Charles Bean established himself in the highest echelon of war correspondents, not only for his monumental effort in chronicling the exploits of the Australian forces but also for his great vision – both in recognising the importance of recording our history for future generations and in his push to establish a national war memorial. (Luckily, he lived to play an important role in making the War Memorial in Canberra a reality as the chairman of the board of management.)
For some years after the war ended there was an understandable abhorrence of war and anything associated with it. In Australia this even extended to many schoolteachers, who resisted the study of our contribution in World War I as an endorsement of war. Bean took the longer, wider view as he wrote in the foreword to his summary volume Anzac to Amiens, originally published in 1946 when Bean was 67:
There is little fear that a short history, written largely for teachers and school libraries, will meet today among teachers the disapproval which it would have met for many years after the First World War. Not that the detestation of war was greater than now; but there was a widespread feeling, not merely that military operations bulked too largely in history – which is true, despite the immense influence of wars on almost every phase of human development – but that, sustaining a pride in the military efforts of our countrymen, the history of war encouraged war.
Bean here has incisively summed up the importance of our learning of the achievements and sacrifices of our Diggers, not just in World War I but in subsequent conflicts. We should do it to honour those who sacrificed their lives, their health, their futures, so we could enjoy freedom. As the original introduction to the guide to the Australian War Memorial states:
The collection consists of the documentary records of the Australian fighting forces, and the pictures, photographs, dioramas and other models, as well as the material relics, of their campaigns. The gathering of these relics began on the battlefields of World War I, and the decision that they should become part of the nation’s war memorial was made by the Commonwealth on a suggestion from the battlefield in 1917.
Conceived at Anzac on Gallipoli, born amid the thunder of the guns at Bullecourt in France, the Memorial has been raised by the living members of the Australian forces to their fallen mates. It constitutes not a general museum portraying war, much less one glorifying it, but a memorial conceived, founded and, from first to last, worked for by Australia’s soldiers, sailors and airmen.
It’s the spiritual element that sets the Australian War Memorial apart. Right from your first step inside you feel a sense of reverence. This is missing in many other war museums, which cater first for material relics, weapons and examples of battles. The Memorial is a shrine, an exhibition and a research centre.
The cloisters of the sacred Assembly, which leads across to the Hall of Memory and features the names of all those who gave their lives for the liberty we enjoy, set the tone. The Shrine, or the Hall of Memory, honours the ideals for which the fallen sacrificed their lives. The various stained-glass windows represent the qualities which we value in our soldiers: comradeship, patriotism, chivalry, loyalty, endurance, audacity, coolness under fire, resourcefulness, devotion, and independence. It’s a fitting tribute to all those who didn’t return home, and it’s the centrepiece that gives meaning to the superb displays and collections which form the rest of the Memorial.
The popularity of the Australian War Memorial is one of the heartening indicators of our national maturity. It is in fact our most popular tourist destination, with more than a million visitors each year, many of them schoolchildren who come from all around the nation. Indeed, the growing interest of young Australians in visiting the Memorial, attending Anzac Day dawn services and marches, making pilgrimages to Gallipoli and trekking the Kokoda Track sets us apart from many other nations, where it’s usually the older brigade who take an interest in their history. Many young Aussies are searching for their roots and for an understanding of what it means to be an Australian. Understanding the spirit of the Digger is an essential step in their quest.
Virtually every suburb and town across Australia has some memorial to those who served and died in the Great War. The creation and subsequent growth of Anzac Day as a day of national reflection shows the depth of the respect for our veterans.
As with so many great traditions, the Anzac Day dawn service started almost by accident. The late Reverend Arthur Ernest White, a Church of England padré to the 44th Battalion of the 1st AIF, had conducted a 4 am service before the embarkation of the early Anzac forces from Albany, Western Australia. Albany was the departure point for the Anzacs’ epic journey into history. By coincidence, on his return after the war, his first parish appointment was back to Albany. To commemorate Anzac Day in 1923, he decided to repeat his service:
Albany was the last sight of land these Anzac troops saw after leaving Australian shores and some of them never returned. We should hold a service here at the first light of dawn each Anzac Day to commemorate them.
The dawn service was so powerful it was soon emulated and quickly spread through the country.
It’s significant that while Britain and other European nations commemorate the end of World War I the day it officially ended – Armistice Day or Remembrance Day, 11 November – with a minute’s silence at exactly 11 am, Australia and New Zealand chose a day with completely different connotations. Instead of celebrating a day of victory, we commemorate the courage and the sacrifices of our veterans on the anniversary of the day our Anzacs landed on Gallipoli.
While the general population in Australia began the long process of returning to normality, the AIF was officially disbanded on 1 April 1921. Two days earlier, the Royal Australian Air Force was created, largely from those who had flown with the Australian Flying Corps in France, Palestine and Egypt.
By the mid 1920s, all the lessons we had learned from our lack of preparation prior to World War I had been forgotten. The government of the day decided to switch the emphasis for our defensive core from the Army to the Navy. In 1928 our permanent naval strength was around 5000, while the permanent military force had dwindled to a mere 1750 men.
The Great Depression saw this situation deteriorate even further and, in October 1929, the newly elected Scullin Labor government honoured its election promise to abolish compulsory military training. The plan now was for a volunteer army of 35,000 plus 7000 senior cadets. This was the Militia, and it replaced the Citizen Military Forces. The size of the Army reached a new low when Duntroon was closed down and moved to Sydney’s Victoria Barracks with a total of 30 cadets in training there. But the decline continued so that by 1932 the permanent army force had dropped to 1536 – lower than it had been when the federal government took over control of the defence forces from the states 29 years earlier! The Citizen Military Forces’ level of 46,000 in 1929 fell to 28,000 by 1932.
Much of the reduction was justified at the time by the global push for disarmament, which continued even in the face of some clear signs of trouble brewing when Japan invaded Manchuria in 1931, showing up the ineffectiveness of the League of Nations in the process. Japan withdrew from the League as it set its course for expansion in Asia. In 1933, Adolf Hitler seized power in Germany and later that year pulled his country out of the League. Two years later, the other main player in the coming conflict revealed his hand. Under its dictator, Benito Mussolini, Italy invaded Ethiopia. It ignored the subsequent economic sanctions applied this time by the League of Nations and proceeded to conquer Ethiopia, only then withdrawing from the League.
The threats were growing. The stage was set. Yet the Australian government continued its reliance on London for global strategic intelligence and planning. In essence, we relied on Britain to maintain our security against the growing Japanese threat to our region. The understanding was that Britain would use its naval base at Singapore to protect us.
An increasing number of our experienced defence personnel had grave misgivings about this plan. Many had first-hand experienc
e of the exigencies of war, and knew that if Britain were caught up in a conflict that threatened its own security it would relegate our needs to the bottom of the pile. They called for our Army to be beefed up urgently so we could protect ourselves long enough for our allies to come to our aid in a worst-case scenario. Our government eventually acted in 1938, prompted by Hitler’s invasion of Austria. But, although spending on our armed forces was doubled, it was too little and came from too small a base. Events in Europe were gathering pace, and by 1939 British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain’s response to a query from his Australian counterpart, Joe Lyons, showed a worrying lack of conviction:
In the event of war with Germany and Italy, should Japan join against us, it would still be His Majesty’s Government’s full intention to despatch a fleet to Singapore. If we were fighting against such a combination never envisaged in our earlier plans, the size of that fleet would necessarily be dependent of (a) the moment when Japan entered the war and (b) what losses, if any, our opponents or ourselves had previously sustained. It would however be our intention to achieve three main objectives:
(i) the prevention of any major operations against Australia, New Zealand or India.
(ii) to keep open our sea communications.
(iii) to prevent the fall of Singapore.
Towards the end of 1938, many Australians were joining the Army and the Militia in response to a government campaign to attract recruits. The Militia numbers jumped from 35,000 in September 1938 to 43,000 by the end of the year and to 80,000 by mid 1939. But there was of course no equipment for these new recruits because we’d left it too late, and the hasty orders we’d placed with British suppliers were overtaken by their own army’s urgent demands.
Noted military historian David Horner did not pull any punches in his book Crisis of Command:
It is now generally agreed that the Australian defence policy between the wars and up to the fall of Singapore was at the best, naively optimistic, and at the worst, some might say, close to treason.
CHAPTER 8
Here we go Again
Australia’s direct involvement in World War II was inevitable once Hitler unleashed his forces against Poland early on 1 September 1939. Most Australians already knew that their government had committed itself to supporting Britain’s stance against Germany. The policy of trying to appease Germany and Italy in their aggressive expansion plans had failed. Britain and France jointly warned Hitler that if he invaded Poland they would declare war. On the evening of 3 September at 9.15 pm, without consulting Parliament, Prime Minister Robert Menzies announced on radio that we were at war, just 20 years and ten months after the last one ended:
It is my melancholy duty to inform you officially that in consequence of the persistence by Germany in her invasion of Poland, Great Britain has declared war upon her and that as a result, Australia is also at war …
Hitler’s non-aggression pact with Russia sealed Poland’s fate. It eliminated the threat of a double front for Hitler and it split Polish territory between Germany and Russia, which moved into eastern Poland on 17 September.
The day after Australia entered the war, the Chiefs of Staff Committee was created, made up of the chiefs of the Army, the RAN and the RAAF, to give advice to the War Cabinet. But, unlike World War I, when the Australian government immediately offered Britain an expeditionary force (the 1st AIF), this time the government was aware of a wildcard in the game – Japan. And, more realistically, we were probably even less prepared in 1939 than we had been in 1914.
In late November the government said it would send the newly raised 6th Division to Palestine for training, then to join the British Expeditionary Force in France. This division had been formed from volunteers outside the existing Militia structure. There were echoes of 1914 as loved ones farewelled the men of the 2nd AIF on 20 January 1940 and 11 transport ships, carrying the 16th Brigade of the 6th Division, sailed from Fremantle. By February they were camped in Palestine but it would be almost a year before they first saw action: a successful capture of the Italian stronghold at Bardia. The 6th Division was led by a Gallipoli and Western Front veteran Lieutenant General Sir Thomas Blamey.
David Horner summed up the situation in Crisis of Command:
In March 1940 there were 4000 permanent soldiers, 3000 militia permanently called up and some 5000 in garrison units. The militia numbered 62,300. Half had done three months training and the second half were about to begin; after that they were to revert to the pre-war system – that is a 12-day camp plus home training. With 20,000 national servicemen also being trained, the defence of Australia rested on about 75,000 men.
(We can put this in perspective by recalling that we sent 300,000 troops overseas in World War I, of which 60,000 were killed.) Around this time, the government decided to form another division, the 7th, which would join with the 6th to form the 1st Australian Corps of the 2nd AIF. Blamey was given command of the Corps, with Major General Lavarack leading the 7th and Major General Mackay taking over as commander of the 6th.
Germany’s early successes were chilling. Australians learned the meaning of a new and frightening word – Blitzkrieg, or ‘lightning war’, as Hitler’s panzer divisions overran Denmark and Norway, then turned west and south to take Belgium, Luxembourg and the Netherlands. Then they swept into northern France and trapped the British Expeditionary Force at Dunkirk.
Mussolini saw his chance and declared war on 10 June 1940 as Germany entered Paris. By 22 June France had capitulated. (Interestingly, instead of celebrating the surrender in Paris, Hitler, a veteran of the Battle of Fromelles in 1916, spent the evening walking the battlefield there with two WWI comrades – an illustration of the impact of his WWI service.)
After Paris fell, Hitler was at his peak: he had Britain in his sights. But Churchill had been appointed Prime Minister on 10 May and was using his extraordinarily inspirational oratory to rally his people for the expected invasion.
By this stage the seriousness of Australia’s situation was also clear. Britain was under siege, on the brink of the ‘Battle of Britain’ – the desperate four-month air campaign fought over its skies – and was asking us to provide a division for the defence of Singapore:
… we can no longer concentrate upon the defence of Singapore Island entirely, but must consider the defence of Malaya as a whole, particularly the security of up-country landing grounds. For this reason, and because we cannot spare a fleet for the Far East at present, it is all the more important that we should do what we can to improve our land and air defences in Malaya.
With the 6th Division already in the Middle East and the 7th still in training, the Australian government could not comply. There were many at home who thought Australia should start seriously considering its own security as intelligence of the Japanese threat increased. David Horner’s assessment of the situation is as frightening in retrospect as it must have been to those in the know at the time:
There was no coordinated plan for the defence of Australia. General Jackson of Northern Command, which at that time included New Guinea, described the situation: ‘No plans for the defence of Northern Command were in existence when I took over command in May 1940. Approximately half of the troops to be raised in Queensland were to leave the State, and proceed to New South Wales, in the event of an invasion of Australia in accordance with long-standing plans. [Presumably he meant plans similar to the 1931 plan.] The main activity in the command was the raising and reinforcing of the Australian Imperial Force.’
Horner points out that the problem of the continental defence of Australia did not appear to have been discussed by the government until early 1941.
As Britain’s position darkened, recruiting numbers soared in Australia. In three months, more than 100,000 men enlisted, which was one in six of all men in their twenties – so many, in fact, that in early July 1940 the government was forced to temporarily suspend the intake because of the lack of equipment for them and because of the impact the rush had on essen
tial employment and in depleting the Militia. What was interesting was that, of those 100,000 enlistments, two-thirds applied to join the RAAF.
By the beginning of 1941 the government had given the green light to an armoured division, which brought our overseas volunteer force to five divisions. Our Militia, which was restricted to the defence of Australia, also had five divisions, plus two cavalry divisions. That meant our forces totalled 12 divisions.
The government had already made one strange decision. The RAAF 10 Squadron had been in Britain when war was declared. It was placed under RAF command and the Australian government added six more squadrons to serve with the RAF – about 3000 personnel. When you took out the squadron then being formed to be based out of Port Moresby, it left nothing to defend Australia.
But while 100 or so Aussie pilots took part in the Battle of Britain, our first substantial contribution to WWII happened largely by accident or, more accurately, because of the enemy’s manoeuvring rather than by our planning.
Italy had massed half a million troops in Libya and Ethiopia, more than the Allied forces there. After both British and Indian units had engaged the Italians in Egypt, the Australian 6th division was introduced and attacked Bardia, then Benghazi in Libya. The Diggers proved themselves worthy of their predecessors from the 1st AIF, capturing Bardia on 3 January, Tobruk on 22 January and Benghazi on 7 February 1940. The Aussies captured more than 40,000 prisoners at Bardia and another 25,000 in Tobruk, along with a large swag of equipment.
The Spirit of the Digger Page 16