by Peter Brune
In late 1914, Murdoch was posted to London as managing editor of the United Cable Service. Before he left for London Prime Minister Fisher asked him to visit the Middle East and privately report on deficiencies in the Australian postal service and, critically, on the situation at Gallipoli. A letter of introduction from Defence Minister Pearce to the Dardanelles Commander-in-Chief, Sir Ian Hamilton, enabled him to visit Gallipoli for four days. It proved a turning point in his career. Among the Gallipoli war correspondents, Murdoch met the British journalist Ashmead-Bartlett, who persuaded the Australian to carry a letter to British Prime Minister Asquith. The uncensored letter was political dynamite. Ashmead-Bartlett was horrified by both Hamilton’s and the overall British command performance, the resulting heavy casualties, and the perceived futility of poorly planned and fruitless attacks upon strong Turkish positions. Betrayed by another correspondent, Murdoch was forced to hand over the letter to a British officer at Marseille, France.
By the time of his arrival in London Murdoch had written his own 8000-word assessment of the Gallipoli campaign for Prime Minister Fisher. After a discussion with his predecessor at the United Cable Service, Murdoch later met Geoffrey Dawson, the editor of The Times, and its influential owner Lord Northcliffe, who introduced him to a number of Cabinet ministers including Sir Edward Carson, Lloyd George (then Minister of Munitions) and Bonar Law. Later shown to the Prime Minister and subsequently printed as a ‘secret state paper’, Murdoch’s letter provided further substance and evidence for those against the Dardanelles campaign. It ultimately had some influence in the dismissal of General Hamilton and the later evacuation of Gallipoli.
By the end of 1917, and at only 32 years of age, Keith Murdoch had developed a highly influential network of contacts: The Times owner Lord Northcliffe, who provided him with access to the political figures named above; military figures such as General Sir Henry Wilson; and, during Hughes’s time as prime minister, Murdoch acted as his emissary, seeking and sending confidential information to him, and relaying policies and messages from Hughes to the British.
However, as a result of his Gallipoli letter, and also in part due to his forthright manner—and his youth—Keith Murdoch was less popular in some circles. Lord Hankey had met Murdoch in late 1915: ‘ . . . I lunched with Mr. Balfour to meet a horrible scab called Murdoch, an Australian journalist, who had written a poisonous letter to Fisher . . . re the Dardanelles.’8
***
John Monash was born in West Melbourne, Victoria, on 27 June 1865, and was the eldest of three children. His Jewish parents, Louis and Bertha, were originally from Posen Province in Prussia. After John spent three years as a student at St Stephen’s Church of England School in Richmond, financial reverses caused Louis Monash to take his family to Jerilderie in New South Wales, where he opened a store. Although the young Monash was not taught Yiddish, the family were fluent in English and German, and it was here at Jerilderie Public School that Monash’s considerable ability as a student was first identified by his teacher, William Elliott, who greatly extended his education across the curriculum with a strong leaning towards mathematics. In a determined effort to realise John’s academic potential, Bertha Monash returned with her children to Melbourne in late 1877, leaving Louis to provide for the family at Jerilderie and later Narrandera. It would be 1883 before Louis rejoined his family in Melbourne.
Monash was enrolled at Scotch College, Melbourne, where he excelled: in December 1881, he left as equal dux; dux in Modern Languages and Mathematics; and he had won the English prize on a number of occasions. In all this, Bertha Monash was his guiding light, and was utterly convinced that great deeds lay ahead of her son. Geoffrey Serle, in Monash:
Her [Bertha’s] love is evident and though there is little to suggest that her possessiveness was smothering, she was a driving, striving parent . . . Like most great men and most great soldiers, John Monash was a mother’s boy, a favourite child, an only son with adoring younger sisters, who eventually would stride confidently through life and be highly attractive to women.9
Bertha Monash’s influence further extended to John becoming a skilled classical pianist, and his exposure to and love of English, German and French literature.
In March 1882 Monash began his study at the University of Melbourne, with the ambition of becoming an engineer. His first year of university study was less than fruitful: unimpressed and unmotivated by the standard of lectures, he took to a self-imposed library study of history and literature, which inevitably led to his first-year failure.
In 1885 Bertha was diagnosed with abdominal cancer and she passed away on 18 October that year, aged 44. Her twenty-year-old son was devastated: ‘I have lost the dearest and most sympathetic friend I ever had.’10
Monash, now without funds, and feeling the loss of his mother and a responsibility to assist his ageing father in support of the family, followed his dream of engineering work. His friend Jim Lewis was able to obtain a job for Monash working for the firm engaged in building the Princes Bridge over Melbourne’s Yarra River. Monash had found his niche: for the next two years he excelled in design and construction planning; opened a quarry near the bridge site; and ran a supply yard. And in all this, he began to slowly develop an aptitude for a highly efficient and adroit coordination of both resources and labour. In 1887 Monash was subsequently given charge of the construction of the Outer Circle eastern suburbs railway line from Oakleigh to Fairfield via Camberwell. In a letter to his friend Will Steel in December 1888, Monash revealed his growing fascination in matters of power, leadership and organisation:
The possession of absolute administrative power, and the conscientious attempt to make each administrative action, however insignificant, depend on a sound and logical analysis of the particular set of circumstances which rendered it necessary—just as the moves in a chess game—this is a new and delightful experience, and one which I believe will not grow dull by habit.11
Here, 27 years before his arrival at Gallipoli, we have the genesis of the evolving Monash persona. The brilliant intellect was now being harnessed, disciplined and above all challenged. Ample evidence of this acquired discipline and sheer intellect came in 1890 when Monash applied himself to his studies: in April 1891 came his Bachelor of Commercial Engineering; in 1891–92 he passed exams in municipal surveyor’s and water supply engineer’s qualifications; he also gained a degree in Law; and in 1892 he also completed his Arts degree. It was a truly impressive academic achievement.
After a number of impulsive and failed relationships with women, Monash married Hannah Moss on 8 April 1891. Their only child, Bertha, was born on 22 January 1893. At times it would prove to be a difficult marriage.
The remaining twenty years leading up to the Great War constituted a number of severe tests and ultimate triumph for Monash. Retrenched during the depression in 1894, he bravely began his own business with a friend, and concentrated on civil, mining and mechanical engineering, and acting as a patent agent. Three years of struggle with poor remuneration ensued before Monash found specialised work in the legal aspects of engineering. During this time his business partner was able to secure the patent rights for Monier reinforced concrete production in Victoria. All went well until a bridge under their construction collapsed and they were forced to rebuild at their own cost. By 1902 a further setback saw Monash and his partner with no money and considerable debt. Three additional years of near poverty followed until, backed by business colleagues, Monash formed the Reinforced Concrete & Monier Pipe Construction Company. With a virtual monopoly provided by his Monier patents, Monash concentrated on building construction, and by 1913 he had paid off his debts at a rate of £1000 per year and had amassed a personal fortune estimated at £30 000. A Toorak mansion, a prestigious car, servants and various respected social appointments all resulted in both a measure of recognition and a considerable circle of friends.
It is staggering to contemplate that through all of the personal, educational and engineering challenge
s—comprising dramatic and prolonged failures as well as triumphs—John Monash had, during the period 1884–1914, also pursued a part-time military career. In 1883 the Victorians formed a corps of paid militia. He enlisted as a private in the Melbourne University Company of the 4th Battalion, Victorian Rifles, in July 1884; when that company was disbanded he was commissioned in the Garrison Artillery the following year; two years later he was promoted to Captain in that same unit; in 1897 he was promoted to Major in the North Melbourne Battery; in 1908 he was chosen to command (as a Lieutenant-Colonel) the Victorian Section of the newly formed Australian Intelligence Corps; in June 1913 he was given command of the 13th Infantry Brigade; just before the outbreak of war he was appointed Deputy Chief Censor; and in September 1914 he assumed command of the 4th Infantry Brigade in the First AIF.
Monash and his 4th Brigade were in reserve on 25 April 1915 at Gallipoli and did not land until the following morning. His Brigade took part in manning Pope’s Hill and Quinn’s Post; it fought in the disastrous night offensive on Baby 700; it helped withstand the Turkish offensive on 19 May; and the Brigade took part in the bloody and unsuccessful assault on Hill 971, before being withdrawn to Lemnos. Its final Gallipoli campaigning saw it later redeployed in a quiet sector prior to the evacuation. Monash returned to Egypt ‘a very competent brigadier’.12 His eye for detail, his careful planning and his care for his soldiers were among his early command attributes.
Monash’s return to Egypt was marked by the news of his wife’s battle with cancer, and the reconstitution of his 4th Brigade as a consequence of the ‘doubling’ of the AIF into four divisions. His Brigade now became part of the 4th Division and set sail for France in June 1916. The following month Monash was promoted to Major-General and posted Commander of the newly arriving 3rd Australian Division on Salisbury Plain in England.
As has been shown earlier in this work, the Great War quickly evolved into a trial of technology, industrial production, innovation and, most critically, how quickly commanders were able to adapt from their largely redundant prewar doctrine to confront the tactical problems of a new war. In Monash’s case, the 3rd Division’s training period in England (July–December 1916) formed a critical phase in his development as a commander. He was able to train his division in facilities that were ideal for the Western Front, and, though spared the trials of the Somme, Monash absorbed a number of its costly lessons through the BEF’s numerous doctrinal manuals.13 The attack on Thiepval in September 1916 provides an example. Major-General Maxse’s exhaustive planning, his advocacy of limited objectives, his conferences, his pre-battle training and rehearsals, and his determination to educate all ranks on the plan and their part in it, were principles in Maxse’s report that were examined by Monash. He thus studied and adopted the improvements of others, which would stand him in good stead as a divisional commander and a future corps commander.
Major-General Monash and his 3rd Division’s first major battle was at Messines in June 1917. He had the good fortune to serve under General Sir Herbert Plumer, whose detailed planning, limited objectives (‘bite and hold’), conferences, and a masterly use of creeping barrages produced a startling victory. In all this, Monash’s planning and eye for detail played no small part in the Messines victory. Perhaps his greatest feat as a divisional commander was at Broodseinde in October 1917, which preceded the onset of a terrible winter and the slaughter that was Passchendaele. By the end of 1917 the 3rd Division AIF had become an elite division with a near flawless record, and its commander had developed an impressive reputation.
Monash’s prewar civil career had moulded him. That he possessed an enormous intellect is beyond doubt, but such an innate gift is no formula for success. His undisciplined, almost arrogant misuse of that intellect in his early university studies was later brutally reversed to conform to his obligation of supporting his father and family and later his wife and child. His triumphs and failures in business saw that intellect challenged by the need for disciplined innovation, for calculated risk, and for a sophisticated use of resources and manpower. The astonishing work ethic required for coping with his fluctuating engineering career, the completion of his part-time studies, and the additional pursuit of a part-time military career all shaped him for the pressures of command in war.
CHAPTER 4
The physical audacity
If the AIF had had some cause to question the competence of the British command after Gallipoli, then that concern only escalated as a result of Fromelles and Pozières during 1916, and Bullecourt the following year. The resulting slaughter caused extreme bitterness, frustration and an emergent sense of Australian nationalism, which manifested itself in a desire for a unification of the AIF’s five divisions under its own command and administration. And in the second half of 1917, the Third Battle of Ypres only reinforced those Australian views.
In May 1916 Prime Minister Hughes had asked General Haig to form an Anzac Army under the command of Birdwood. Haig and the War Office understandably denied that request on the grounds that, at the time, a BEF Army comprised some eight or ten divisions, which meant that the AIF’s establishment—even with the addition of the New Zealand division—would fall below that requirement. There was also the British desire for all participating Dominion nations and colonies to perceive the BEF as an ‘Imperial Army’ where all units could be deployed according to need, where staff were interchangeable, and where the emphasis was upon service as a part of the British Empire rather than on behalf of their country.
It is hard to escape the conclusion that the chief reason for this attitude of the British Government, the War Council and particularly General Haig, was that by deploying the Australian divisions at Haig’s discretion—and essentially under British divisional and corps command—they were quite simply easier to control and administer. In Haig’s eyes, such issues as the refusal of the Australians to adopt the death penalty, their high rate of imprisonment compared to other forces, and even the need (as late as February 1918) to place them in separate convalescent camps lest they ‘put revolutionary ideas’ into British soldiers’ heads, only reinforced this attitude.1 And with Haig’s views on the AIF came his distrust and lack of professional respect for its British commander, General Birdwood.2
There was also a persistent British tendency to perceive—and refer to—the Australians as ‘British’ troops when releasing strictly censored and often inaccurate despatches, or to refer to them as ‘colonials’ rather than as representatives of an independent Dominion. All this irritated the volunteer army and its government. It was an affront to their sense of nationalism. Matters came to a head during the second half of 1917, and the vehicle for their united expression of a common cause was Keith Murdoch.
By this time, Murdoch’s wide circle of London political, military and business contacts had gained him enormous influence. He had organised ‘a London committee of eleven leading Australians’3 to marshal support for Hughes among the AIF for the federal election of May 1917, which Hughes won with a handsome majority. Then, when Hughes decided to conduct a further referendum for conscription, he sent a confidential cable to Murdoch in which he asked the committee to ‘make preparations for a vigorous campaign’ to secure a ‘yes’ vote among the AIF. Although that initiative failed, Murdoch’s efforts were highly valued.4 Murdoch subsequently briefed a confused Lloyd George as to the Australian electorate’s political mood after that failed referendum. What is of critical importance was the fact that Hughes relied almost solely on Murdoch for advice concerning his own position as prime minister, the best interests of his government, and on his dealings with Lloyd George’s government. But Murdoch’s chief coup in the second half of 1917 was his thrust for the long-awaited formation of an Australian Corps.
On 12 July 1917, he cabled Hughes:
Officers men have very strong Australian feelings prize highly distinctive Australian identity find that Australian comradeship valuable moral support. Moreover several recent battles they lost heavily owi
ng weakness failure support of British troops. Third Division never assimilated rest AIF, because separated and under Godley, who notoriously anti-Australian . . . Leading officers also consider Australia should have Liaison Officers War Office. At present important decisions affecting Australian Government public and national future taken . . . by people responsible to quite another public.5
Another Australian concern was the desire for the proposed Australian Corps to be staffed by Australians. Although Birdwood had made a modest start in this process, it was rightly felt that he could not serve both British and Australian interests. Murdoch therefore advised the Australian Government to request that Birdwood provide a list of British officers whom he considered ‘indispensible’. The pressure was building. On 30 July 1917, the Australian Government telegraphed the Secretary of State for the Colonies:
Commonwealth of Australia desires to invite the attention of Imperial Government to the fact that the Australian Imperial Force . . . has now for some time exceeded 100,000 in the fighting line, and that it is desirable that the national feeling with regard to their troops should be given effect to more especially in the constitution of the fighting formations and the employment of Australian officers on the staffs, and also that, to ensure closer touch with Australian sentiments, the Commonwealth should provide a senior officer for duty at the War Office with regard to Australian questions . . .6
After this telegram had been passed on to the Army Council, the Australian Government received a stern answer from that council, which prompted the Chief of the General Staff in Melbourne to assert that the government was ‘disappointed at the terms of your reply’, and that it was obvious that the Army Council was ‘not in sympathy’ with the wishes of the Australian Government for an ‘Australian Corps with Australian staff officers’. The next sentence was far more forthright: ‘This would be far more acceptable to Australian sentiment than statement that Australian officers are regarded as interchangeable with British Staffs, which has not previously been actually put into practice.’7 When the Secretary of State for the Colonies also passed this telegram on to the Army Council the evasive reply was that the proposal was ‘impractical’. Murdoch now sought to circumvent the Army Council and seek a political solution. He advised Hughes to send a telegram to be passed on to ‘his colleagues’ in the Imperial War Cabinet. In simple terms, Hughes merely repeated the contents of the previous telegrams, but added a telling last few words: ‘the Commonwealth Government presses for it’. On 5 October 1917, the Army Council contacted Haig and asked his opinion. Haig advised against the Australian proposal on the grounds that the current BEF Corps structure consisted of four divisions—two in the line and two in reserve—and that the proposed AIF Corps of five divisions would render this establishment unworkable. But on 19 October he pledged to meet with Birdwood. Haig’s views were further explained to Murdoch during an interview at his GHQ on 1 September.