Return To Civilian Life
Sing returned to Australia on submarine guard duty in late July 1918. An army medical report from 23 November 1918 noted that he had gunshot wounds in the left shoulder, back, and left leg, and had suffered gas poisoning. The report stated that his general health was 'good' but that he complained of coughing upon exertion. It recognised that Sing's disability were the result of service, was permanent, and recommended that he be discharged as permanently unfit for service. Following his departure from the army, he briefly turned his hand to sheep farming, but the land he was given was of poor quality. He then worked as a gold miner.
According to some accounts, Sing and his wife were honoured by the local community when they arrived in Proserpine, Queensland, in late 1918. Other accounts, however, state that although Sing arranged for passage from Scotland to Australia for his wife, there was no evidence that she made the journey. If Sing's wife did come to Australia, it appears that she left her husband after a few years; Tate suggests that the "transition from the green hills and ancient culture of Edinburgh to the dust and rough life of the mining district around Clermont must have been traumatic for Elizabeth Sing" and might have been a reason for her departure.
Read more about this topic: Billy Sing
Famous quotes containing the words return to, return and/or life:
“At twelve, the disintegration of afternoon
Began, the return to phantomerei, if not
To phantoms. Till then, it had been the other way:
One imagined the violet trees but the trees stood green,
At twelve, as green as ever they would be.
The sky was blue beyond the vaultiest phrase.”
—Wallace Stevens (1879–1955)
“I have often wondered how they manage to get return envelopes which miss, by one-quarter of an inch, fitting the blank you are supposed to return. They say, “Please fill out and return the enclosed envelope,” and the enclosed envelope is always one-quarter of an inch too small.”
—Robert Benchley (1889–1945)
“The fate of the poor shepherd, who, blinded and lost in the snow-storm, perishes in a drift within a few feet of his cottage door, is an emblem of the state of man. On the brink of the waters of life and truth, we are miserably dying.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)