Our Great Hearted Men

by Peter Brune

  ***

  Lieutenant Syd Traill, 1st Battalion, is an example of a soldier gradually promoted through the ranks of the First AIF as a result of hard-earned experience, and thus on merit. We have noted his vivid description of his 1st Battalion’s fighting and a number of its soldiers’ subsequent mutiny.

  After having enlisted in late August 1914, the then Private Traill received his first wound—a gun shot to the neck—at Gallipoli on 25 April 1915. On 24 July 1916, at Pozières he was wounded again by a gun shot to his left thigh, which resulted in a broken leg. On 17 April 1918, at Hazebrouck, Traill was wounded for a third time by a gun shot to the right shoulder. Promoted Lieutenant in late May 1918, Traill became eligible for Anzac Leave in October of that year.

  A number of Traill’s diary entries in the second half of 1918 portray a sense of the inevitability of death or wounding that his original Anzac comrades shared, and a certain degree of cynicism.

  31 August 1918:

  No definite news of the war and we hardly ever get recent papers. One hears of successes and reverses but they are all rumours—one fact always remains—in spite of all news and rumours, the war always continues and another winter is hard on our heels. I don’t fancy the bare idea of it.3

  2 September 1918:

  Same old rumours of the war, how the Australians took Peronne and so forth. The Aussies are never unsuccessful, but one day they must surely find a nut too hard to crack and then won’t the English newspapers chortle and the old wind-bags write letters to the Editor!4

  Lieutenant Syd Traill returned to Sydney in early July 1919. After the war he worked as an accountant in Sydney until stricken by pulmonary tuberculosis, which took his life on 28 October 1928. He was unmarried and died at 33 years of age. Traill had been awarded the Belgian Croix de Guerre in April 1919.

  ***

  Gunner James Armitage’s service with his 30th Battery, 8th AFA Brigade, did not conclude with the Australian Corps infantry divisions’ end to their campaigning in early October 1918. His 3rd Division artillery continued to support the British IX Corps. His diary, 10 November 1918:

  We had just ridden through Brancourt when the leading column turned about, so we concluded we were being called into action. However the whole brigade stayed at Brancourt and we made ourselves comfortable in the deserted and only partly destroyed village . . .

  On the 11th November we were told the war was over . . . That night we celebrated by blowing up old charges of cordite and stacks of German verey [sic] lights but, I think, it took a day or two for the implications of the Armistice to sink in, and everyone became very quiet and relaxed . . . Because I could speak a little French I was given the wonderful job of advertising the pending auction sale of some of our horses. Our horses were graded first class to return to England and second class (some a bit the worse for wear) and our mules were to be sold to the French farmers.5

  On the grounds of his being a prewar student, James Armitage applied for an early repatriation to Australia. The news he then received is an indication that he had come from a very well-to-do family:

  Then I got word that Father and Mother were coming over to England to meet me. So I applied for discharge in England. Both applications were granted. This caused some confusion, but the army was happy to give me my discharges. I had to sign away all claims on the Australian Government such as cost of return to Australia and repatriation benefits of any kind.6

  And then came the affliction that would claim so very many lives across the world:

  Before I left France, Europe and England were smitten with a terrible type of flu which killed thousands and thousands of people. We all got it in my billet and of those who went to hospital nearly all died. Snow Hamilton, John Roxburgh and I were treated by the old old woman who owned our billet and who was so good to us. She dosed us on herbs she collected from the countryside and we made a remarkable recovery.

  . . . I got my discharge in time for a joyous reunion with my family. We bought an old Sunbeam car and toured England very pleasantly accompanied by my friend, John Roxburgh. When we finally boarded the steamer to return home I was in civilian clothes and my war was over.7

  On 15 May 1925, James Armitage married Lurline Buchanan, the granddaughter of William Buchanan, a well-known and successful pastoralist. In 1928 James and Lurline were residing on and running a family property, ‘Moodani’, at Sutton Forest in New South Wales. The marriage produced no children. Armitage died in July 1997 aged 100. His wife predeceased him by three years aged 97.

  ***

  It will be recalled that Lance-Corporal Len Clarkson, 32nd Battalion, had been wounded on 30 September 1918 while attacking the Hindenburg Line. In just five months of service on the Western Front, Clarkson made a number of pertinent observations. Unlike many of his comrades, Len had led a sheltered existence before joining the AIF. His father had established the very well-known Adelaide business Clarkson’s Glass and had sent Len to Prince Alfred College. The college’s then Methodist ideals—and probably his parents’ influence—caused the young soldier to write an interesting letter home to his father on 24 September 1918:

  I wanted to ask your opinion on something which has been exercising my mind. Now that the winter is coming on, there is a rum issue almost nightly. We have often had this rum issue on cold nights up the Line and always before an attack but so far I have always refused it. Still, it’s getting colder and colder of a night and the rum has, I believe, a good warming affect [sic], so I thought I’d ask you before I accepted my issue as to your opinion.

  As you can guess I can always find chaps who will drink MY ISSUE besides theirs. Most fellows take it but not always with medicinal motives.

  Hoping to get your reply. Yours Len.8

  In a letter to his parents from hospital on 12 October 1918, Clarkson painted a personal and therefore graphic image of the cost of victory:

  . . . take my own case; when I joined up with the 32nd Battalion early in June, the strength of my platoon was 21. Eleven (including the platoon officer and sergeant) have been killed, seven of us have been wounded and three are so far untouched. Of the original 21 when I joined up there are only three still in action, although reinforcements have strengthened the platoon since then.9

  And then there is the optimism of youth that wounds will heal, and then the gradual realisation that the battle for recovery might be tougher than anticipated. Clarkson to his parents, 12 October:

  Please don’t either of you two worry about me; my wounds, though serious, are not DANGEROUS, and will heal in time and the pain will soon wear off. Please give my love to all dear brothers and sisters and accept same for yourselves.10

  On 23 October he wrote that:

  Today is the 24th day I have been lying on my back and it is a fortnight tonight since I arrived back in dear old England.

  I am doing satisfactorily although my right foot is still troubling me a good deal. The large wound in my right leg is healing up satisfactorily if slowly, while the wound behind my left knee is practically healed up now.11

  On Christmas Eve 1918:

  My foot shows no marked improvement; I was ‘boarded’ a few days back and was marked C2. This is the second lowest degree of military fitness, so that had the war still been on I would have never been fit for France again. . . . I am getting some of the feeling back in my foot and leg, through the treatment I am getting but some of the nerves don’t respond at all.12

  And finally, in a letter home five days later:

  . . . about my foot; it is no better; I cannot yet put it to the ground. I feel miserable sometimes, for the aching old pain doesn’t seem to go away, massage and electrical treatment eases the pain for a while but it soon starts again. A chap doesn’t realise what an important part nerves play in his anatomy, until he gets them injured with a lump of shell.

  Sister informs me I’ll limp for a year or more, but I’ve rather an idea it will be permanently.13

  Lance-Corporal Len Clarkson was invalide
d home on 7 October 1918. He joined his father’s firm, Clarkson’s Glass, was made a director in 1929, its Managing Director in 1936, and its Chairman in 1945. In 1923 Len married Gwendoline Pitt. After having retired in 1966, Clarkson died in 1983.

  ***

  The 8th Battalion’s Private Paul Reginald Johanesen (known as ‘Reg’) was probably a good example of the stereotypical First AIF larrikin. When Reg joined his 8th Battalion at Gallipoli as a reinforcement on 22 June 1915, he was under-age: seventeen years and nine months. Brief extracts from his memoir, diary and letters are illuminating. On leaving Gallipoli: ‘I was ten times more frightened going away than I was the first night I landed.’14 Back in Egypt Reg joined the Battalion’s stretcher-bearers because he ‘got full up of marching around in sandstorms’.15 In late August 1916 Reg was given Field Punishment No. 1 for failing to do a fatigue. His diary records that it was an ‘unwritten law’ that stretcher-bearers were exempt from fatigues.

  On 24 April 1917 near Lagnicourt, Reg was wounded for the first time:

  . . . we were put on a secret post . . . a few of us were sent out to cover up the tracks of the ration party and I got a broken nose with a piece of shrapnel from a shell which dropped short of the village . . . and was evacuated to England . . . They probed and found a piece of shrapnel embedded in the bone of my cheek

  . . . the doctor cut the wound open and pulled it out with forceps. In less than one hour I had a beautiful shiner.16

  By this time, considering the length of his service, and not unlike a lot of his comrades, Reg had come to regard a wound as an honourable chance of a rest. He wrote to his parents not long after:

  Just to let you know that I am back in England. I got a bit of a smack on the side of the nose with a bit of shrapnel, it spoilt my beauty a bit, but I never did have much to boast about . . . I intend to stay away from the firing as long as I can. I have had a fair whack of fighting now. Nearly two years since I heard my first shell and this is the first spell away from the herd.17

  On 4 October 1917, Reg was wounded for the second time:

  One shell landed on the back of the trench and killed Tatlow and wounded Harry Carruthers in the neck and hand. I got splattered all over the left side with small pieces of shrapnel and also a couple of broken ribs. We lost no time getting out to the dressing station . . . We got into a horse ambulance and a shell landed and killed all the horses and left us untouched . . .18

  In a letter to his parents on 28 January 1918, Reg gave his view as to the conscription referendum: ‘I see that the conscription came a thud over there in Aussie, well it is a good thing. The more men we get the more fighting we get.’19

  We have chronicled Private Reg Johanesen’s 1918 experiences, culminating in his wounding for a third time. Given his long period of service he was awarded an early return to Australia. He arrived home aged 21 years and three months.

  Nobody slept that night, we all stood around the rails watching the lights of Melbourne and trying to pick out landmarks . . . Next morning at ten o’clock we pulled into the pier and were loaded onto Char-a-bangs [sic] [buses, either horse drawn or motorised] and driven through the city. What popular heroes we were, flags waved, cigarettes and chocolates were thrown to us. We were taken to the reception centre at Sturt Street barracks [sic], given our leave passes and met our relatives, discharged immediately and promptly forgotten.20

  After the war Reg Johanesen worked as a telephone linesman at Bendigo, Melbourne, Castlemaine and Geelong. He finished his working life as a line inspector at Geelong. His marriage to wife Doris produced two sons and three daughters. In a letter to the author, his son Christian described Private Reg Johanesen as a ‘quiet strong willed man of simple tastes, dependable. His relationship with his grandchildren was such that denied the existence of a generation gap’.21

  ***

  We have noted Private William McLennan’s accounts of his service with the 2nd Machine Gun Battalion in support of the 2nd AIF Division. His diary ends quite abruptly on 8 September 1918 due to illness, almost certainly the result of his continued exposure to gas shells.

  His diary contains two further points of interest. We have noted McLennan’s prewar occupation as an ornithologist. It would appear that this pursuit was a mechanism for coping with the horror of the war. Among numerous diary entries, three illustrate that point:

  9 April 1918:

  9 am. Pair of magpies busy building in tree along road behind our possy, shells are frequently bursting round the spot. About 10 am a pair of crows tried to take possession of the nest. A fight ensued in which the magpies were getting the worst of it. Reinforcements in the shape of another pair of magpies arrived & the crows were driven off. Meanwhile the Hun was chucking shells all round our position.22

  21 May 1918:

  8 am. Turn out & go for a walk through village. House Martins [swallow family] building amongst the ruins. Hun starts to drop stray shells so I leave . . . Some of our dead are still lying where they fell. We bury 3 of them . . . I go up the road to the right & examine the magpies nest, it contained 2 small young about a day old . . .23

  3 June 1918:

  4 am. Our guns active. Hun putting over Minnies on the front line & gas shells a few hundred yds to out left. 3.15 am. A Skylark singing on the left beyond the wood.24

  The second point of interest in McLennan’s diary is his frequent pursuit of souvenirs. Although this practice was widespread among the AIF, McLennan recorded the extreme lengths that a number of its soldiers were prepared to go to in the hunt for them:

  19 May 1918: Some of the chaps go out after souvenirs machine guns, rifles, bayonets, revolvers Field glasses & numerous other articles are found in the Hun trenches & dugouts. A Hun sniper is commanding the cross roads from the village & he makes the boys hop across pretty lively, good job it is too dark for accurate shooting.25

  McLennan returned to Australia in December 1918, and from November of the following year resumed his ornithological work on the Torres Strait Islands, which ‘considerably extended knowledge of the interchange of birds between Papua and Cape York’.26 He also tried his hand at gold mining at Coen on Cape York Peninsula in the early 1920s. However, partly as a result of his gassing, his health gradually deteriorated, and tuberculosis ensued. Too debilitated to continue his outback pursuits, McLennan returned to Casterton, Victoria, where he lived until his death in September 1935 aged 51.

  ***

  We have noted Charles Bean’s imperial education and his consequent love and respect for England and Empire. We have further recorded that partly through his trips to the outback, during which he wrote On the Wool Track and The Dreadnought of the Darling, Bean had developed his own concept of the exemplary Australian. He believed that rural Australia had bred an even better strain of the Imperial Briton—a man and soldier from the bush whose qualities of resolve, initiative and mateship were ingrained.

  In his Volume VI of the Official History, Bean, while acknowledging the fact that the great majority of the soldiers of the First AIF were from the major cities, still attempted to promote the influence of the bush soldier. He quoted Hindenburg as proclaiming that the elite of the British Army had come from the colonies and that this was due to the fact that ‘the colonial population is mainly agrarian’.27 And as Eric Andrews has stated, in a letter to The Times, Bean pointed out that German commanders had protested that: ‘The enemy, who has grown up in the Australian bush, wriggles to our posts with great dexterity from flank and rear . . . It has often happened that complete pickets have disappeared from the forward line without trace.’28

  The above quotations raise an interesting point. The notion that a mythical Australian bushman has a natural propensity for the elimination of enemy posts borders on the comical. He must be highly trained, well equipped, well led and supported by all arms and by sound staff work.

  In broad terms, the soldier of the First AIF was a product of a growing Australian nationalism, which encompassed the idealism and aspirations of
the New World, while at the same time preserving many of the institutions of the Old. And through this developing idea of national consciousness, he had a distinct social agenda. Stuart Macintyre has stated that: ‘The working class mobilized around clear economic aims—a living wage, the eight-hour day, security of employment, legal recognition of trade unions and preference in employment for their members—and looked to parliament as one means of their fulfilment.’29 To these basic aspirations were added such desires as a white Australia, the need for a citizen defence force, compulsory arbitration for the settlement of industrial disputes, and the granting of old age pensions.

  The Australian soldier resented the existence of rigid social class and economic exploitation. He was essentially egalitarian in outlook. Respect from others was earnt, not demanded.

  In 1918 the soldiers of the First AIF possessed three distinct advantages. The first was the fact that they were the only force in the BEF composed only of volunteers. There was a preparedness to see the war through and trust in what they termed ‘Providence’. The second was the high physical standards demanded of all recruits. In this, the Director-General of Medical Services, Major-General Howse, VC, was the guiding and unyielding influence. The standard of leadership was the third. Brave but crude and utterly futile efforts such as at the Nek gradually became a thing of the past. As in any vocation, the identification of competence, hard-won experience, training and a homogeneous organisation, are the ingredients for success. But the process takes time. By 1918 the Australian Corps had embraced these elements.

  Although this work has taken issue with Charles Bean’s attempt to remove General Sir John Monash from his command of the Australian Corps, and has further challenged his concept of some of the qualities of the Great War Australian soldier, two points should be made concerning this great Australian.

  First, for his extraordinary achievement in researching and writing six volumes of the Official History of Australia in the War of 1914–18—and supervising the remaining six—Bean deserves great praise. By any standard, it has been, and will always be, a compulsory starting point for any examination of Australians in the Great War. Geoffrey Serle has stated that: ‘Despite all possible reservations, the Official History is a work well worthy of the quality of the A.I.F.’30