That November, in Albany, Western Australia, there was to be the 100th Anniversary of the first ANZAC departure to the First World War, and it was not to be missed, and so it was just to get there.

For four days and three nights, The Indian Pacific travels the expanse of Australia from Sydney to Perth, 4352 kilometres. It was my Uncle Steve who told me about this, and how when he had first moved to Kalgoorlie he travelled third class from Adelaide, but unable to sleep comfortably in his seat, he lay his six foot plus frame down in the aisle.

Living in Melbourne, I wouldn’t be making such a brave stretch, and boarded The Overland early Saturday to meet The Indian Pacific in Adelaide. The Overland, or The Melbourne Express if you are South Australian, stretches 828 kilometres of track, was once a daily service but now returns twice weekly. Leaving Melbourne you are treated to rugged scrub land then to endless fields of green and gold all through Victoria. At the South Australian border, I treated myself to a fish and chip dinner.

Adelaide, the end of the line. I awoke to a commotion on board when it was announced that there would be an hour plus wait for a taxi, and there was not a bed to be had, The Rolling Stones were in town.

I had no hope of seeing Donald Bradman’s statue that night, 50,000 ageing rock n’roll fans were already descending on the Adelaide Oval as The Overland slowed in to Parklands Terminal. The evening was dry and warm and a wetting of the whistle was in order, so after checking in to my YHA, I directed myself away from the crowds and retired to The Edinburgh Castle.



Adelaide, the City of Churches, is home to St Peter’s Cathedral, and dozens of churches of varying denominations, but probably the most holiest of sites to South Australians, is the Adelaide Oval, its towering floodlights always visible in most of the city.

Dusty heads were prominent in the city that morning as I headed there, Rolling Stones flyers still whipping around the streets in the morning breeze. I was not the only admirer of Bradman that morning as I approached his statue, an elderly gentleman stood staring at the bronzed cricketing god employing his favourite shot.

“I tried to walk down here last night”, he said

“I gave up that idea pretty fast too”.

He went on to explain how his father had seen Bradman, aged forty, play sixty-six years earlier and had rolled his ankle on the ball in what would be his last match. “He had already retired from playing for Australia but many thought he’d play state cricket a bit longer.” A clock bell rang somewhere in the city and my companion looked at his watch, “a beer young fella?”

Back in The Edinburgh Castle, we established we were both departing on the The Indian Pacific that evening, he already having come as far as Sydney. My new friend was Ken, a recently widowed New South Welshman who was going the long haul to Perth, to visit his daughter. He had been the bank master for ANZ in New Caledonia but this was his first visit outside New South Wales in nearly twenty years. The pub was crowded with seedy Stones fans wearing t-shirts and jeans they would struggle to get out of, but they soon were brought back to life when the duke-box began sounding out their favourite band. The afternoon had gone, and so too a few jugs, and Ken and I made way to board The Indian Pacific.

Travelling third class, (forever the backpacker) was comfortable enough, but the food would sear a layer off your tongue. In the dining cart I would converse with Ryan, an optometrist from Melbourne, who was making a lone junket across Australia following his boyhood idols The Rolling Stones, he had been at the show in Adelaide, and was off to the Perth gig next

Cook, population two, the most isolated town in the world. We had been railroading for twenty hours and all were keen to stretch their legs on terra firma. Cook had been a more populous town before the Second World War, home to about two hundred residents. The halfway point on the train journey across the Nullarbor, it is here that The Indian Pacific takes on water and changes drivers. In the ’Ghost Town of the Nulaboor’ there used to be a hospital, a former school, general store, pub, and golf course. So desolate is Cook, is to illustrate the vastness of the interior of Australia, during certain parts of Earth’s orbit, the closest souls to the people in Cook, are the occupants of the international space station.

The final day on the Nullarbor treats you to endless views of sand, rough scrub, occasional wandering camels, and torched Fords and Holdens, “The Aborigines” someone explained.

Class decorum on board The Indian Pacific must be maintained, but this hadn’t stopped Ken sending a handsome dinner down from first class to me, many hostile glances were dished up too.

Stepping off in Kalgoorlie, I was welcomed back by my Uncle and Aunt, my Uncle keen to swap notes on rail journeys and bemoaned not having met a widower who treated him to a feast in the deep heart of the Nullarbor.

At the Museum of the Goldfields, they were hosting an exhibitions of portraits illustrating modern descendants of the first convicts to Australia, who posed with items that their ancestors had stolen that had them banished to the convict colony, mainly spoons, forks, and handkerchiefs.

The Metropole Hotel, was alive with Americans, and the barman gave up explaining to them the origins of a glass covered hole in the floor, gold miners in the 1800s having dug an alternative mine-shaft from the Goldfields directly in to the bar room.

I left Kalgoorlie for Albany the next afternoon, in a small Fokker 50 which stopped in at Perth and Bussleton en route. Driving into Albany for the first of three days of celebrations, my taxi driver complained of the traffic and excessive workload,

“Nobodies tipping.” It was his fortieth pick up for the day.

41,000 troops aboard thirty eight ships had gathered in King George Sound in late 1914, before setting off for Alexandria in Egypt, Australia and New Zealand’s entrance in to the First World War. All that week merchant ships had been steaming in from Brisbane, Sydney, Melbourne, Hobart, and Wellington. The bars and eateries of the whaling town fairly heaving with antipodean troops. It was the greatest armada ever assembled in the Southern Hemisphere.

A century on Albany again was a hive of activity, Friday afternoon the cafes and restaurants were already packed as I walked to my lodgings. A small photo in my room, at the 1849 Backpackers, illustrated the view from the window in 1914 as Aussie and Kiwi troops paraded down York Street, the scene to be set again the following morning. Stirling Terrace had been recreated in to a giant mess hall for the occasion, and there a traditional troopers meal from 1914 could be enjoyed. Bully beef, biscuits, and jam. Documentaries were played on a big screen on the Albany waterfront, and could be heard still as you wandered around the ranging harbour.

The Australian twang was heard in full chorus during happy hour at the Premier Hotel, on Albany’s main street, the chatter only quieting a little when some Japanese sailors, from the JDS Kirisame walked in.

“Beer please”,

“You’ll have to be more specific mate.”

An ex cop from Perth had become quite intoxicated and was heard preaching to no one in particular all the nasty things he had done in pursuit of the law, even claiming he had permanently disabled an assailant. Balling his first around his car keys, he demonstrated, “Never give a dog an even chance mates.”

I took an early morning stroll up to Mount Clarence to see the ANZAC Desert Mounted Corps Memorial, which stands near the summit, facing east into the rising sun. A 9-metre bronze statue, the memorial shows a mounted Australian soldier assisting a New Zealand soldier whose horse has been wounded.The memorial offers dedication to the memory of the Australian Light House, New Zealand Mounted Rifles, and the Imperial Camel Corps (all part of the Desert Mounted Corps) who died in Egypt, Palestine, and Syria between 1916 and 1918. The memorial originally stood at Port Said, in Egypt but was damaged in anti-British riots during the Suez Crisis in 1956, bullet holes are still visible. The memorial was sent back to Australia soon after.

Back down in Albany, thousands shouted ‘Coo-ee’ as Australian and New Zealand troops marched together through York Street, as they had a century before. The port town air filled with the music of brass and pipe bands as crews from seven Navy vessels, including the Japanese contingent, from the ship Kirisame marched past, the Japanese there in solidarity for their contribution in 1914, where the Japanese cruiser Ibuki joined the first convoy, helping protect its passage. More cheers still as each company of troops came by, the biggest cheers though reserved for veterans. The elderly men, displaying medals recognising their distinguished conduct and bravery, travelled atop a convoy. The New Zealand contingent of troops proudly led by three men donning traditional Maori dress. A sonic boom sounded across the sky as the Australian Air Force flew above during the march.

A ceremonial service featuring Australian Prime Minister, Tony Abbot, and his New Zealand counterpart, John Key, was held in Albany Peace Park afterwards with Tony Abbot declaring:

“One hundred years on, we can say with certainty that as long as there is an Australia and as long as there is a New Zealand, they will be remembered,

…we also remember all those we fought with. The soldiers and sailors of the countries of the British empire, of gallant France and of Japan, first an ally, then a foe, now the very best of friends.”

After the service I continued on to Mount Adelaide to witness the symbolic departure from King George Sound of vessels from the Australian, New Zealand, and Japanese Navies, a re-enactment of the departure of the fleet one hundred years before, Albany being the last friendly sight for thousands of young men. The convoy cruised past Albany’s new National ANZAC Centre, opened that morning, before steaming out to sea via Middleton Beach, covered in thirty thousand poppies.

To visit the ANZAC Centre is to step into an immersive history lesson, with the sounds and sights of war all around you. Given a card as you begin, featuring one of thirty-two real characters, allows you to follow that person’s journey, and perspective through the First World War. The Pool of Reflections, which contains the names of the 41,265 service men and women who left Albany on the first and second convoys, is a very touching finish to the experience. The ANZAC centre was recently voted Australia’s best museum, and deservedly so.

That evening I attended a talk given by prominent Australian historical writers Peter FitzSimons, Roland Perry, and Ross Coulthart , it was Perry I was most eager to hear having recently read his book on the great Australian, General John Monash, the hero of the First World War. That evening again, the pubs of Albany were filled with Australian and Kiwi soldiers alike, the Australians easily identified in their slouch hats. The Japanese sailors were again a curiosity for the locals. The next morning I met Roland Perry in a bookstore, and spoke to him for a time on the significance that Monash had played on winning The First World War, Perry going as far to say that Monash was perhaps the first true modern General in that he recognised the importance of new technology and that the British High Command’s reliance on 19th century techniques was to the doom of millions of men.

The last morning in Albany, I conferred with some locals over lunch, quizzing them about the importance today of the port. They explained how only a fraction of shipping now comes through Albany, with most vessels stopping in at Freemantle. The Whaling Station closed in 1978, it was the last operating whaling station in the southern hemisphere, and it is now a whaling museum. Though not as many ships visit there now, Albany’s vital role in two young countries history is readily apparent. The weekends celebrations in Albany were over, but they would never be forgotten. The local government claimed it was the largest event ever undertaken in the port town, with some 60,000 visitors marking the opening of the ANZAC centenary. There was a tide of great feeling everywhere as all gathered to remember the thousands of young men, whose last sight of home would have been the rugged coastline of Western Australia, the whole weekend in honour of two nations gallant generation.

The bus back to Perth was fully loaded, I sat with an elderly lady from Esperance, whose father had been with the first convoy that left Albany, she was well in her eighties but never in her life time had she come here. Stepping off the bus with her at the halfway diner, I jumped frightfully as a small brown snake slithered away from us.

“Sometimes,” she said, “you will forget you are in Australia.”

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For The Overland, The Indian Pacific, and other great rail adventures across Australia, visit: www.greatsouthernrail.com.au

The National ANZAC Centre in Albany is open seven days a week,

visit: www.nationalanzaccentre.com.au