- Kerry Duscha, 64, from Townsville, Qld, learned her grandfather Duncan was an Anzac hero who served in WWI
- Learning his war stories, she organised a trip to retrace his steps
- It was an 11-day Anzac Day battlefield pilgrimage to the Western Front with 14 other travellers
Here Kerry shares her story in her own words.
‘Faster! Faster,’ I cried, holding on to the wheelbarrow sides as my grandfather Duncan McDougall pushed me around the garden.
‘Hold on tight,’ he grinned.
It was 1963 and, as a toddler, I loved spending time with Grandad, 73, gardening and tending to his vegie patch.
It had long been his favourite place, and brought him the peace he often craved after his time fighting in WWI.
Curious as I grew a little older, I asked him questions about his time in the war.
‘I began to unravel his story.’
‘It wasn’t a happy time,’ he’d say, when I asked about his medals.
Memories of our time together were made even more precious when he passed away in 1964, aged 75, from heart failure.
Years later as an adult, I became more curious about Grandad’s history.
After speaking with family, I began to unravel his story.
‘Sometimes he’d tell me stories of his time in Belgium and France,’ my mum, Alice, told me when I asked about Grandad’s service.
‘He was only 24 when he joined the 41st Infantry Battalion,’ she added.
I thought of my own kids, Mitchell, 35, Blake, 33, and Chelsea, 31, and my heart broke thinking of them having to face the horrors of war.
I discovered from the National Archives online records that he’d begun his service on the Western Front in December 1916, enduring a harsh Christmas in the freezing trenches near Armentières, France.
As my eyes scanned the pages with images of Grandad in uniform, I was transported back in time.
‘I wanted to retrace Grandad’s steps.’
I learned that, in March to April 1917, he served in Flanders, Belgium. Reading on, I discovered after six months on the Western Front, he was involved in the Battle of Passchendaele, one of the bloodiest campaigns, from July to November 1917.
The armies under British command suffered some 275,000 casualties, among these were 38,000 Australians.
On October 8, 1917, Grandad was deep in the fighting at Ypres, Flanders. Somehow, he survived the horrendous battle.
After another freezing Christmas on the Western Front, he was back in France in January 1918.
Then, on May 25, 1918, he was struck with mustard gas and phosgene by German soldiers at Villers-Bretonneux, before being cared for at Monastery Bois L’Abbe.
The loss of sight in his left eye led to him being sent to England to recover, then he came home to Australia on January 11, 1919, with a British War Medal and Victory Medal.
The ones I’d always asked about, I realised.
While Grandad was one of the ‘lucky’ ones who survived and returned, he wasn’t unscathed. The horrors had left him with some wounds and PTSD.
Reading about what he’d lived through, I felt proud of everything he endured.
‘I’d love to retrace Grandad’s steps one day,’ I told Mum.
My work as a travel manager saw me organise hundreds of trips a year, and now I felt compelled to return to where Grandad fought so bravely.
‘That would mean the world,’ Mum replied.
In April 2024 I organised an 11-day Anzac Day battlefield pilgrimage to the Western Front, with 14 other Townsville travellers via Mat McLachlan Battlefield Tours.
The group included other descendants of veterans, making it even more special.
As the plane took off, my tummy fluttered with anticipation. I was elated when we touched down.
During our first stop on April 24, we travelled through the Somme region and visited Villers-Bretonneux, the main site of Australia’s commemoration of those who served on the Western Front.
‘I was overwhelmed with pride for their sacrifice.’
Visiting the Australian National Memorial, I felt like Grandad was with me.
Reading the names of those who fought, and died, for our freedom, I was overwhelmed with pride for their sacrifice.
The next day, April 25, was Anzac Day. The tour group and I travelled to be at the dawn service at Villers-Bretonneux, where Grandad had fought and been gassed 105 years earlier.
As over 3000 people fell silent to remember the fallen, goosebumps rose on my arms.
‘I was full of gratitude.’
That evening, we travelled north to Menin Gate in Belgium, where the names of 54,000 missing British and Commonwealth soldiers are recorded, for the last post ceremony.
Placing our tribute on the grounds where Grandad and his peers showed such courage, I fought back tears.
Over the next nine days we toured through Tyne Cot, the Commonwealth war cemetery in Passchendaele, before visiting the battlefield in Ypres.
On each tour, I was overwhelmed by the hundreds of thousands of names of the men who lost their lives. It emphasised how lucky it was to be here at all, thankful that Grandad survived.
Back home, I was full of gratitude.
‘You now know more than I ever did,’ Mum said.
This Anzac Day I’ll be saying a prayer for Grandad and every other war hero.
It’s so important to acknowledge the freedom we enjoy thanks to our forefathers, who faced peril, hardship, loneliness, and sadness.
Lest we forget.
