Pte Ralph Goode (Lilydale), 2^nd Field Ambulance: At sea. In a letter to his mother in Lilydale –‘As you see we are at sea. We left Lemnos on the 30th, so this is our third day out. We are on an awful boat. There are about 2000 on board. The accommodation is rotten. We sleep anywhere and everywhere, and the tucker is worse, not half enough, and what there is, is only half cooked. The meat we had for dinner today was nearly raw. Don’t take any notice of my growling as it’s a soldier’s privilege to grumble. Anyway, if all goes well and we don’t meet any ‘tin-fish’ we’ll be in ______ tomorrow. We’re not used to travelling on short rations on board ship for the simple reason that other ships we’re been on have been under the Australian Government, while this one is under the British Government, but still one would think they would do a bit better considering she is such a big ship.

The sea has been like glass, but none of us will be sorry to get off. It’s too anxious a time; you never know when a ‘tin-fish’ (torpedo) is going to strike you. There are lookout men all round the ship. Everybody’s eyes, when you are on deck, are scanning the sea for that little black stick, the periscope of a submarine. The ship steers a most erratic course, zig-zag all the way. We’ve had a French ‘Torpedo Boat Destroyer’ with us all the morning, but she goes on ahead now. We live with our life belts, always ready to grab and put them on at a second’s notice. We are all detailed off to our posts and know exactly where to go. Some go to life boats; others to rafts. The squad I am in (20 of us) go to a raft. On the alarm we grab our life belts and rush to the raft, then await orders. If the ship is doomed our orders are to heave the raft overboard, then jump after it. We practice this every day, all except the heaving and jumping over. At night not a light is to be seen, very awkward getting about the ship in pitch dark’.