Message in a bottle inspires young writer

On June 30, 1916, a young sapper named William Williams from Hawthorn wrote a goodbye letter to his parents, placed it in a bottle and threw it from a ship bound for Europe and war.

The discovery of the bottle a year on, a premonition of William's death by his father, and the correspondence between the young soldier and his parents is the inspiration for 16-year-old Karratha author Emily Barratt's next novel.

Currently studying Year 11 at Karratha Senior High School, Emily has already published four children's fantasy books and became intrigued by the story of her great uncle after a Year 8 project on Anzacs.

"I asked my dad if he knew of anyone who fought in the First World War, and he said 'let's ask grandma'," she said.

What Emily and her father Mark discovered were stacks of letters, as well as an audio recording made by William's sister about living in Melbourne during the war and about William's death.

Mr Barratt said it had been an interesting journey reading the letters from when the young sapper was first told he was leaving.

"As I suppose was typical with the war effort back in those days, everything was kept as hush-hush as they possibly could so they didn't know when they were leaving," he said.

Using the audio recordings and letters, Emily hopes to build a much larger story, but being so close to Anzac Day she felt she would write a short story about William and his family titled Message in a Bottle - A Note From a Sapper.

The story is set in 1917, just after the South Australian couple found the bottle containing William's goodbye message to his family.

His family then received the bottle only three weeks before a cable message which notified them of the young man's death.

Message in a bottle – “A note from a sapper”

By Emily Barratt

Laurice awoke with a start. She sat rigidly upright and glanced across the small, moonlit room to see her older sister Grace equally as terrified. Sounds of terror from their father across the short hallway echoed through their modest house in Kinkora Rd, Hawthorn, Victoria. But they were too scared to investigate.The soothing sounds of mother’s voice told them all was ok so they gathered their bed robes with Laurice also securing her bed doll and walked to their parents room and knocked ever so softly.

“Come in sweethearts.”

Father, wet with perspiration and breathing heavily was sitting up in his bed. Laurice sat next to him with her bed robe wrapped tightly. He placed his hands on her shoulders, bent forward and kissed her forehead and noticed the sweet soap aroma fresh from the previous nights bath.

“It was only a bad dream,” he whispered to the girls. “Now go back to bed. Everything is ok.”

In his mind he knew far away in France his oldest Son Will, had been killed. He saw it vividly that night in his dream but did not have the heart to tell anyone. He even saw the way in which his boy, just 19 years old was shot in the head. William D. Williams did not want to believe such a thing, but such a vivid account must be true? He glanced at his French carriage clock, sitting on the dresser: 4:30am.

Unable to sleep any further William got up and made an excuse to his wife Helena that he was to light the fire under the copper heater. Walking slowly down the hall to the back door so as not to awake the family he walked outside. The new day was just visible. A very slight orange hue was just appearing in the eastern sky. As he usually did to clear his thoughts, he sat on his favourite chair under the veranda and glanced to the Southern sky. With the stars still dominating the morning dawn he searched for his favourite, because of its intense red colour. There it was. Shining brilliantly and defiantly as ever, the northern most star of the Southern Cross.

As William sat, he recollected the dozens of letters received from Willie since his embarkation in June the previous year. He had read them so many times that he lived the journey vividly, almost as if he was alongside his boy. He recalled the days before Willie’s embarkation and learning the news of his imminent departure with the 10th Field Company Engineers – 1st reinforcements. Willie was not at home, but with hundreds of other enlisted men hastily training at the Expeditionary Force Encampment at Broadmeadows, the other side of Melbourne.

William swallowed deeply and tears filled his eyes. He didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to his eldest son. None of his family did. He recollected Willie’s words in a letter from Broadmeadows before departure:

Don’t worry, it had to come. I would rather it be this way than a prolonged farewell.

Two days later Willie was aboard the HMAT Runic steaming across the Great Australian Bight, heading to war.

It made William think of a very special letter. He walked back inside to the drawing room and opened his sheoak roll-top bureau. Within its confines laid a small, single, weathered note from his son:

At Sea. June 30, 1916. To my Mother & Dad. All well. Everything going A1. Don’t worry. Will.

William smiled to himself as he read it again, again and again. He fought back tears as he stoically, proudly thought of his boy knowing he had raised a caring honest lad. This message in a bottle had been found on a beach on the Yorke Peninsula in South Australia only 3 weeks earlier and thoughtfully forwarded by the finder from Warooka to the loving hands of its authors parents. William could not clear his thoughts of his nightmare and tried reconciling the thought that maybe the extraordinary chance in a million of the note finding its way home, so to might Willie arrive safely home.

By now Helena and the kids had awoken. Laurice was playing outside under the apricot tree, savouring the sweet flavours of the last of the sun ripened fruit she had just picked.

William stayed in the drawing room, reading through the dozens of pages of letters until he came to the last, having just arrived a few days prior. Willie was relating his toils in rebuilding the trenches in France and that he was still awaiting transfer of extra funds from his parents as the money being paid from the Government wasn’t enough to get by.

As he read the final sentence a knock at the door echoed down the passage, but he was drawn to the last few words:

Goodbye my darling Mum, Dad, goodbye Harry, Grace & Laurice, we’ll soon be together again, but until then I should say ‘au revoir’ or goodbye. From your ever loving ever remembering boy. Willie.

Helena walked into the drawing room, pale and trembling. The knock on the door was a cable delivery from the Defence Department.