Earlier this month, the news from Australia was profoundly disturbing. An element of the government there suggested that the Aussie population would be asked to avoid the use of “Mate” in addressing other people, Aussie or foreign. When John Howard the Prime Minister heard of this proposed edict, he denounced it – which is as it should be. If Australia were ever to ban the use of “Mate,” it would be similar to Americans foregoing references to “anonymous sources” in news reports from government informants in Washington.
The newspaper, “The Australian,” reports that Mate goes back to a time in the 1300’s when there were German roots of the English language. The newspaper reports that Reuters had a dispatch saying, “G’day Mate. Now I have to call you Sir.” How un-Australian. The term came to Australia with the British who originally used it to describe sailors, convicts and laborers.
Those of you who have spent some idle hours reading my essays know of my fondness for the Aussies. They are remarkably like the folks who inhabit this country. If someone were to send me away from these shores, Australia would be high on my list for a future place to call home.
And so the attack on “Mate” strikes me as a giant step backward. My enlistment in the U.S. Army in World War II was served in large measure with troops from the British Empire. In many cases, we ate with them and had a presence on British bases. And from time to time, it was our sad duty to attend their funerals, which they perform very tastefully.
In the American Army, particularly overseas, the name “Joe” came into common use in World War II. At that time, none of us had name tags sewn onto our uniforms, which seems to be the case today. If one GI had to address another GI, name unknown, he would most likely refer to him as “Joe”, as in “Hey Joe, can I borrow your drill?” Perhaps the transient nature of the Army in moving from one base to another may explain our unfamiliarity with the names of other GI’s. Having said that, there is not much more to be said for use of the name “Joe.” Everyone seemed to respond to that greeting and might even tell you that, “My name is Pete Jones, from Arkadelphia, Arkansas. Where do you come from?” No one seemed to take offence at being called “Joe.”
When we were dealing with enlisted personnel of the British Empire from places such as Canada, Australia and the U.K., we always believed the proper form of address if the person’s name was unknown was “Mate.” There were no exceptions. Calling a man “Mate” seemed to imply brotherhood. So always it was “Mate.”
After the war when John Hampton and Randy Payne of Sydney became known to me, there were discussions about proper use of the English language. For example, they deplored “at this point in time,” which also met my strong disapproval. Randy and John reported that in Australia, even the ladies of the night would try to entice a customer by calling him “Matey Boy.” So you see, Mate and even Matey Boy were an integral part of English speech. Randy and John were speaking of others in the Matey Boy case, not to themselves, of course.
When addressed in that form, it seemed to me that British troops would not ever tell you where they came from as in the case of the GI from Arkadelphia, our example. This seemed to me to be a case of modesty. It had nothing to do with hiding one’s place of origin. When asked specifically about a hometown, a proper answer would be given. But British Empire troops were more modest than the Americans.
There is one more experience that should be added to this report about the use of the “Mate.”
The American Army in WWII had a practice called “Detached Service.” My own case is a pretty good example. Soon after landing from a troop ship in Dakar, Senegal, we were taken to an American base some 35 miles away near a town called Rufisque, Senegal. We were being sent to Africa, or to Europe, or to Asia as Aerial Engineers. That was in January, 1943. The U.S. Army did not disclose our ultimate destination to anyone, especially to my fellow GI’s as a matter of security. In fact, we belonged to an Army organization called the “Air Transport Command” which included the “Air Ferrying Service or Command.” In any case, there was a battle in Kasserine Pass in Tunisia where the First American Army was being beaten.
The Army in its wisdom decided that more air support would drive Field Marshal Rommel’s Afrika Korps away. Several of us were named to serve with the 12th U.S. Army Air Force in a detached service capacity. This means that you fly all the missions, but the promotions in rank most often went to the regular members of the 12th Air Force. That is the way the Army worked. There was no grievance system. We flew and hoped that we wouldn’t wind up being shot down over enemy territory or being killed or wounded. So you see, we had a special reason for the war to end.
In any case, because the English Royal Air Force had all it could handle in defending London against the daily raids of the German Luftwaffe, the U.S. 12th Air Force was asked to support units of the British 8th Army in the field. The 8th was responsible for fighting German forces in Africa and on the Adriatic side of Italy. The American 5th Army under
Mark Clark, was responsible for the western part of Italy along the Tyrrhenian Sea.
In supporting the British 8th Army, we used British bases as a general rule. It was a Spartan existence and the food was pretty bad. There was some bitching and complaining, but it was a job that had to be done. Besides, my mother was Irish and, like most Harps, could not cook well. So serving with the Brits made me feel quite at home, at least at meal time.
Now having treated Mate and Joe, we turn to “Yank” and a recounting of an incident involving the polyglot Army, the British Eighth. The Eighth included troops from the U.K. as well as free French, Poles, Czechs and others, hence, it was called a polyglot army.
This incident happened in a small base near Cerignola in the Apulia Region of Italy. The body of a young Scottish soldier had been recovered and was being buried at the British base. The dead soldier was 21 or 22 years, my age.
A few Americans attended the service along with some troops of the British 8th Army. There were no frills at this base, certainly no brass band. At funeral services for fallen British soldiers, there is a priest to
give the last Anglican rites. It is also required that a song, “The Last Post” be played. Ordinarily, that song is played by a military brass band in full dress uniforms. The Brits do this well. In this case, however, there was no brass band at this small forward base. A Tommy had a trumpet that he used to sound “The Last Post” for his fallen comrade. Maybe it was better not to have a brass band. The trumpet solo gave this 21 year old soldier much to think about.
At that point, it had seemed to me that the service was about to conclude. But then came another Tommy from Scotland with a bagpipe. He played a solemn song called “The Flowers of the Forest.” Apparently, it is played at farewell services for soldiers from Scotland.
The lyrics to “The Flowers of the Forest” are now in my possession. No two ways about “Flowers,” it is a Scots song. To show what this song is all about, here is Verse Six:

We’ll hae nae mair liltin, at the ewe milkin’
Women and bairns are dowie and wae,
Sighin’ and moanin’ on like green loamin’
The flowers of the forest are all wede away.

The other verses are no more clear to an American ear than Verse Six.
Hearing “The Flowers of the Forest” played on a bagpipe by a Scottish soldier to honor another Scottish soldier, of my age, was most touching. The bagpipes caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. If someone had asked me to sing the Scottish lyrics, there would have been dozens of mispronunciations. My first excuse would be that that song was previously unknown to me. The rest of my excuse is that tears were in my eyes.
During the funeral ceremony, an 8th Army Scot stood next to me. He was perhaps 35-37 years old and had elected to spend his working career in the British Army. In our Army, he would be called “a lifer” in that he had dedicated his life to soldering.
This incident took place 62 or 63 years ago. There are no contemporaneous notes, but my impression has always been that the lifer’s name was Ian MacDuff. He was a sergeant. His name is not important. What he had to say was very important.
A thought has to be recognized here. The Scots, the Welsh and the Irish comprise the Celtic race. We don’t regard the other Celts as cousins. Quite to the contrary, we regard them as sisters and brothers. So MacDuff’s support was more than welcome at this solemn service.
When the service ended, MacDuff looked at me and saw tears. He was a good sized man. He shook my hand and placed his left hand on my shoulder. He said, “Yank, at times like this, we must all stay strong.” My best recollection is that Sgt. MacDuff was told, “Thank you, Mate.”
Those of you who know me are aware that the phrase “Stay strong” has long been my standard advice to all my friends. I am in MacDuff’s debt for offering the phrase to me. It has stood the test of time. Oh, and one more thing. When MacDuff spoke to me, that tough old lifer had a few tears of his own in his eyes.
And so this is one more occasion when my intention was to avoid talk of my war experiences has been somewhat violated. But this is one of the few times in 62 years that my rule has been bent. Recent reports tell us
that an Iraqi man said, “From the moment of our birth, we are all waiting to die.” And so before my departure to wear angel wings and white summer sandals, it seemed appropriate to recite the story of
Sgt. MacDuff and “Stay strong.” And, it gave me a chance to write about “Mate,” “Joe,” and what U.S. soldiers were called, “Yank.” They were good names. They should be preserved forever.
E. E. CARR
September 22, 2005
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I have a baseball from Pop, given to me when I was born, that says “Stay Strong” on it. Connor (and Jack?) have them too. I remember talking with Connor once about what we’d take out of our rooms in Austin if the house ever caught fire, and that baseball made both of our lists. It’s funny to have waited 26 years and change to figure out where that expression came from!