William McKenzie: born Biggar, Lanarkshire, Scotland 1869 – died Sydney, Australia 1947.
The McKenzie family emigrated to Queensland, Australia in 1884 where two of William’s uncles were already living. The eldest son and a big boy for his age, Will was often in trouble because he liked nothing better than a good fight. The most intriguing aspect of his story for me, was the ‘the Voice’ that he first heard at age seventeen, urging him towards the Salvation Army. This Voice was there to guide him in his ministry and protect him on battlefields in WW1, by giving succinct instructions.
I was intrigued by the image of this big, bluff man listening intently, while all hell raged around him. His story of meeting life’s challenges with energy and faith, seemed naturally to lend itself to a ballad-style account.
“War is nothing short of insensate folly. It is inconclusive in its results and devastating in its ultimate consequences. If there is any other European war after this, then civilisation is a myth and the people no better nor greater than their forebears of the Stone-age.” William McKenzie (Anzac Padre) Gallipoli 1915
Acknowledgements:
Adelaide Ah Kow – ‘William McKenzie, M.C., O.B.E.,O.F. Anzac Padre.’
Simon Moscarda for jamming sessions early in this ballad’s development.
Song sample
A Different Fight – Lyrics
“A horrid ill laddie” his poor mother sighed
For fighting and scrapping were Willie’s delight
And from Biggar to Brisbane through long weeks at sea
Confinement for brawling shamed his family
Fighting McKenzie was destined for
A different fight, a different warWhen lost and despairing he first heard the Voice
That captured his spirit and channelled his choice
To ride and find Bundaberg’s Salvation Hall
Seeking conversion, accepting God’s call
Fighting McKenzie was destined for
A different fight, a different warThen boldly rose Mac from the Penitent Form
And bullockys and farmhands were filled with alarm
Demands for conversion when bellowed with zeal
Caused neighbours who spied him to take to their heels
Fighting McKenzie was destined for
A different fight, a different war‘Twas meetings and War Crys and walking for miles
Insults and tricks met with genial smiles
Led by the Voice through unknown streets to find
The sick and the sinbound, the perplexed in mind
Fighting McKenzie was destined for
A different fight, a different warWith no hesitation he asked to be freed
The troops moral welfare and spiritual need
Would be his best work in the dark days to come
When man’s inhumanity made the world mourn
Fighting McKenzie was destined for
A different fight, a different warOn board ship for Egypt with men disinclined
To welcome a Padre or sing with his kind
Persistance combined with a great hearty voice
To sow seeds of love and respect in ‘his boys’
Fighting McKenzie was destined for
A different fight, a different warFearlessly plunging through Cairo’s hell holes
Where temptation threatened men body and soul
Risking a knife as he disrupted trade
Pleading with, dragging out, boys who had strayed
Fighting McKenzie was destined for
A different fight, a different warIn digging and marching he trained by their sides
And men fit to live and men ready to die
Could late by his lamp find the Lord’s healing balm
In learning the words of the twenty-third psalm
Fighting McKenzie was destined for
A different fight, a different warGallipoli’s trenches and tiers of dead
Paying heed to the Voice, through shell-fire safely led
Down Shrapnel Valley he strode with voice raised
And out crawled the living to join him in Praise
Fighting McKenzie was destined for
A different fight, a different warThrough mud and mire, urgently conscious of time
Glad word passing down France’s Sacrifice Line
Scores of boys buried and buried again
And gathering up discs he shared each mother’s pain
Fighting McKenzie was destined for
A different fight, a different warFarewell best-loved Padre, he and the men grieved
But fears for his health meant he must be relieved
With thanks for his labours from humble and grand
He passed down the ranks, gripped each man by the hand
Fighting McKenzie was destined for
A different fight, a different warHuge rapturous crowds gathered wherever he spoke
The patriots, the maimed and the heartbroken folk
And none but his own knew the price he had paid
The tormented mind and the nerves that were frayed
Fighting McKenzie was destined for
A different fight, a different warWar’s horrors relived again night after night
No slumber, no rest in the sounds, smells and sights
So restless, choosing the floor for his bed
Then nightmares receding – memory fled
Fighting McKenzie was destined for
A different fight, a different war
© Words and Music by Grace McC. B. Reid