Just finished my latest read—another FitzSimons Aussie epic. This could be the last one, but let’s be honest, every now and then you spot a FitzSimons book going cheap, and you just can’t help yourself. Anyway, here’s a very Aussie review of The Last Charge of the Australian Light Horse by Peter FitzSimons.
Peter FitzSimons has once again spun a bloody ripper of a yarn with The Last Charge of the Australian Light Horse, diving headfirst into one of the most dashing, dust-covered, and downright legendary moments in Australian military history. True to form, he doesn’t just tell the story—he throws you right into the saddle, spurs digging in, dust clogging your throat, and bullets whizzing past your ears.
This is the tale of the bush-born, tough-as-old-boots Australian Light Horsemen, a mob of larrikins who knew how to ride like the wind, fight like the devil, and take the mickey out of their pommy officers when the situation called for it—which was often. FitzSimons follows their journey from the hellhole of Gallipoli (If you remember the movie Gallipoli, Mel Gibson’s character and his mates were on the shores of Gallipoli as part of the reinforcements—men from the 3rd Light Horse Brigade, sent in to hold the line.). Then to the scorching deserts of the Middle East, where they truly came into their own. The grand finale, of course, is the famous charge at Beersheba in 1917—where, against all odds and with their bayonets fixed (because they weren’t issued proper sabres, the poor buggers), they galloped straight into the teeth of the Turkish defences and won the day.
FitzSimons doesn’t hold back in dishing out credit where it’s due. General Harry Chauvel, the no-nonsense Aussie commander who knew his men and how best to use them, gets a well-earned nod. So too do the horses—especially the legendary Bill the Bastard, a beast so mean-spirited only a handful of blokes could ride him, and Midnight, whose tragic fate is one for the ages. Even Banjo Paterson pops up, because of course he does.
One of the more interesting takes in the book is how FitzSimons deals with T.E. Lawrence, the so-called “Lawrence of Arabia.” Now, while the old boy has had more than his fair share of the limelight, FitzSimons makes sure the Aussies and Kiwis who slogged it out in the Middle Eastern campaign don’t get brushed aside in favour of one plucky Brit in fancy robes. Lawrence had his role, sure, but he wasn’t the be-all and end-all, and FitzSimons does a cracking job of setting the ledger straight.
There’s also a big wrap for British General Sir Edmund Allenby, who took over the whole shebang in mid-1917. FitzSimons paints him as a proper old-school warrior—sharp as a tack, tough as boot leather, and exactly the sort of bloke you’d want in charge of a campaign going pear-shaped. Unlike his predecessor, General Archibald Murray, whose leadership at Gaza saw the troops copping a hammering, Allenby got stuck in, took charge, and turned the whole thing around. Under his command, the Australians weren’t just cannon fodder; they were a key part of the strategy, and by the time they rode into Damascus, the war in the Middle East was all but won.
Now, FitzSimons being FitzSimons, there are a few moments where the storytelling goes full theatre, with imagined dialogue, big booming action sequences, and the odd comparison to the British Light Brigade in Crimea. He also leans hard into the good old “brilliant Aussies versus clueless British brass” trope, which, while not entirely untrue, could probably do with a bit more nuance.
What FitzSimons does best is bring history to life in a way that makes you feel like you’re right there in the thick of it—sharing a joke around the campfire, cursing the officers who wouldn’t know one end of a horse from the other, and thundering towards Beersheba, bayonets gleaming, ready to make history. It’s a wild, rollicking ride that does the Light Horse proud.