His real name matters little; suffice it that he was known among his comrades as “Wallaby Joe.”
He came to Gallipoli via Egypt with the Light Horse. Incidentally, he had ridden nearly a thousand miles over sun-scorched, drought-stricken plains to join them.
Age about 38. In appearance the typical bushman. Tall and lean, but strong as a piece of hickory. A horseman from head to toe, and a dead shot. He possessed the usual bushy beard of the lonely prospector of the extreme backblocks. Out of deference to a delicate hint from his squadron commander he shaved it off, but resolved to let it grow again when the exigencies of active service should discount such finicking niceties.
His conversation was laconic in the extreme. When the occasion demanded it he could swear profusely, and in a most picturesque vein. When a bursting shell from a “75” on one occasion blew away a chunk of prime Berkshire which he was cooking for breakfast, his remarks were intensely original and illuminative.
He could also drink beer for indefinite periods, but seldom committed the vulgar error of becoming “tanked.” Not even that locality “east of Suez,” where, as the song tells us, “There ain’t no Ten Commandments and a man can raise a thirst,” could make his steps erratic.
He was very shy in the presence of the softer sex. On one occasion his unwary footsteps caused him some embarrassment. Feeling thirsty he turned into one of those establishments, fairly common in Cairo, where the southern proprietors try to hide the villainous quality of their beer by bribing sundry young ladies of various nationalities and colours to give more high-class vaudeville turns. The aforementioned young ladies are aided and abetted by a coloured orchestra, one member of which manipulates the bagpipes.
A portly damsel had just concluded, amidst uproarious applause, the haunting strains of “Ta-ra-ra boom-de-ay.” She sidled up to Joe with a large-sized grin on her olive features.
“Gib it kiss,” she murmured, trying to look ravishing.
But Joe had fled.
Henceforth during his stay in Egypt he took his beer in a little Russian bar, the proprietor of which could speak English, and had been through the Russo-Japanese War.