A frustrated ghost

My new book, Spirits of Tasmania, is coming along well and will be released before Christmas. Here’s another tale to whet your appetite.

The Lisping Colonel

Sitting on a park bench outside Anglesea Barracks one evening, I met a handsome man in an officer’s uniform dating from the late 1800s. Colonel Edward spoke perfectly in a beautiful accent, which proves that physical handicaps disappear in the spirit world.

My name really is Edward but my friends called me Ted. I was sent out in the very first days of establishing an army quarters in Hobart. Which year it was befuddles me and perchance you may be able to check the records; what I do recall is that the town was in its infancy and very small compared to now.

When I arrived from England the amount of organising and work was daunting. The soldiers who were sent out from England were a smart bunch, but the ones recruited here were an unruly mob with no discipline. My job was to whip them into shape and get some organisation into the regiment.

I was a tall, erect man of good physical appearance and one look from me could make a private’s knees quiver. But as soon as I opened my mouth the discipline I had established from my stern appearance crumbled away and the men I was addressing had trouble to stop themselves from falling down laughing.

You see, I had this terrible affliction­—a shocking lisp—and, to make matters worse, a stammer. Although not serious, it made me sound like a fool. I had a great deal of trouble establishing respect with the men and it was eventually decided that I was best to occupy a desk. This did not suit me at all and I was stifled by the paperwork; but nevertheless, good army training stood me in good stead and I accepted my responsibilities as I must.

War broke out and I knew I would get my chance. Lisp or no lisp, I would be sent to battle, or so I thought. But alas, I never was given the oppurtunity. No horse and sword for me, but this damned desk I was to ride.

The fear was that at the front I would give an order and the men would be so busy laughing they would get their damned heads blown off.

So, being a frustrated colonel, I return to the barracks from time to time, just to soak up the atmosphere and to see the way things are run today. Much too lenient to my mind, and not enough discipline; but now it’s not for me to say, especially with the way I talked.
I am not unhappy when I return here, just curious and in need to get the feel of the old place again.

—Colonel Edward