John Essex-Clark fought in Malaya, Africa and Vietnam; his father fought against the Japanese in the Second World War and was captured and spent four years behind barbed wire; his grandfather fought the Germans in the first World War on the Western front. Soldiering was in the blood and on the mantelpiece. ‘Framed at home were the medals won by my forefathers at Waterloo, Ghuznee, Kabul, Jellalabad, the Boer War and the two World Wars.’ Although his father had ideas of a business life for him, Essex-Clark junior went on to do as his forefathers had done before him; he became a leader of men in war.

Maverick Soldier (MUP, $34.95 hb) is an account of what it is like to be a leader of men both in war and peace (and often it seems that it is more difficult to ‘lead’ in peace than in war). It is not an autobiography in the widest possible sense; we are not welcomed into the inner, more vulnerable and less protected domains of his life his private thoughts and fears. Rather it is the soldier’s face we are shown and, as they say, what you see is what you get.

Military autobiographies abound (war stories make fascinating reading), but frequently they are terribly told. This is not the case so with Maverick Soldier. Essex-Clark is an adroit story-teller. The often tedious chronicle is forsaken for the far more interesting narrative. The sights, sounds and smells of war are woven in with the terror and exhilaration. The use of the present tense further draws the reader in, so that the effect is of immediacy and participation.

‘The gloomy and misty jungle is dangerously quiet, the faint dripping from last night’s rain the only sound’, he writes. Now that he has done soldiering, perhaps Essex-Clark will turn his hand to writing?

If this book has a down side, it is Essex-Clark’s foray into essaying. Every now and then – especially in the closing chapters – he gets up on his soapbox and lest his opinions on a diverse range of subjects be known. While they may result from the wisdom of many years, for me they interrupt an otherwise excellent tale. Essex-Clark led a life every bit as exciting as his heroes in the Boy’s Own Annual and The Champions Boy’s Weekly he used to like reading. Certainly it was a well-travelled one. Perhaps travel-writing will be his genre.

Melbourne University Press has, I think, performed something of a public service by publishing the stories of Australia’s fighting men. And if they’re all as exciting as Maverick Soldier then I have a lot of interesting reading ahead of me. Queensland University Press also publishes a wide range of stories by veterans, but where Melbourne University Press concentrates on the Generals and Officers, UQP focuses on the infantrymen – the ones that do the real bleeding. However, it is not only the big publishers that are bringing these stories to the public; there is a number of very busy small publishers around: among them, Banner Books and Troubadour Press.

The reason I say it is a public service is that I tend to agree with the sentiment, recorded by C.E.W. Bean of a soldier, unknown and probably forgotten, who just before dying implored Bean to tell what it is like to be an infantryman. ‘For Christ’s sake, write a book on the life of an infantryman ... and by so doing you will quickly prevent these shocking tragedies.’ Unfortunately, as history has so frequently shown, no amount of telling how horrible war is seems to prevent it from happening. But, it seems to me, especially after reading The Making of the Legend (UQP, $19.95 pb) that memorial days are the very least that society owes. Lest we forget, indeed.

'A total of 330,000 Australians served abroad during the First World War; out of every ten of them, five were wounded and 2 died on the active service.'

This represents a far higher rate of mortality than in 11 subsequent wars. Australia became accustomed to reading casualty lists resulting from a single engagement with the enemy containing more names of more dead sons, lovers and fathers than were lost in the entire Vietnam war. Statistics are often used as weapons against the truth, but sometimes those same numbers speak volumes.

That up to fifty per cent of the total number of troops involved in any one battle should be killed or wounded was considered typical. Not even the infamous battle for Iwo Jima in the Second World War could match the First World War for sustained blood­shed. In two months on the Somme the combined Allied and German deaths totalled nearly a million. For Australia the number was 23,000.

One brigade, for example, of 3000 men had casualties amounting to 2339 after the Somme. ‘Statistics for Monash’s 3rd Division during 1917 are fully representative. They record 55 per cent casualties during a six day tour in the battle of Messines (June 1917); and in the battle of Passchendaele, 27 percent during a three day tour commencing 4 October and 61 percent in a five day spell commencing 12 October.’ I do not believe that historians, poets or psychologists will ever be able to explain adequately what compelled the soldiers onwards, what prevented the majority from mutiny. It is hard to know whether to admire them or just feel sorry for them.

Historians have a lot to hear from C.E.W. Bean, and Denis Winter has done a marvellous job of making his work accessible. It could not have been an easy task selecting and compiling this volume, not when you consider the volume of Bean’s work – reputedly some twenty-five metres of shelf space! His history of the First World War is about the people who fought the war; not simply the decisions and their outcomes, but the people who suffered, grieved, died and triumphed – the ANZACS.

Bean did not direct his attention only towards the proverbial ‘big picture’. ‘His narrative switched from platoon commanders in battle to corps headquarters in the rear and all points between with the mind of the high command only one of several.’ He personalised the war to an extent that I doubt has ever been equalled. Bean’s published histories mention by name some 6550 people ‘each with a footnoted biographical sketch’.

Official histories do not enjoy a reputation for being fascinating reads, and so it was not with the great an­ticipation that I read Making the Legend. However, I discovered, much to my delight, that when it comes to writing, especially Australian war writing, the standard by which all authors of either fiction or non-fiction have to measure themselves is set by C.E.W. Bean.

The Devils’ Garden (UQP, $15.95 pb) is the final volume in the ‘Johnno’s War Diaries’ trilogy which Peter Pinney began in 1988 with Barbarians and followed with The Glass Cannon in 1990 (all of which have been published by UQP). Essentially it is the story of the exploits of a small group of soldiers stationed on the island of Bougainville at the closing stages of the Second World War. Conforming loosely to a diary style it focuses on the life of Johnno, the diarist.

The most interesting aspect of the book is the account it offers of the early days of the conflict between Bougainville and New Guinea making headlines today. Once again, it would seem that an unthinking colonial government, in its haste to depart, totally ignored traditional boundaries and thus created a civil war.

All the central characters are larrikin types, quick to fight, quick to scheme and always able to cut through the bull. But by no means are they heroes, and this is what makes the book interesting. Nowhere in sight is the fearless warrior, the dedicated soldier, the killing machine that popular novels and films rely upon so heavily. Rather we have a cross-section of attitudes and abilities, from the slightly crazy, through to the timid, each the more real for his idiosyncrasies.

In this respect it is very similar to Geoffrey Bingham’s collection of short stories, The Laughing Gunner (Troubadour Press) published this year in commemoration of the fiftieth anniversary of the fall of Singapore. Bingham’s stories depict life during the Second World War in the Singapore and Malaya campaigns which resulted in the capture of thousands of Allied troops and subsequent imprisonment under brutal conditions. Sir Edward ‘Weary’ Dunlop writes, of the stories in this collection, in the foreword: ‘I trust that they will influence and inform this generation and those to come.’

If there is an odd one out to this collection, then it is Six Aces (Banner Books, $30pb) by Lex McAulay. It is the only book that is not about the lot of an infantryman. But, as with the others, it is written by one. Lex McAulay served three tours of Vietnam, a fact reflected in his previous publications which include, among others, When the Buffalo Fight and The Battle of Long Tan. McAulay writes about the heroic experiences of otherwise ordinary people and in this respect this book is a perfect companion for all the others mentioned here. Six Aces tells the stories of six Australian pilots who became aces. It is not a history of the R.A.A.F., it’s too much fun for that!