at Durban and another two at Capetown, and reached London about the middle of September. My mother and father had both passed away, and the family properties had gone to my nephew, Rafael, who was living in Spain. Wardhouse and Kildrummy Castle were let. My sister, Magda, Mrs. Lumsden of Clova, which marches with Kildrummy, had asked us to stay with her. Our plans were to go to Clova on our arrival in London, put in a couple of months shooting, visit our old friends, then move up to London, where my wife and the others would stay while I went to Egypt. There I hoped to see as much as the time at my disposal would allow of Kitchener’s campaign along the Nile.
All went well, and I left Clova for London, on my way to Egypt. I arrived at Morley’s Hotel on a Saturday. Next afternoon I received an urgent telegram to return at once, as my wife had been taken suddenly very ill. I took the first train. The telegrams I received on the journey north were very disquieting. The news on arriving at Aberdeen made me lose all hope of seeing her alive again. Providence was, however, kind. The crisis passed, and the doctors assured me she would recover in time. My plans, of course, had to be altered. I gave up my intended visit to Egypt. My wife’s recovery was very slow. We had to make our journey south in stages.
One of our stopping-places was Newcastle-on-Tyne. An amusing incident happened there. Both my wife and myself had met in Australia that charming and graceful actress, Grace Palotta. On our arrival at the hotel on a cold, dark, winter’s afternoon, I left my wife in a sitting-room and went off to attend to the rest of the family. On my return she said, “Who do you think came in just now? Grace Palotta. She is looking as pretty as ever. She quite astonished me by telling me she is staying here with her friend, the prince. Do try and find out who he is. It is quite exciting.” I thought surely there was some mistake, and told her so. “No,” she said, “that is just what she said. Do go to the theatre to-night, find out and let me know all about it.” So, after an early dinner, I went off to the theatre. As I arrived there, I noticed the big posters announcing the name of the play. The name of the play was My Friend the Prince. After the performance Grace had some supper with us and a real hearty laugh when we told her, and, in her pretty foreign way, said: “Oh, I am afraid, Mrs. Gordon, you thought I was a very naughty girl.” We met Palotta afterwards in Australia, where she had often told this little story to her friends, much to their amusement.
On arrival in London I took a house close to South Kensington Station. As time passed it became evident I would have to return to Australia alone. My wife’s health still caused me grave anxiety. My leave being up, I was obliged to depart and leave the family to follow me. I took my passage by the P. & O. ss. Himalaya, Captain Bruen, and left London at the end of 1899, once again bound for Australia and returning to my old command in Adelaide. This was my third voyage to the other end of the world. It was, as usual, full of pleasant memories. Once again I was elected president of the sports and amusement committee. With a good ship, a good captain, a full passenger list, the hearty co-operation of all, and right good weather, it was almost a record passage for comfort and enjoyment. Up to schedule time we arrived at Albany in Western Australia.
I went ashore to call upon some of my old friends, bought an evening paper, and went into the club. Whilst enjoying a pipe I glanced at one of the headings: “Death of Colonel King-Harman, Military Adviser and Inspector of Warlike Stores in London for the Australian Colonies.” You may remember that he had been appointed as a result of my visit home in 1889. He was an old Gunner friend of mine, and I had seen a good deal of him before I left London. Only the day before my departure he had written me a note to say that he was sorry he had taken a severe chill and would be unable to come and see me off the next evening. Poor Harman never recovered from that chill. It was something more serious that carried him off in five weeks.
The possibility of my succeeding him temporarily struck me. What a chance to return home to my sick wife at once! It was the opportunity of a lifetime. A convention of delegates from all the colonies was at the time sitting in Melbourne. Every Premier was attending the convention. I hastened to the post office and wired to my old friend, Charles Cameron Kingston, still South Australia’s Premier, notifying him of King-Harman’s death, and asking him to arrange with the other Premiers to postpone the appointment of King-Harman’s successor until the Himalaya reached Melbourne, requesting permission at the same time to continue my journey in her to Melbourne, instead of landing at Adelaide. Our steamer sailed from Albany before I could receive an answer, so I also asked him to wire to me at Adelaide. I felt somehow that another streak of good fortune was coming my way. Sure enough, on arrival at Adelaide, a telegram awaited me from Kingston, instructing me to proceed to Melbourne.
On arrival at Melbourne I at once went to Parliament House to see him, and told him of my wife’s severe illness, which had compelled her to remain with the children in England, and I asked him to assist me in getting Harman’s appointment. He handed me a copy of my own report of 1890, recommending that an officer on the active list of the Royal Artillery should hold the position, on which recommendation the Premiers had acted. “Now,” he said, “you are not on the ‘active list of the Royal Artillery’; how can I possibly assist you?” I had had plenty of time on the way from Albany to Melbourne to think over this difficult point, which I had foreseen. I had my answer ready. I suggested to him that I should be appointed on loan, as it were, from Australia, for a term of one year, during which time I should be granted leave of absence from my appointment of Commandant of South Australia, to which position I would return at the end of the twelve months, and then an officer of the Royal Artillery on the active list could be selected. It was a big concession I was asking for, and I knew it. I said no more. I knew my man. Kingston grasped a point quicker than any man I have ever known, except perhaps Kitchener. Both disliked superfluous words. Well, Kingston just smiled and said: “Come and lunch with me to-morrow. Good morning.”
At lunch next day there were four of us—Kingston, Sir Edward Braddon, Premier of Tasmania, Sir John Forrest, Premier of Western Australia, and your humble servant. Both Sir Edward and Sir John were old friends of mine. After lunch Kingston asked me if I knew the Premiers of New South Wales, Victoria and Queensland well. I told him I knew George Reid (New South Wales) very well, but I knew nothing much about the Premiers of Victoria or Queensland personally. “Well,” he said, “see George Reid at once, tell him what you want and the reason why, and let me know what he says about it.” I saw George Reid during the afternoon, explained the situation to him, and asked him for his support. He informed me that he had already been approached on behalf of another officer by some of his supporters, but had not given a definite answer, and he felt that he could not very well support me, who was in no way connected with New South Wales. “You see,” he added, “there are six colonies concerned. Now, have you got three Premiers to support you?” I said “Yes.” (My three friends at lunch.) “Well, then,” he went on, “if I remain neutral and decline to vote you will have three votes to two in your favour, and thus carry the day, even if the other two vote against you.” With a hearty shake of his hand and grateful feelings I left him. In the evening I reported to Kingston the result of my interview with George Reid. I felt I had succeeded as regarded the inspectorship of stores. But what about retaining my appointment as Commandant of South Australia while I was away? I had just returned after an absence of six months. Was it likely that the important position of Commandant was to continue to be filled by a locum tenens for a further period of one whole year? Kingston did not keep me long in suspense. “Well done, Reid!” he said. “That settles your going. I will see that you do not lose your appointment of Commandant as long as I am Premier. Get straight back to Adelaide and say absolutely nothing to anyone. Act as if you were going to stay, but be ready to get on a steamer homeward bound as soon as you hear from me. Good-bye and good luck.” So we parted, and I found my way back to Adelaide by the first coastal boat.
The day after my arrival there the mail steamer Victoria was due to leave, homeward bound, at midnight. In the afternoon of that day I got an official letter from the office of the South Australian Premier notifying me that I had been appointed Military Adviser and Inspector of Warlike Stores for the Australian Colonies, Queensland being the only objector. You can imagine the surprise my departure caused, but I was away in the ss. Victoria, well into the Australian Bight, making westwards, when the news of my new appointment appeared in next day’s morning papers. This was now my sixth voyage to and from Australia, and was as pleasant as its predecessors.