Academic literature on the topic 'Australia ;Army Battalion, 1st'

At the request of the Indonesian government, the 1st Health Support Battalion was given the task of providing immediate medical support as part of the Australian government program of humanitarian relief following the tsunami that devastated areas of the Indonesian island of Sumatra on 26 December 2004.

The intervention of the troops of five Warsaw Pact member states in Czechoslovakia in August 1968 suppressed the “Prague Spring” – a period of political liberalization. The 1st Assault Battalion was among the Polish 2nd Army units participating in operation “Danube”. The unit dealing with distant reconnaissance and diversion was split up for the duration of its activities in the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic, and it was given new tasks, too. One form of resistance of the inhabitants of Czechoslovakia were independent programs broadcast by radio stations, often belonging to the local army. This kind of propaganda was a surprise and a serious problem for the occupying forces. Attempts were made to locate and neutralize the transmitters. The soldiers of the 1st Assault Battalion joined these activities. In the Military Archive in Oleśnica, documentation has been preserved that was put together in this unit during its operation in Czechoslovakia in 1968. It constitutes a valuable source of information about the unit’s activities during the intervention of Warsaw Pact troops in that country.

Leonid Mendeleevich Demner was born in August 3, 1923. In February 1944, he was drafted into the Red Army on the Leningrad front and served as a troop of 286th infantry division separate ski battalion, later - as a military translator of the 286th Infantry Division 996th Infantry regiment and in division headquarters of the same division in the 1st Ukrainian Front. He w as awarded with the Order of «Red Star», «World War II degree», the medal «For courage», «For Victory over Germany in the Great Patriotic War» and other awards. Discharged in May 1946, he worked as a dental technician trainee, dental technician and caster prosthodontist in denture clinic of Chernivtsi, and as a dentist, prosthetist in aviation hospital in Lviv. Since 1951 to 1956 he was a student of Molotov’s State Medical University. In 1956-1959 he worked in Izhevsk as the children’s department head and an orthodontist. In 1959-1962 he was a postgraduate student at the Department of Prosthetic Dentistry of Kazan Medical Institute. In 1963 he presented his PhD thesis, and in 1972 - doctoral dissertation. In 1969-1990 he worked as the head of the Prosthetic Dentistry Department of Kazan Medical Institute. Gabdulkhak Gil’mullovich Nasibullin was born in November 30, 1923. In 1937 he entered the Kazan midwifery school. In May 1942 he was drafted into the Soviet Army and sent as a battalion physician assistant to the 383rd Infantry Regiment. He served as a combat medic of the 7th Guards Army 167th separate tank battalion, medical platoon commander of the 81st Guards Division 233rd Infantry Regiment Battalion at the Steppe Front and 2nd Ukrainian Front. He was awarded with the Order of «Red Star» and «World War II degree», 12 medals. In 1950 he graduated from Kazan Dental Institute. Later, he worked as a dentist in the Perm region. In 1953-1956 he was trained as a clinical resident at the Department of Prosthetic Dentistry of Perm Medical Institute. In 1956-1976, he worked at the Department of Prosthetic Dentistry of Kazan Medical Institute. In 1964 he presented his PhD thesis, and in 1975 - his doctoral dissertation. In 1976-1982, he headed the department of orthopedic surgery and dentistry of the Institute of Postgraduate Medical Education named after V.I. Lenin in Kazan. In 1982-1993, he headed the Department of Prosthetic Dentistry at the Kazan State Medical Academy.

Introduction. Traditionally the notion of fighting for the central station is based on the memories (in different variations) of Senior Lieutenant A.K. Dragan, who is considered commander of the 1st Company of the 1 st Battalion of Z. Chervyakov (sometimes A.K. Dragan is described as commander of the machine-gun company). The problem is that most likely the company commander was Filin, not A.K. Dragan. A.K. Dragan as one of the few survivors of the hardest battles left very important, but extremely subjective memories, which in addition are available to us in someone else’s interpretation (V.I. Chuikov or M.G. Vainrub). These memories have become the dominant narrative. Our task is to try to reconstruct the events surrounding the station on the basis of the maximum number of sources, though not reliable, but the only ones. Methods and materials. The article is written in the context of microhistorical methodology, understanding this term in the Italian rather than German research sense. We will be interested in a limited number of people in a limited territory at a specific time. We will pay special attention to the place in which the events took place; in this sense microhistory should connect with topography. Analysis. The very location of the station made it a key object in this part of the city. Located at the intersection of the city tracks from north to south (Kommunisticheskaya St.) and from west to east (Kubanskaya St.) the station has never been empty; it always housed some of the Red Army troops. Results. An analysis of the fighting of the 1 st Battalion of the 42nd Guards Regiment from the evening of 14 to 15 September allows us to answer a number of important questions. The reinforced battalion of Z.P. Chervyakov, as the advance unit of the division, was able to take advantage of the effect of surprise and immediately break through to the “Zapolotnovsky” district and seize the station building. However, subsequent events showed that Z.P. Chervyakov’s battalion had broken through too far. The 1st Battalion of Z.P. Chervyakov, which captured the central station in the morning of 15 September, was cut off from the main forces of the 42nd Guards Regiment, which had entrenched in the “too distant” station. Due to the large volume of archival materials, the authors performed the following tasks: A.K. Elokhina processed the German sources, and E.V. Stelnik – data from the Central Archive of the Ministry of Defense of the Russian Federation. The concept of the article emerged in the course of joint discussions.

Povzetek Württemberški gorski bataljon je bil nemška vojaška enota dežele Württemberg. Oblikovan je bil precej pozno, šele oktobra 1915. Enota, ki ji je poveljeval major Theodor Sprösser, je prevzela pomembno vlogo v 12. soški ofenzivi, saj je ves čas delovala v konici napada alpskega korpusa in pozneje 1. avstro-ogrskega korpusa Krauss. Pomembno vlogo znotraj bataljona je imel tudi nadporočnik Erwin Rommel, ki je skupaj z majorjem Sprösserjem prejel visoko odlikovanje pour le mérite za uspešne boje ob reki Soči v prvih dneh ofenzive in operacijo Longarone. Bataljon je ves čas prodora od Tolmina do reke Piave deloval decentralizirano na več samostojnih smereh, saj so njegovi častniki razumeli in obvladali načelo poveljevanja s poslanstvom (Auftragstaktik) ter obvladali veščine nove taktike prodora. Bataljon je bil decembra 1917 skupaj z drugimi enotami 14. armade premeščen z italijanske fronte na opravljanje nove bojne naloge. Ključne besede: prva svetovna vojna, soška fronta, 12. soška ofenziva, Württemberški gorski bataljon, Theodor Sprösser, Erwin Rommel. Abstract The Württemberg Mountain Battalion was a German military unit on the territory of Württemberg. It was formed relatively late, only in October 1915. The unit, which was commanded by Major Theodor Sprösser assumed a very important role in the Twelfth Isonzo Offensive. It was continuously engaged in the peak of the attack by the Alpine Corps’ (Alpenkorps) and later 1st Austro-Hungarian corps Krauss. An important role within the battalion was also played by First Lieutenant Erwin Rommel, who was together with Major Sprösser awarded a decoration “pour la mérite” for his success in the battles near the Isonzo River in the first days of the offensive, and for the Longarone operation. Throughout the penetration from Tolmino to the Piava River, the battalion functioned in a decentralised manner on several independent routes, since the commanders understood and mastered the mission command (Auftragstaktik) and mastered the skills of the new penetration tactics. In December 1917, the battalion and other units of the 14th Army were redeployed from the Italian front to a new combat assignment. Key words: First World War, Isonzo Front, Twelfth Isonzo Offensive, Württemberg Mountain Battalion, Theodor Sprösser, Erwin Rommel.

I qualified in Belfast (Queen's University) in 1942. I did not have any interest in psychiatry, having the ambition to become a clinical physiologist. I had worked with Henry Barcroft, who was professor of physiology. I joined the Army and later the Airborne Forces. Fortunately, the casualties expected amongst the medical personnel of the 6th Airborne Division during the Normandy incursion did not occur, leaving myself and other medical colleagues, who had just completed our parachute training, redundant. I was posted to France and in the late summer of 1944 found myself regimental medical officer to the 1st Battalion The Herefordshire Regiment. I must confess that it never occurred to me during the winter and spring of 1944–1945 that the emotional reactions and the physical expressions of anxiety encountered, particularly amongst the young conscripts, had anything to do with the subject of psychiatry.

In August 1919, I came to Kazan from the wilderness of the Penza province (b. Chembarsky district, now Belinsky district of the Penza region, 50 km from the railway station), because in the spring of that year I applied to Kazan University with a request to enroll me in the mathematical department of physics. For admission to students, it was enough to submit documents on graduation from a secondary educational institution (gymnasium, real school). Not finding myself among those accepted for physical education, I began to look through other lists and to my surprise found myself among those who entered the medical faculty. Turning to the Secretary for Student Affairs (Muravtsev), he received in response: "Next time you will write more legibly." The secretary refused to include me in the list of those enrolled in physical education and said: "You will re-enroll next year." There were no funds for the return trip, nor did I see any sense in it. Having taken a job as a clerk-accountant in the mechanical sub-department of the Road Department of the Kazan Committee of State Structures (Komgosoor), I diligently began to attend lectures both at the physics department and at the medical faculty. In early December, he was mobilized and served as a Red Army soldier in the 5th reserve regiment in the October Barracks of Kazan (student battalion). In 1920, I was seconded to fight the epidemic of typhus, smallpox, cholera and other infections in Yelabuga, Krasnokokshaysky (now Mari El), Menze-liiskiy and other cantons of the Kazan province. At the same time I worked as an employee of the newspaper "Banner of the Revolution", where at that time the editor was V. Bakhmetyev. In the autumn of 1920, together with other students, on the basis of a resolution of the Council of Labor and Defense (SRT), I was reinstated in the 1st year of the medical faculty of KSU.

The article deals with the biography of the peasant Andrii Sapsai, whose life came at a time of the great turmoil in the first half of the twentieth century.On the eve of the 1917 revolution his family successfully farmed in the village Pryyut of Katerynoslav province. In the post-revolutionary years they continued to farm: they kept cattle, cultivated land. The turning point for the family was the dislocation and eviction from the village.The whole family was deported to live in the Urals at the Lisna Vovchanka station. There Andrii was sentenced under a political article. On the eve of the German-Soviet war he returned to Ukraine and settled not far from the village Pryyut.With the arrival of German troops he volunteered with the police, moved to the village Pryyut where he settled down in his house. He was responsible for sending local youth to Germany, searching the villages of those in hiding, and sending them to the collection point in the village Friesendorf, and from there escorted to the train station. Aboveall, Andrii Sapsai participated in the execution of the Jews of the village Kamyana in the Berestianabalka.In May 1942, police officers from the area were summoned to the Friesendorf meeting, for a total of 50 men arrived. The police chief Keller ordered everyone to get into two trucks and to go to the village Zlatoustovka.The policemen were brought to the Berestiana balka, which was located near the village, where a hole up to 20 m long, 2 m wide and 2 m deep had already been dug.They were informed that the Jews were going to be brought now and they would have to be shot. Those who would refuse to participate in the shooting would face severe punishment. Following the police the chief of the Friesendorf Gendarmerie, who had organized the whole process, arrived. In 1934 he left the territory of Ukraine together with some German troops, reaching Romania and leaving them there. In the summer of 1944 local authorities gathered those who had retreated with the Germans at the camp and they worked to rebuild the airfield and then they were transferred to the Soviet command. Then Andrii was called to the ranks of the Red Army by the field enlistment office. To the 4th platoon of the 1st military company, 375 special assault battalion 41 rifle regiment of the 2nd Ukrainian Front.He participated in the battles for the liberation of Hungary, in January 1944 became a German prisoner, and in May 1945 in the territory of Austria he was liberated by Soviet troops and again drafted into the army, where he served until 1946.

Completing meaningful and high-fidelity Collective Training during the COVID-19 pandemic presents an entirely new set of challenges to both the Chain of Command and supporting medical assets. Under Project PHOENIX, the Field Army will gradually phase the return of Collective Training, starting with Deployed Operation Force Generation. This article describes the personal experiences and challenges faced by 1st Battalion Coldstream Guards Battle Group and the Mission Training and Mobilisation Centre to enable the Operation SHADER 11 Mission Rehearsal Exercise, the first Collective Training the Field Army completed during the national lockdown.

In the last months of his life, 86-year-old Albert Facey became a best-selling author and revered cultural figure following the publication of his autobiography, A Fortunate Life. Released on Anzac Day 1981, it was praised for its “plain, unembellished, utterly sincere and un-self-pitying account of the privations of childhood and youth” (Semmler) and “extremely powerful description of Gallipoli” (Dutton 16). Within weeks, critic Nancy Keesing declared it an “Enduring Classic.” Within six months, it was announced as the winner of two prestigious non-fiction awards, with judges acknowledging Facey’s “extraordinary memory” and “ability to describe scenes and characters with great precision” (“NBC” 4). A Fortunate Life also transformed the fortunes of its publisher. Founded in 1976 as an independent, not-for-profit publishing house, Fremantle Arts Centre Press (FACP) might have been expected, given the Australian average, to survive for just a few years. Former managing editor Ray Coffey attributes the Press’s ongoing viability, in no small measure, to Facey’s success (King 29). Along with Wendy Jenkins, Coffey edited Facey’s manuscript through to publication; only five months after its release, with demand outstripping the capabilities, FACP licensed Penguin to take over the book’s production and distribution. Adaptations soon followed. In 1984, Kerry Packer’s PBL launched a prospectus for a mini-series, which raised a record $6.3 million (PBL 7–8). Aired in 1986 with a high-rating documentary called The Facey Phenomenon, the series became the most watched television event of the year (Lucas). Syndication of chapters to national and regional newspapers, stage and radio productions, audio- and e-books, abridged editions for young readers, and inclusion on secondary school curricula extended the range and influence of Facey’s life writing. Recently, an option was taken out for a new television series (Fraser).A hundred reprints and two million readers on from initial publication, A Fortunate Life continues to rate among the most appreciated Australian books of all time. Commenting on a reader survey in 2012, writer and critic Marieke Hardy enthused, “I really loved it [. . .] I felt like I was seeing a part of my country and my country’s history through a very human voice . . .” (First Tuesday Book Club). Registering a transformed reading, Hardy’s reference to Australian “history” is unproblematically juxtaposed with amused delight in an autobiography that invents and embellishes: not believing “half” of what Facey wrote, she insists he was foremost a yarn spinner. While the work’s status as a witness account has become less authoritative over time, it seems appreciation of the author’s imagination and literary skill has increased (Williamson). A Fortunate Life has been read more commonly as an uncomplicated, first-hand account, such that editor Wendy Jenkins felt it necessary to refute as an “utter mirage” that memoir is “transferred to the page by an act of perfect dictation.” Sidonie Smith and Julia Watson argue of life narratives that some “autobiographical claims [. . .] can be verified or discounted by recourse to documentation outside the text. But autobiographical truth is a different matter” (16). With increased access to archives, especially digitised personnel records, historians have asserted that key elements of Facey’s autobiography are incorrect or “fabricated” (Roberts), including his enlistment in 1914 and participation in the Gallipoli Landing on 25 April 1915. We have researched various sources relevant to Facey’s early years and war service, including hard-copy medical and repatriation records released in 2012, and find A Fortunate Life in a range of ways deviates from “documentation outside of the text,” revealing intriguing, layered storytelling. We agree with Smith and Watson that “autobiographical acts” are “anything but simple or transparent” (63). As “symbolic interactions in the world,” they are “culturally and historically specific” and “engaged in an argument about identity” (63). Inevitably, they are also “fractured by the play of meaning” (63). Our approach, therefore, includes textual analysis of Facey’s drafts alongside the published narrative and his medical records. We do not privilege institutional records as impartial but rather interpret them in terms of their hierarchies and organisation of knowledge. This leads us to speculate on alternative readings of A Fortunate Life as an illness narrative that variously resists and subscribes to dominant cultural plots, tropes, and attitudes. Facey set about writing in earnest in the 1970s and generated (at least) three handwritten drafts, along with a typescript based on the third draft. FACP produced its own working copy from the typescript. Our comparison of the drafts offers insights into the production of Facey’s final text and the otherwise “hidden” roles of editors as transformers and enablers (Munro 1). The notion that a working man with basic literacy could produce a highly readable book in part explains Facey’s enduring appeal. His grandson and literary executor, John Rose, observed in early interviews that Facey was a “natural storyteller” who had related details of his life at every opportunity over a period of more than six decades (McLeod). Jenkins points out that Facey belonged to a vivid oral culture within which he “told and retold stories to himself and others,” so that they eventually “rubbed down into the lines and shapes that would so memorably underpin the extended memoir that became A Fortunate Life.” A mystique was thereby established that “time” was Albert Facey’s “first editor” (Jenkins). The publisher expressly aimed to retain Facey’s voice, content, and meaning, though editing included much correcting of grammar and punctuation, eradication of internal inconsistencies and anomalies, and structural reorganisation into six sections and 68 chapters. We find across Facey’s drafts a broadly similar chronology detailing childhood abandonment, life-threatening incidents, youthful resourcefulness, physical prowess, and participation in the Gallipoli Landing. However, there are also shifts and changed details, including varying descriptions of childhood abuse at a place called Cave Rock; the introduction of (incompatible accounts of) interstate boxing tours in drafts two and three which replace shearing activities in Draft One; divergent tales of Facey as a world-standard athlete, league footballer, expert marksman, and powerful swimmer; and changing stories of enlistment and war service (see Murphy and Nile, “Wounded”; “Naked”).Jenkins edited those sections concerned with childhood and youth, while Coffey attended to Facey’s war and post-war life. Drawing on C.E.W. Bean’s official war history, Coffey introduced specificity to the draft’s otherwise vague descriptions of battle and amended errors, such as Facey’s claim to have witnessed Lord Kitchener on the beach at Gallipoli. Importantly, Coffey suggested the now famous title, “A Fortunate Life,” and encouraged the author to alter the ending. When asked to suggest a title, Facey offered “Cave Rock” (Interview)—the site of his violent abuse and humiliation as a boy. Draft One concluded with Facey’s repatriation from the war and marriage in 1916 (106); Draft Two with a brief account of continuing post-war illness and ultimate defeat: “My war injuries caught up with me again” (107). The submitted typescript concludes: “I have often thought that going to War has caused my life to be wasted” (Typescript 206). This ending differs dramatically from the redemptive vision of the published narrative: “I have lived a very good life, it has been very rich and full. I have been very fortunate and I am thrilled by it when I look back” (412).In The Wounded Storyteller, Arthur Frank argues that literary markets exist for stories of “narrative wreckage” (196) that are redeemed by reconciliation, resistance, recovery, or rehabilitation, which is precisely the shape of Facey’s published life story and a source of its popularity. Musing on his post-war experiences in A Fortunate Life, Facey focuses on his ability to transform the material world around him: “I liked the challenge of building up a place from nothing and making a success where another fellow had failed” (409). If Facey’s challenge was building up something from nothing, something he could set to work on and improve, his life-writing might reasonably be regarded as a part of this broader project and desire for transformation, so that editorial interventions helped him realise this purpose. Facey’s narrative was produced within a specific zeitgeist, which historian Joy Damousi notes was signalled by publication in 1974 of Bill Gammage’s influential, multiply-reprinted study of front-line soldiers, The Broken Years, which drew on the letters and diaries of a thousand Great War veterans, and also the release in 1981 of Peter Weir’s film Gallipoli, for which Gammage was the historical advisor. The story of Australia’s war now conceptualised fallen soldiers as “innocent victims” (Damousi 101), while survivors were left to “compose” memories consistent with their sacrifice (Thomson 237–54). Viewing Facey’s drafts reminds us that life narratives are works of imagination, that the past is not fixed and memory is created in the present. Facey’s autobiographical efforts and those of his publisher to improve the work’s intelligibility and relevance together constitute an attempt to “objectify the self—to present it as a knowable object—through a narrative that re-structures [. . .] the self as history and conclusions” (Foster 10). Yet, such histories almost invariably leave “a crucial gap” or “censored chapter.” Dennis Foster argues that conceiving of narration as confession, rather than expression, “allows us to see the pathos of the simultaneous pursuit and evasion of meaning” (10); we believe a significant lacuna in Facey’s life writing is intimated by its various transformations.In a defining episode, A Fortunate Life proposes that Facey was taken from Gallipoli on 19 August 1915 due to wounding that day from a shell blast that caused sandbags to fall on him, crush his leg, and hurt him “badly inside,” and a bullet to the shoulder (348). The typescript, however, includes an additional but narratively irreconcilable date of 28 June for the same wounding. The later date, 19 August, was settled on for publication despite the author’s compelling claim for the earlier one: “I had been blown up by a shell and some 7 or 8 sandbags had fallen on top of me, the day was the 28th of June 1915, how I remembered this date, it was the day my brother Roy had been killed by a shell burst.” He adds: “I was very ill for about six weeks after the incident but never reported it to our Battalion doctor because I was afraid he would send me away” (Typescript 205). This account accords with Facey’s first draft and his medical records but is inconsistent with other parts of the typescript that depict an uninjured Facey taking a leading role in fierce fighting throughout July and August. It appears, furthermore, that Facey was not badly wounded at any time. His war service record indicates that he was removed from Gallipoli due to “heart troubles” (Repatriation), which he also claims in his first draft. Facey’s editors did not have ready access to military files in Canberra, while medical files were not released until 2012. There existed, therefore, virtually no opportunity to corroborate the author’s version of events, while the official war history and the records of the State Library of Western Australia, which were consulted, contain no reference to Facey or his war service (Interview). As a consequence, the editors were almost entirely dependent on narrative logic and clarifications by an author whose eyesight and memory had deteriorated to such an extent he was unable to read his amended text. A Fortunate Life depicts men with “nerve sickness” who were not permitted to “stay at the Front because they would be upsetting to the others, especially those who were inclined that way themselves” (350). By cross referencing the draft manuscripts against medical records, we can now perceive that Facey was regarded as one of those nerve cases. According to Facey’s published account, his wounds “baffled” doctors in Egypt and Fremantle (353). His medical records reveal that in September 1915, while hospitalised in Egypt, his “palpitations” were diagnosed as “Tachycardia” triggered by war-induced neuroses that began on 28 June. This suggests that Facey endured seven weeks in the field in this condition, with the implication being that his debility worsened, resulting in his hospitalisation. A diagnosis of “debility,” “nerves,” and “strain” placed Facey in a medical category of “Special Invalids” (Butler 541). Major A.W. Campbell noted in the Medical Journal of Australia in 1916 that the war was creating “many cases of little understood nervous and mental affections, not only where a definite wound has been received, but in many cases where nothing of the sort appears” (323). Enlisted doctors were either physicians or surgeons and sometimes both. None had any experience of trauma on the scale of the First World War. In 1915, Campbell was one of only two Australian doctors with any pre-war experience of “mental diseases” (Lindstrom 30). On staff at the Australian Base Hospital at Heliopolis throughout the Gallipoli campaign, he claimed that at times nerve cases “almost monopolised” the wards under his charge (319). Bearing out Facey’s description, Campbell also reported that affected men “received no sympathy” and, as “carriers of psychic contagion,” were treated as a “source of danger” to themselves and others (323). Credentialed by royal colleges in London and coming under British command, Australian medical teams followed the practice of classifying men presenting “nervous or mental symptoms” as “battle casualties” only if they had also been wounded by “enemy action” (Loughran 106). By contrast, functional disability, with no accompanying physical wounds, was treated as unmanly and a “hysterical” reaction to the pressures of war. Mental debility was something to be feared in the trenches and diagnosis almost invariably invoked charges of predisposition or malingering (Tyquin 148–49). This shifted responsibility (and blame) from the war to the individual. Even as late as the 1950s, medical notes referred to Facey’s condition as being “constitutional” (Repatriation).Facey’s narrative demonstrates awareness of how harshly sufferers were treated. We believe that he defended himself against this with stories of physical injury that his doctors never fully accepted and that he may have experienced conversion disorder, where irreconcilable experience finds somatic expression. His medical diagnosis in 1915 and later life writing establish a causal link with the explosion and his partial burial on 28 June, consistent with opinion at the time that linked concussive blasts with destabilisation of the nervous system (Eager 422). Facey was also badly shaken by exposure to the violence and abjection of war, including hand-to-hand combat and retrieving for burial shattered and often decomposed bodies, and, in particular, by the death of his brother Roy, whose body was blown to pieces on 28 June. (A second brother, Joseph, was killed by multiple bayonet wounds while Facey was convalescing in Egypt.) Such experiences cast a different light on Facey’s observation of men suffering nerves on board the hospital ship: “I have seen men doze off into a light sleep and suddenly jump up shouting, ‘Here they come! Quick! Thousands of them. We’re doomed!’” (350). Facey had escaped the danger of death by explosion or bayonet but at a cost, and the war haunted him for the rest of his days. On disembarkation at Fremantle on 20 November 1915, he was admitted to hospital where he remained on and off for several months. Forty-one other sick and wounded disembarked with him (HMAT). Around one third, experiencing nerve-related illness, had been sent home for rest; while none returned to the war, some of the physically wounded did (War Service Records). During this time, Facey continued to present with “frequent attacks of palpitation and giddiness,” was often “short winded,” and had “heart trouble” (Repatriation). He was discharged from the army in June 1916 but, his drafts suggest, his war never really ended. He began a new life as a wounded Anzac. His dependent and often fractious relationship with the Repatriation Department ended only with his death 66 years later. Historian Marina Larsson persuasively argues that repatriated sick and wounded servicemen from the First World War represented a displaced presence at home. Many led liminal lives of “disenfranchised grief” (80). Stephen Garton observes a distinctive Australian use of repatriation to describe “all policies involved in returning, discharging, pensioning, assisting and training returned men and women, and continuing to assist them throughout their lives” (74). Its primary definition invokes coming home but to repatriate also implies banishment from a place that is not home, so that Facey was in this sense expelled from Gallipoli and, by extension, excluded from the myth of Anzac. Unlike his two brothers, he would not join history as one of the glorious dead; his name would appear on no roll of honour. Return home is not equivalent to restoration of his prior state and identity, for baggage from the other place perpetually weighs. Furthermore, failure to regain health and independence strains hospitality and gratitude for the soldier’s service to King and country. This might be exacerbated where there is no evident or visible injury, creating suspicion of resistance, cowardice, or malingering. Over 26 assessments between 1916 and 1958, when Facey was granted a full war pension, the Repatriation Department observed him as a “neuropathic personality” exhibiting “paroxysmal tachycardia” and “neurocirculatory asthenia.” In 1954, doctors wrote, “We consider the condition is a real handicap and hindrance to his getting employment.” They noted that after “attacks,” Facey had a “busted depressed feeling,” but continued to find “no underlying myocardial disease” (Repatriation) and no validity in Facey’s claims that he had been seriously physically wounded in the war (though A Fortunate Life suggests a happier outcome, where an independent medical panel finally locates the cause of his ongoing illness—rupture of his spleen in the war—which results in an increased war pension). Facey’s condition was, at times, a source of frustration for the doctors and, we suspect, disappointment and shame to him, though this appeared to reduce on both sides when the Repatriation Department began easing proof of disability from the 1950s (Thomson 287), and the Department of Veteran’s Affairs was created in 1976. This had the effect of shifting public and media scrutiny back onto a system that had until then deprived some “innocent victims of the compensation that was their due” (Garton 249). Such changes anticipated the introduction of Post-Traumatic Shock Disorder (PTSD) to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) in 1980. Revisions to the DSM established a “genealogy of trauma” and “panic disorders” (100, 33), so that diagnoses such as “neuropathic personality” (Echterling, Field, and Stewart 192) and “soldier’s heart,” that is, disorders considered “neurotic,” were “retrospectively reinterpreted” as a form of PTSD. However, Alberti points out that, despite such developments, war-related trauma continues to be contested (80). We propose that Albert Facey spent his adult life troubled by a sense of regret and failure because of his removal from Gallipoli and that he attempted to compensate through storytelling, which included his being an original Anzac and seriously wounded in action. By writing, Facey could shore up his rectitude, work ethic, and sense of loyalty to other servicemen, which became necessary, we believe, because repatriation doctors (and probably others) had doubted him. In 1927 and again in 1933, an examining doctor concluded: “The existence of a disability depends entirely on his own unsupported statements” (Repatriation). We argue that Facey’s Gallipoli experiences transformed his life. By his own account, he enlisted for war as a physically robust and supremely athletic young man and returned nine months later to life-long anxiety and ill-health. Publication transformed him into a national sage, earning him, in his final months, the credibility, empathy, and affirmation he had long sought. Exploring different accounts of Facey, in the shape of his drafts and institutional records, gives rise to new interpretations. In this context, we believe it is time for a new edition of A Fortunate Life that recognises it as a complex testimonial narrative and theorises Facey’s deployment of national legends and motifs in relation to his “wounded storytelling” as well as to shifting cultural and medical conceptualisations and treatments of shame and trauma. ReferencesAlberti, Fay Bound. Matters of the Heart: History, Medicine, and Emotions. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2010. Butler, A.G. Official History of the Australian Medical Services 1814-1918: Vol I Gallipoli, Palestine and New Guinea. Canberra: Australian War Memorial, 1930.Campbell, A.W. “Remarks on Some Neuroses and Psychoses in War.” Medical Journal of Australia 15 April (1916): 319–23.Damousi, Joy. “Why Do We Get So Emotional about Anzac.” What’s Wrong with Anzac. Ed. Marilyn Lake and Henry Reynolds. Sydney: UNSWP, 2015. 94–109.Dutton, Geoffrey. “Fremantle Arts Centre Press Publicity.” Australian Book Review May (1981): 16.Eager, R. “War Neuroses Occurring in Cases with a Definitive History of Shell Shock.” British Medical Journal 13 Apr. 1918): 422–25.Echterling, L.G., Thomas A. Field, and Anne L. Stewart. “Evolution of PTSD in the DSM.” Future Directions in Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder: Prevention, Diagnosis, and Treatment. Ed. Marilyn P. Safir and Helene S. Wallach. New York: Springer, 2015. 189–212.Facey, A.B. A Fortunate Life. 1981. Ringwood: Penguin, 2005.———. Drafts 1–3. University of Western Australia, Special Collections.———. Transcript. University of Western Australia, Special Collections.First Tuesday Book Club. ABC Splash. 4 Dec. 2012. <http://splash.abc.net.au/home#!/media/1454096/http&>.Foster, Dennis. Confession and Complicity in Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1987.Frank, Arthur. The Wounded Storyteller. London: U of Chicago P, 1995.Fraser, Jane. “CEO Says.” Fremantle Press. 7 July 2015. <https://www.fremantlepress.com.au/c/news/3747-ceo-says-9>.Garton, Stephen. The Cost of War: Australians Return. Melbourne: Oxford UP, 1994.HMAT Aeneas. “Report of Passengers for the Port of Fremantle from Ports Beyond the Commonwealth.” 20 Nov. 1915. <http://recordsearch.naa.gov.au/SearchNRetrieve/Interface/ViewImage.aspx?B=9870708&S=1>.“Interview with Ray Coffey.” Personal interview. 6 May 2016. Follow-up correspondence. 12 May 2016.Jenkins, Wendy. “Tales from the Backlist: A Fortunate Life Turns 30.” Fremantle Press, 14 April 2011. <https://www.fremantlepress.com.au/c/bookclubs/574-tales-from-the-backlist-a-fortunate-life-turns-30>.Keesing, Nancy. ‘An Enduring Classic.’ Australian Book Review (May 1981). FACP Press Clippings. Fremantle. n. pag.King, Noel. “‘I Can’t Go On … I’ll Go On’: Interview with Ray Coffey, Fremantle Arts Centre Press, 22 Dec. 2004; 24 May 2006.” Westerly 51 (2006): 31–54.Larsson, Marina. “A Disenfranchised Grief: Post War Death and Memorialisation in Australia after the First World War.” Australian Historical Studies 40.1 (2009): 79–95.Lindstrom, Richard. “The Australian Experience of Psychological Casualties in War: 1915-1939.” PhD dissertation. Victoria University, Feb. 1997.Loughran, Tracey. “Shell Shock, Trauma, and the First World War: The Making of a Diagnosis and its Histories.” Journal of the History of Medical and Allied Sciences 67.1 (2012): 99–119.Lucas, Anne. “Curator’s Notes.” A Fortunate Life. Australian Screen. <http://aso.gov.au/titles/tv/a-fortunate-life/notes/>.McLeod, Steve. “My Fortunate Life with Grandad.” Western Magazine Dec. (1983): 8.Munro, Craig. Under Cover: Adventures in the Art of Editing. Brunswick: Scribe, 2015.Murphy, Ffion, and Richard Nile. “The Naked Anzac: Exposure and Concealment in A.B. Facey’s A Fortunate Life.” Southerly 75.3 (2015): 219–37.———. “Wounded Storyteller: Revisiting Albert Facey’s Fortunate Life.” Westerly 60.2 (2015): 87–100.“NBC Book Awards.” Australian Book Review Oct. (1981): 1–4.PBL. Prospectus: A Fortunate Life, the Extraordinary Life of an Ordinary Bloke. 1–8.Repatriation Records. Albert Facey. National Archives of Australia.Roberts, Chris. “Turkish Machine Guns at the Landing.” Wartime: Official Magazine of the Australian War Memorial 50 (2010). <https://www.awm.gov.au/wartime/50/roberts_machinegun/>.Semmler, Clement. “The Way We Were before the Good Life.” Courier Mail 10 Oct. 1981. FACP Press Clippings. Fremantle. n. pag.Smith, Sidonie, and Julia Watson. Reading Autobiography: A Guide for Interpreting Life Narratives. 2001. 2nd ed. U of Minnesota P, 2010.Thomson, Alistair. Anzac Memories: Living with the Legend. 1994. 2nd ed. Melbourne: Monash UP, 2013. Tyquin, Michael. Gallipoli, the Medical War: The Australian Army Services in the Dardanelles Campaign of 1915. Kensington: UNSWP, 1993.War Service Records. National Archives of Australia. <http://recordsearch.naa.gov.au/NameSearch/Interface/NameSearchForm.aspx>.Williamson, Geordie. “A Fortunate Life.” Copyright Agency. <http://readingaustralia.com.au/essays/a-fortunate-life/>.

This thesis re-examines and reconstructs the Anzac Landing at Gallipoli on 25 April 1915 by applying a new approach to an old topic - it uses the records of a single battalion over a single day to create a body of evidence with which to construct a history of the battle. This focus on the battle's participants might be expected to shed light only their immediate experience, but it also creates a profile of the fighting on this day. This is in part due to the methodology developed to assess and compile accounts, but also to the fact that the chosen battalion, the 11th Battalion, 3rd Infantry Brigade, 1st Division, Australian Imperial Force, landed with the covering force for the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, and its members fought from Fisherman's Hut to 400 Plateau, on Third Ridge and Battleship Hill. This study therefore places much of the battlefield under the microscope. The use of veterans' accounts to re-tell the story of the Landing is not new. Anecdotes are often layered over the known history, established in C.E.W. Bean's Official History of Australia in the War, The Story of ANZAC, Volume I, to colour narrative and connect with personal experience. Less frequently are they reliably used as historical evidence. In this thesis, letters, diaries, memoirs, manuscripts, photographs, maps, diagrams and other information, collected from private collections, libraries, museums, archives and period newspapers, the battlefield and many secondary sources, are used as evidence to construct events, chronologies and frames of reference in order to reconstruct the history of the day. This thesis will argue that eye witness testimony can be extremely unreliable when taken in isolation, but when verified, contextualised and validated by a thorough and robust methodology, can provide valuable information with which to re-examine some of the battle's significant events and outstanding questions. Why did the advance stop? Why was the high ground not taken? Why do the accounts of the adversaries of the best known clash of the day not match? The missing evidence may lie in the smallest of fragments - not in isolation, but when examined in aggregate. This shift in the way evidence is collected and analysed leads to a shift in the way the battle is interpreted. The Landing has not previously been studied at this level of detail. Bean amalgamated the disparate and confused accounts of that day into a canvas; this thesis digs deeper into the foundation data to analyse, verify, add to and reconstruct the day. It builds on and complements Bean's work, confirming and enriching some aspects of his account, filling gaps, and, in some aspects, potentially re-writing the history of the Landing. There has been much rhetoric over the years and many myths and legends surround this battle. This thesis will argue that even though nearly 100 years have passed since the Landing, and well over 1000 books written on the campaign, much can be learned by returning to the 'primary source, the soldier'.