FAMILY LIFE

Robert Francis Sinclair ( known Francis) was born on 16^th June, 1894 in Nowra, son of Joseph (Joe) Dunbar & Jane Sinclair. Two of his brothers enlisted, Claude, wounded in action & Arthur, who came home in 1915 with his left eye missing.  His father, Joe, also enlisted in 1917 and many of the Sinclair extended family enlisted in both WWI & WWII.

ATTESTATION

He was single horse breaker, eager to do his bit. He enlisted under the name Francis Darcy Sinclair but his registered birth name was Francis Robert. All records, however, are in the name of Francis Darcy

He travelled to Brisbane on 29^th May 1915 to complete his application which showed his next of kin as his father, Joe, of Murwillumbah.

His medical showed he was 22 years 9 months old, 5ft 5 ½ inches tall (1.66m), weighed 130lbs (59kgs), with a medium complexion, brown eyes & dark brown hair.  His eyesight was good

The Examining Medical Officer stated that Francis “can see the required distance with either eye; his heart and lungs are healthy; he has the free use of his joints; and he declares he is not subject to fits of any description. I consider him fit for active service.”  On the second page of the Attestation Paper, he made the following oath in the presence of the Attesting Officer: “I, Francis Darcy Sinclair, swear that I will well and truly serve our Sovereign Lord the King in the Australian Imperial Force until the end of the War … SO HELP ME, GOD.” 

He was Church of England and had a tattoo on his right arm.  He was enlisted as a private into the 13^th Infantry Battalion with service No 2169

TRAINING CAMP LIVERPOOL

When Francis walked into the enlistment office on 29 May 1915, there was no time to waste. His papers were filled out in a rush — name, age, trade, next of kin — before he stood stripped to the waist for the medical inspection. The doctor measured his chest, checked his eyesight, tapped his knees with a reflex hammer, and pronounced him fit for service. With that, he was given the regimental number 2169 and officially became part of the 13th Battalion’s reinforcements.

Within hours he was sent to Liverpool Camp, just outside Sydney. The place was alive with noise — bugles calling orders, boots crunching over gravel, men shouting to one another as they queued for their uniforms. Francis was fitted for his khaki tunic, trousers, puttees, and slouch hat. His kit bag quickly filled with the other essentials of a soldier’s life: a greatcoat, water bottle, mess tin, groundsheet, and bayonet. In between fittings, he received his first inoculations against typhoid, the sting in his arm a small reminder of the larger hardships ahead.

There was little time for anything beyond the basics. Drill instructors barked out commands on the parade ground, teaching the men how to march, halt, and wheel in step. On the rifle range, Francis was introduced to the Lee–Enfield, learning how to load, aim, and clean the weapon that would soon become as familiar as his own hands. Bayonet drill followed, the men lunging forward in unison at straw-filled sacks, while officers stressed the importance of keeping equipment spotless and themselves healthy in the field. The days passed in a blur.

VOYAGE OVERSEAS

Then, on 14 June 1915, Francis reported to the wharf in Sydney where the troopship Wandilla lay waiting. Alongside his comrades, he marched aboard, his boots ringing on the gangway. As the ship’s lines were cast off and the quay began to slip away, the reality of war lay ahead, but for now, the sea breeze carried only the sound of voices and the excitement of men bound for adventure, duty, and the unknown.

The epic voyage across the ocean has been described as “the longest journey to war in the history of the world.” They thought it was the start of a new adventure- for many it was their first time so far away from home. However, after some time at sea the biggest problem turned out to be boredom. On the voyage, due to overcrowding, training was limited to mainly to lectures and a little physical training.

Sleeping & Living Arrangements

Recruits likely slept in a crowded troop deck below, where rows of hammocks or three-tier wooden bunks were crammed close together.

Air below decks could be stuffy, especially in warmer climates, and seasickness was common during the first few days.

Daily Routine

Reveille early each morning, followed by physical exercises on the open decks (weather permitting). There were parades and inspections—officers ensured uniforms, rifles, and kit were clean and in order. Training was a little problematic—drill without much space, rifle maintenance, lectures on military discipline, signalling, and trench warfare theory. The ship’s decks were used for marching in tight circles or practising bayonet thrusts into stuffed sacks. Rifle shooting was impossible at sea, so soldiers learned to strip and clean their weapons until it was second nature.

Meals

Three hearty meals a day were served; breakfast usually consisted of porridge, stew, and tea. Lunch included soup, meat, vegetables, and pudding. Meat, bread with jam and tea was served for dinner. The meals were served in shifts from the ship’s galley. Queues were long, and eating on a rolling ship meant many tried to eat quickly before nausea set in.

Health & Sanitation

Shipboard hygiene was critical—every man was ordered to scrub his section daily to prevent disease. Saltwater baths were the norm, with freshwater rationed for drinking.

The Voyage Experience

Entertainment included church drill, concerts, singalongs, card games, and makeshift cricket matches on deck when the weather allowed. In an attempt to keep up morale, an area of the ship was roped off where regular boxing and wrestling tournaments were held. This became commonly known as the Stoush Stadium. No letters could be sent until they reached port, but men often wrote diaries or unsent letters to be posted later.

The troops engaged in lifebelt drill; a cookhouse on deck; soldiers on fatigues peeling potatoes 'spud bashing'; going to the dentist; barber, pay day; soldiers cleaning personal equipment; medical inspection

CROSSING THE EQUATOR CEREMONY

The crossing the Equator ceremony, ‘Neptune’s Journey,’ was played-out on each troopship.

SIGHTS AT SEA

On the way to Egypt/England, the Ceramic would pass through the Great Australian Bight, cross the Indian Ocean, and stop at Colombo (Ceylon now Sri Lanka) for coal and supplies.

SECURITY

By late 1914, German raiders were active, so lifeboat drills were frequent, and lookouts kept watch for suspicious ships.

APPROACHING EGYPT

After several weeks at sea, the men finally saw the dusty shoreline of Port Said or Alexandria. For most, it was their first sight of a foreign country, and the reality of leaving home truly sank in. Francis would soon exchange the ship’s cramped decks for the sandy training grounds of Egypt, preparing for what lay ahead.

EGYPT AUGUST 1915

The Wandilla eased into harbour under a blazing sun, the shimmering outline of Egypt rising from the sea. For Francis, it was a moment of quiet awe — the first time he had set foot on foreign soil. The harbour was a jumble of small craft, the air heavy with the mingled scents of salt, tar, and exotic spices carried from the nearby markets. From the wharf, the men were loaded into trains bound for the great camps near Cairo, the journey taking them past dusty villages, green strips of irrigated farmland, and the slow, gleaming ribbon of the Nile.

MENA TRAINING CAMP

When the train finally rattled into the siding near Mena Camp, Francis found himself staring at an extraordinary sight — the vast Pyramids looming on the horizon, their ancient stones glowing gold in the late afternoon sun. Rows of khaki tents stretched out across the sand, the dust curling in little eddies around the tent pegs.

Life at Mena was nothing like Liverpool Camp back home. Here, the desert heat was intense even in the early hours, and the days began with the bugler’s call well before sunrise. The men formed up on the sandy parade ground, rifles over their shoulders, boots sinking into the powdery surface as they marched in formation. Drill sessions were longer and harder than anything they had experienced in Australia — endless turns, wheeling movements, and column changes designed to make the battalion move as a single, disciplined unit.

Weapons training was constant. Francis practised rapid loading and firing with his Lee–Enfield until the action felt like second nature. Bayonet drills took on a fierce intensity: lunging, parrying, and withdrawing in perfect rhythm under the watchful eye of the instructors. There was musketry practice at the range, too, where the sound of rifle fire cracked sharply across the desert, the targets standing out as black specks against the glaring sand.

Route marches tested endurance. Fully equipped with packs, rifles, and webbing, the men marched for miles through the heat haze, learning to pace themselves and conserve water. Sand found its way into every seam of clothing, into boots and rifles, and the men soon understood that maintaining their kit — keeping it clean and in working order — could mean the difference between life and death.

There was also instruction in trench construction and maintenance. Under the relentless sun, Francis helped dig and reinforce shallow practice trenches, learning how to build firing steps, drainage channels, and parapets. Though the work was exhausting, it gave the men an idea of the conditions they would soon face on the Gallipoli Peninsula.

Evenings brought some relief. After the day’s training, Francis and his mates might head into Cairo, where the narrow lanes bustled with traders calling their wares and the air was rich with the smell of cooking fires, sweet pastries, and tobacco smoke. The muezzin’s call to prayer echoed over the rooftops, mingling with the laughter of soldiers from across the Empire. On rest days, they visited the Pyramids and posed for photographs, the Sphinx silent and inscrutable behind them.

Yet even in those moments of wonder, the reality of war was never far away. News from Gallipoli trickled back to camp — of heavy casualties, of comrades who had not returned. Each man knew their time was coming.

LEMNOS AUGUST 1915

From the Egyptian desert, Francis and the rest of the 13th Battalion embarked for the Greek island of Lemnos — the forward base for the Gallipoli campaign. The ship’s voyage was shorter than the long haul from Australia, but the air felt different now: the easy chatter of training days was replaced with a quieter, more thoughtful mood. Each man knew that the next time they boarded a transport, it would be to land in a combat zone.

Lemnos was a rugged, windswept island, its small harbour crowded with troopships, supply vessels, and hospital ships riding at anchor. The 13th Battalion’s camp was set up on bare, rocky ground above the bay. Rows of tents were pitched in neat lines, and the men quickly fell into a routine of final preparations.

Drill sessions continued, but now they focused on skills directly needed for Gallipoli. There was intensive musketry practice, bayonet work, and rehearsals for landing from small boats — clambering in and out with full kit, timing their movements, and getting used to the instability of the craft. Officers walked the lines, inspecting weapons, packs, and rations, making sure everything was ready for action.

When the men were not training, they kept busy cleaning rifles, mending gear, or attending briefings on the terrain and enemy positions. Lemnos also served as a point for distributing final equipment — extra ammunition, entrenching tools, and canvas water bags. Medical officers checked that all vaccinations were up to date and dealt with the inevitable coughs, sprains, and minor illnesses that came with camp life.

The island itself could seem deceptively peaceful — the scent of thyme on the breeze, the sound of goat bells on the slopes — but the men knew that this was simply the calm before the storm.

GALLIPOLI AUGUST 1915- HILL 60

When the order came, the battalion formed up on the beach, their kit bags stacked and rifles slung. Boats ferried them to the larger transports that would carry them the last leg. The crossing was tense but uneventful, and soon Francis found himself wading ashore under the steep, scrub-covered slopes of Gallipoli. The 13th moved into positions inland in an area the Australians called Australian Valley, a narrow gully that offered some shelter from Turkish fire.

It was late August, and the campaign had entered one of its fiercest phases. The Allies were determined to capture Hill 60, a low rise of strategic importance overlooking Suvla Bay. For days, the men endured the thunder of artillery, the crack of rifle fire, and the constant rattle of machine-guns. They dug in, extending and strengthening trenches, while carrying food, ammunition, and water forward under cover of darkness.

The attack on Hill 60 began with furious fighting, the slopes littered with scrub and churned earth. Units from the 13th, 14th, 15th and other battalions were thrown into the struggle in waves, each advancing a little further under withering fire. The heat was intense, the air thick with dust and the smell of cordite. Men fought in short, desperate bursts, scrambling forward from one bit of cover to the next.

In Australian Valley, Francis and his comrades faced days of near-constant tension. The trenches were narrow and crowded, dugouts cramped, and movement was often possible only at night. Water was scarce, and the dust clung to every surface, coating rifles, uniforms, and skin. Yet orders kept coming, and the battalion played its part in holding and advancing the line as the battle for Hill 60 raged on.

HILL 60 21^ST AUGUST 1915

The battle for Hill 60 reached its height on 21 August 1915. At first light, the guns opened up, shaking the ground underfoot. Orders came for another push towards the crest. The 13th Battalion, alongside the 15th and other units, moved forward from the cover of Australian Valley, advancing across broken ground studded with low scrub. The air was thick with dust and smoke, and visibility was poor.

Progress was slow and dangerous. Turkish rifles and machine-guns poured fire into the advancing Australians, forcing them to dive for cover, then crawl or rush forward in short bursts. In places, the fighting was hand-to-hand — bayonets flashing, men grappling in the dust before one side or the other gave way. Amid this chaos, runners dashed back with messages, stretcher-bearers worked desperately to drag the wounded to safety, and officers tried to keep their men together in the confusion.

Somewhere in this maelstrom, Francis disappeared. No one in his section could later say for certain what had happened. He may have been struck down in the open ground, his body lying where it fell, or he might have been buried by shellfire. The battlefield was unforgiving, and men could vanish in moments — obscured by smoke, hidden by the broken terrain, or lost in the confusion of retreat and counterattack.

EXCEPTS FROM ONE SOLDIER’S DIARY

“Beginning of the attempt to take Hill 60. A mixed force of Australian, New Zealand and British units attacked the flank of Hill 60 and gained some ground. The British advanced at Suvla against Turkish positions at Scimitar Hill and the so-called 'W' Hills. An Anzac force attacked Hill 60 in stifling heat and a swirling mist. The attack was a failure with more than 5000 British casualties. Many wounded men perished in scrub fires ignited by the bursting shells. Many Australians were hit by Turkish machinegun fire when they attacked across a shallow valley. Those who reached the slope on the far side looked back to see their wounded comrades and soldiers of the Hampshire Regiment caught in a bushfire started by Turkish shells. As uniforms caught fire, grenades and ammunition carried by individual soldiers exploded. The flames, reaching some of the dead or wounded, ignited their clothing, and exploded their bombs and rifle ammunition, and thus pieces of burning cloth or wood were flung to other ledges, starting more fires. Any wounded man who so much as stirred to crawl out of reach of the flames was instantly shot by the Turks.”

MISSING IN ACTION

In the days that followed, the battalion held its position under heavy fire. Search parties could do little; the front line was too close, and any movement in daylight was met with instant Turkish fire. When the roll was called, Francis’s name was unanswered. He was officially listed as “Missing in Action” as of 21 August 1915.

COURT OF ENQUIRY- DECLARED KILLED IN ACTION OCTOBER 1915

Weeks passed with no news. Families at home clung to the hope that a missing man might have been taken prisoner or evacuated wounded. But in Gallipoli, as the fighting ground on, such hopes faded quickly. On 17 October 1915, a Court of Enquiry was convened within the 13th Battalion. These enquiries were formal proceedings, usually held in the field, where officers reviewed reports from eyewitnesses, examined the battalion’s casualty lists, and considered the likelihood of survival. For Francis, the evidence was grim — no sightings after the assault, no record of his evacuation, and no reports from prisoners.

The Court concluded that he had been killed in action on 21 August 1915. The finding was entered into the battalion’s records and sent back through channels to Base Records in Melbourne, where it would be forwarded to his family.

Francis had been on active service for barely three months from the day he left Sydney. His war ended on the scrub-covered slopes below Hill 60, in one of the last desperate actions of the Gallipoli campaign.

FOR HIS SERVICE

Francis was originally buried in Norfolk Trench Cemetery, Gallipoli and on 4^th May 1921 his parents were advised he was now buried at Hill 60 Cemetery, north west of Anzac Cove, his grave is inscribed "Duty done.”

For his service Franis was awarded the 1914-15 Star, British War Medal, and the Victory Medal and his name is recorded on the Murwillumbah War Memorial. His name is recorded on the Roll of Honour  in the Commemorative Area at the Australian War Memorial Number 70 among almost 62,000 Australians who died while serving in the First World War.

His personal effects consisting of postcards, his brush and a soldier’s housewife, which was a small, portable sewing kit that soldiers carried to repair their uniforms and equipment, was forwarded to his parents on 11^th August 1916. His memorial scroll was received on 10^th September 1921, his memorial plaque on 9^th April 1922 & the victory medal on 5^th January 1923. Photos of his grave were received on 7^th October 1921.

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