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Although we had all rather enjoyed the times we had had in camp together during the past six months, we were not sorry on arriving back from our final leave to be informed that we were to proceed in two days time to the Agricultural Ground in Sydney, there to await embarkation.

On the morning of 8th March, 1916 the draft in which we were included was formed up on the parade ground at Casula and our names and other particulars checked and our equipment examined and then after cleaning up our camp, we were marched to Liverpool amidst much cheering on the part of those who were not yet due to go, and there boarded the train for Sydney.

Arrived at the Central Railway station, we were marched to the Royal Agricultural Ground at Moore Park and were billeted for the time in the pavilions on the ground.

During the day, other reinforcements arrived who were to reinforce other units at the front, until at last the number totalled about 2,000, made up of men destined for various branches of the service including engineers, A.S.C., infantry, pioneers, air force, A.M.C., and so on. At 2 p.m. we were all given a pass until midnight and so the majority of us went away on leave, some to have a good time and some to take a last, final leave of their relations and friends as we were told that we were to sail in two days time.

I was one of those who went home and took a rather sad farewell of my people and I must say the ordeal was rather a sad one as I could not help feeling that perhaps it would be” the last occasion on which I would ever see them and as they probably felt the same, we left one another with huge lumps like potatoes in our throats.

Personally, I was glad when it was over, and I was back at the showground listening to the noise of the drunks, who were beginning to arrive back after the afternoon’s leave, as the noise helped lessen the sadness I felt at parting from those to whom I was dear. Next afternoon, the whole draft of reinforcements was marched in column of route from the showground to the Domain, where we were paraded in massed battalion formation, that is columns of platoons, completely organised with officers, N.C.O.’s and full marching order, and were inspected by the State Commandant. During the inspection, military bands played and crowds of people, mostly friends and relations watched the proceedings.

After the inspection by the Commandant and staff, the parade marched past the saluting base in column of platoons, saluted and then turned into column of front and marched back to the Agricultural Ground with bands playing and people cheering all the way and were there dismissed until the next morning when we were due to sail. At 4.30 a.m. next day, that is March 11, 1916 reveille was blown and we were roused out of our blankets and had our breakfast.

Immediately after, we were fallen in and had our names checked and were then marched in column of route down through Wooloomooloo in a rather disorderly fashion, as we were encumbered with our equipment and sea kit bags, and were hindered by the enthusiastic crowd which had turned out to see us off even at that early hour, until we finally reached the wharf. Here we were drafted into the big goods sheds to await our turn to embark on the transport and had our names checked again and were found to be all-present. After waiting about an hour guy particular turn came, and we filed up the gangway, an officer checking our names again, on to the deck of the ship and then on down three flights of steps until we reached the part of the ship allotted to us.

Here we were made up into mess quotas of sixteen and told that we were to use this space for our gear and messing accommodation during the voyage. We were then each given an hammock and shown the hooks on which we were to hang it at night and then after getting rid of our gear, we waited until we were allowed on deck again, and in the meantime we were given another breakfast of sausages and bread, butter and jam. When everyone had been allotted to quarters we were allowed on deck and found that a huge crowd had assembled on the wharf, as it was now about 9 a.m. The troops were quite cheerful but the people ashore were all either trying to look cheerful or silently weeping, or else jesting with some one they knew aboard the ship.

After all the official business had been completed, the ship prepared to draw out from the wharf, and then the bands began to play and streamers of paper were thrown up to the ship until at last it looked as if the ship would have difficulty in getting away from the wharf on account of the vast numbers of streamers.

At about 9.45 a.m. the siren of the ship was blown and the tug pulled us out into the harbour. This was the signal for a general weep all round by those on shore and the bands played parting airs guaranteed to make matters worse; the streamers burst apart and were left floating about in the air, and we at last knew we had “parted on the shore.” The ship pulled out as far as Garden Island and anchored until about 3 p.m. and in the meantime, we were able to wander over the ship and see how we were situated. We found that the transport was called the “Orsova” and was known as the A64 in the official list and was a vessel of 12,500 tons and must have been very commodious and comfortable when engaged in carrying passengers instead of troops. We, being the rank and file, were quartered in the steerage of 3rd class portion, the officers, sergeants and civilian passengers using the first and second class accommodation.

At 3 o’clock, a launch came alongside and the opportunity was seized by hundreds to send a final note of farewell ashore. Then the anchor was hauled up and the transport began to steam down the harbour toward the Heads amidst a good deal of cock-a-doodling by the ferry boats, and with the troops lining the bulwarks and rigging, trying to obtain a last glimpse of anything in particular which would act as a “last straw” as it were, until we steamed through the heads, and at last were out of sight of land and turned south toward Melbourne.

Toward tea time, that is about 5 o’clock “Cookhouse” was blown by the bugler and we all tore ourselves from the bulwarks of the ship and hastened below to our respective mess quarters and ate our meal with not much appetite for food as the majority of us were feeling just a little sad at parting from our native land and our friends, etc. The weather was beautifully fine and calm but rather warm so that most of us decided to sleep on deck. We therefore brought our hammocks and blankets up from below, found a “possy” and there stretched ourselves out and slept until about 5.30 a.m. when we were literally chased off the decks by the deck swabbers who made no bones about squirting salt water over us if we were slow in getting out of the way. However, since it was so stuffy below, it was worth while being evicted from the decks at an early hour, to be able to breathe the fresh air and my friends and I followed the open air ruling right through the voyage, except of course when it rained or the weather was too rough.

Next morning about 10 o’clock, we passed Gabo Island but soon after were out of sight of land altogether and only saw occasional glimpses of terra-firma until we at last steamed into Port Phillip Bay, two days or so later at 4 a.m. after a nice calm trip so far. Of course, it was still dark, and I thought it a fine sight to see the searchlights from a destroyer and the shore lights playing all round us as we steamed along. During the forty odd miles trip down Port Phillip Bay, we passed three other transports and a hospital ship which bore a load of returned sick and wounded from Egypt. At 7.30 a.m. we drew in alongside Port Melbourne pier and stayed on board until 10.30 a.m., filling in the time by singing and cheering and poking fun at everyone we saw on the pier, which, however was all taken in good part by the recipients of our rough humour.