by Will Davies
When America entered the war in April 1917, it had only a small standing army that was not prepared for battle or equipped for what lay ahead in Europe. Mobilisation and recruitment were sluggish to begin with but by late June, after President Wilson introduced stiff penalties for men avoiding the draft, enlistment reached nearly ten million men. On 27 June, the first US troops landed in France under the command of a veteran of the Mexican and Philippine wars, Major General 'Black Jack' Pershing. Their arrival was witnessed by huge crowds who cheered their coming ashore. They were the first of 180,000 Americans who would land in Europe by the end of the year.
In Russia, Vladimir Lenin had been living in exile in Zurich, but in April, with the support of the Germans, he was returned home secretly by train. It was hoped he might foment revolution, create social chaos and possibly even lead revolutionary Russia to sign a separate peace, eliminating the German Eastern Front in the process. The Russian army was in disarray and unable to take any offensive action. Due to poor transportation, bad planning and the desertion of two million men, the summer campaign, planned to begin on 1 May, had not eventuated. By mid-July, the offensive against the Austro-Hungarians was over and the Russian army in headlong retreat.
In Australia, Billy Hughes had swept back into government in May 1917, having formed a coalition between the Liberal and National parties. Recruitment remained slow. The war had taken many sportsmen, so in Rugby Union and cricket there were no first-grade competitions. Nor were there any Australian Rules competitions in South Australia or Western Australia. Rugby League continued, however, in Sydney and Brisbane, with Balmain winning the Sydney premiership and Valley winning in Brisbane that year. In Victoria, the VFL continued, with Collingwood going on to win the premiership. The Melbourne Cup was also run in November that year (won by Westcourt) and the Stawell Gift – a 100-yard dash for men that is still an annual event today – took place. Nothing, it seems, could keep the Victorians from their sport.
This was also the year that saw the drawing of the first Golden Casket Lottery in Queensland, with the profits going to patriotic war funds. These funds were first raised during the Boer War and resumed at the beginning of hostilities in 1914. Money raised went to a range of organisations, individual towns and countries, and most notably for the relief and comfort of Australian troops and their families. By the end of the war, patriotic funds paid the largest share of separation payments to families, repatriation costs and the education of soldiers' children.
In Melbourne, the National Council of Women voted to express their sympathy to the war-ravaged women of Europe, especially those who were the victims of war crimes. In Adelaide, the state parliament voted to close Lutheran schools because of their German connections. In Maitland in New South Wales, crowds turned out for the funeral of the 21-year-old champion boxer Les Darcy, who had caused controversy by failing to enlist. Denied a passport to travel to the US to take a shot at the world title, he stowed away on a boat and went to New York. When America got swept up in its own war fervour, to avoid any more criticism he joined the US army. Given a couple of weeks' leave to train for the world title, he died of a blood infection due to an infected tooth.
It was about this time that the term 'Digger' became popular with AIF and New Zealand units. There are a number of possible explanations for the term, one being that it comes from New Zealand's 'gum-diggers', workers who dug up fossilised kauri gum used in the manufacture of linoleum and varnish. Others claim it originated with the battalions with a high number of men who had worked before the war as miners, who were known as 'diggers'. Whatever the source, the term quickly spread through the Anzacs as a term of endearment.
In Somme Mud, after lying unconscious and wounded for a night in a shell-hole, Nulla discovers that men of the 48th Battalion now hold the German pillbox he nearly lost his life for. He rues the bad luck of the 45th's attacking party, for it turns out that the Germans had been scheduled to retreat only hours after their unsuccessful attack. The Germans, quietly and without disturbance, withdrew to the defensive Warneton Line – named for the village east of Messines – nearly 2 kilometres in the rear, but when they saw that the British were not going to fully exploit their advantage, they halted and waited for the renewed British attack. Just as had been the case when the Germans withdrew south of Bapaume, the Allied advance was hesitant and cautious. Patrols moved forward and set up posts in what had been until recently German-held territory, establishing a new frontline to the east of Wambeke and north to Joye Farm. By 14 June, the battle of Messines had come to an end.
The 45th Battalion had fought hard along the Messines Ridge. As Nulla aptly puts it, 'The battalion had gone into the stunt as the strongest in the brigade and come out the weakest'. The AIF had suffered over 6,800 casualties, an enormous casualty rate for about five days in the line. The battalion history notes:
For their fine work at Messines, the following honours were awarded to members of the battalion: Distinguished Service Order (DSO) 1, Military Cross 4, Distinguished Conduct Medal 4 and Military Medal 20.1
They lost many officers at Messines, including Gallipoli veteran Second Lieutenant William Whitley Gocher. A Sydney boy, from Newtown, he was 22 years old when he was among the first rush of men to enlist in October 1914. He served with the 13th Battalion at Gallipoli and was transferred to the 45th Battalion in March 1916. He sailed from Egypt with the battalion on the Kinfauns Castle, but was sick during the voyage and put off in Malta, where he was admitted to hospital. Yet Gocher felt well enough to break out of hospital, 'remaining absent until apprehended' more than three hours later, for which he received detention. A note in his personal file states:
5.8.16, 168 hours detention. On 2.8.16 for breaking out of hospital when a patient about 7pm and remaining absent until apprehended by garrison piquet at 10.20pm.
William Gocher distinguished himself on the field of battle. In August 1916, during the fighting around Pozières, he was promoted to sergeant and the following month was awarded the Military Medal. In February 1917, he was an instructor at a live grenade practice session at which a rifle grenade accidentally exploded, injuring a number of men, including Gocher, who was wounded in the face. In March 1917, he received a bar to his Military Medal and the following month was promoted to second lieutenant. Upon returning to his battalion after receiving his commission, he was killed in action at Messines on 7 June 1917. In July 1920, his identity disc was returned to his mother, who sent the following reply to the army:
Dear Sir,
I received my son's disc and wish to thank you for your kind attention. Poor fellow must have been riddled by the state of the disc.2
William Gocher is buried in Messines Ridge Military Cemetery, Belgium, one of dozens of cemeteries in the area.
Today, Messines still shows signs of the terrible struggle. Of the 19 mines blown on 7 June, a number of craters remain, mostly filled with water. Of these, the Spanbroekmolen crater, known as the 'Pool of Peace', is the best known and most easily visited. There are also a number of surviving pillboxes and German strongpoints including the one where Nulla was wounded on the night raid of 10 June and where Lieutenant McIntyre was killed. Below the village and the ridgeline is the Irish Peace Tower, dedicated to all Irishmen whatever their political, religious or cultural tradition, who died in the First World War, especially those of the three Irish Divisions. A short distance away is the New Zealand Memorial, with its poignant inscription, 'From the uttermost ends of the Earth', and just below it, two German pillboxes taken by the New Zealanders early in the battle. Six kilometres further south is the large circular Ploegsteert Memorial at Berks Cemetery Extension at Hyde Park Corner on the edge of Ploegsteert Wood, to the 11,000 servicemen of the United Kingdom and South Africa who died in this sector.
Upon regaining consciousness, our narrator Nulla makes his way back alone over the shattered Messines Ridge, littered with the bodies of Australian and German dead, and on down to his battalion trenches at La Plus Douve F
arm. Arriving on 12 June, he finds that he has been reported 'missing, believed killed' in the attack on the pillbox on 10 June and that his family would have been notified of this by telegram. Fearing the reaction at home, Nulla quickly sends a telegram to say he is still alive, mentioning that he 'borrowed a few francs and sent a cable to my people telling them I was quite okay on the 12th June as I knew they would receive an official advice that I had been reported "missing, believed killed on 10 June 1917".'
But could he have done this? The notification of his death was not instant and would have taken time to be processed, a signal sent to Australia and a telegram prepared for the family, or, alternatively, a minister or priest organised to deliver the sad news. There were no postal or telegraphic services available, no corner post office at the front, and even in the unlikely event a private soldier had access to such a service, he would probably not be able to afford a telegram to Australia. And what of the censor?
There is, however, every chance that Edward Lynch did walk back independently on the morning of 11 June, as the battalion was shattered and had been relieved at three o'clock that morning, moving back to their subsidiary line near La Plus Douve Farm. It was here that the extent of the battalion's casualties would have been fully realised as a roll call would have been undertaken and a list made of men who were still missing, or were known to have been killed.
The injured Nulla marches off with the remnants of his battalion to the French village of La Crèche, about 10 kilometres by road west of Ploegsteert Wood, and this is borne out by the 45th Battalion history. What a sad and shocking sight they must have been, those few men who returned that day. As Nulla says: 'It was a sore and sorry battalion that marched towards La Crèche that night. Our mates back on Messines Ridge were ever on our minds.' And he cites the words they sang:
Take me back to dear old Aussie,
Put me on a boat for Woolloomooloo;
Take me over there, drop me anywhere,
Sydney, Melbourne, Adelaide, well I don't care;
I just want to see my best girl,
Cuddling up again we soon shall be;
Oh! France it is a failure,
Take me back to Australia,
Aussie is the place for me. [pp. 166–167]
At this point in the story, Nulla presents himself on sick parade and is sent to a military hospital at Steenwerck, France, for 11 days. Meanwhile, the remnants of the 45th Battalion march on to Morbecque, rest for a few days, enjoy hot baths and are issued fresh clothes. They were joined by the 'nucleus' of the battalion who had been kept out of the attack, a common practice within Australian units so that should the battalion suffer heavy casualties, a core of officers and battle-hardened men would remain to form the core of the newly reinforced battalion.
When Nulla is discharged from hospital, 'physically fit with seven open wounds covered with adhesive tape', he sets out to find his battalion, chasing it around the countryside as it moves from village to village. Along the way he meets an old French couple who provide him with a meal and a bed for the night. They have lost three sons in the war and this would have been typical for French families at the time. Throughout France today are village memorials much like you find in any Australian country town, bearing long lists of local boys who died in the Great War – sad reminders for travellers whose minds are perhaps on their own countrymen rather than the millions of Frenchmen who also died directly defending their country.
On 25 June 1917, Nulla finally catches up with his battalion at Le Doulieu, but this was the period in which Edward Lynch was wounded, according to his personal records. It is difficult to understand how, because the battalion at this time was well behind the line, perhaps 20 kilometres from the fighting. One possibility is that these wounds were received at Owl Trench on 10 June, were still unhealed and were recorded as being inflicted on 25 June. It is something of a mystery.
While at Le Doulieu, the 45th Battalion was called upon to send a small group of men to join a ceremonial parade at Bailleul, just to the north. The battalion history states that it 'was represented at an Army ceremonial parade at Bailleul in honour of the Duke of Connaught'.3 Nulla's spin is slightly different:
The battalion is to send a party of men in to Bailleul tomorrow to some big showy parade before the Duke of Connaught, a cobber of the king. Only the big men are being chosen. 'The big strappin' Anzacs' we jokingly call them. [p. 168]
I wonder, however, just how 'big' these men were, as the average height of men in the AIF at the time seems to have been 5 feet 6 inches (168 centimetres). Private Lynch was only 5 feet 4 inches (162 centimetres) and of other selected men I have researched in an attempt to find the true identity of his mates, the tallest was 5 feet 7 inches (170 centimetres).
From here the battalion moved to 'Hyde Park Corner' in the catacombs, a massive underground complex of tunnels under Hill 63, just to the north of Ploegsteert Wood. It was damp and prone to flooding, but it was equipped with gas-proof doors and electric light and was capable of housing hundreds of men in comfort and safety.
Ploegsteert Wood and the area around Hill 63 is now covered by trees but, like many French and Belgian forests, still shows the shallow craters and scars of the war, over 90 years later. Today the entrance to the catacombs is on private land but there is a steep, muddy public path to the top of Hill 63, with a view of the village of Messines and the shallow valley and open hillside up which the Australians, the New Zealanders and the British battalions attacked the town.
Soon after the 45th's arrival, on 2 July, Major General W. Holmes, who had commanded the 4th Division through both the disaster of Bullecourt and the success at Messines, escorted the Premier of New South Wales, William A. Holman, on a tour of inspection at Ploegsteert Wood. Holmes's usual practice was to take the most direct route, however dangerous, but this day, with the Premier in his care, he took what was usually a safe track behind Hill 63. A German salvo, probably fired from long distance at this obscure grid reference, mortally wounded the general in the chest and lungs. The Premier escaped injury, but General Holmes died while being carried to the nearest medical post at Kandahar Farm. He was the highest-ranked Australian to lose his life on the Western Front during the war. Around the same time, Captain Harold Charles Howden of the 45th Battalion, who had earned a Military Cross and bar, was killed. He had risen from a private at Gallipoli to second in command of his battalion. Having just returned from Aldershot in England, he was killed while eating breakfast with other officers when the Germans shelled the wood.
The deaths of high-ranking officers, especially of the division's commander, Major General Holmes, were serious losses for the AIF but Lynch makes no mention of them in Somme Mud – for this is more a story of men, not officers. Nulla's immediate concern is for his mates. At the catacombs he meets up again with Longun, also back from hospital, and reflects on the mates that he travelled to France with in the fourth reinforcement: Longun, Dark, Snow, the Prof, Farmer and Yacob. These six characters may have been among the 150 men who embarked on the HMAT Wiltshire with Lynch. He left us very few clues to their real identities.
We are told that Longun is 'Six feet two of long leisurely bullock-driver from the black soil of the outback.' [p. 169] On the Embarkation Roll, 31 men listed rural occupations, but if we narrow down the list by focusing on north-western New South Wales, the 'black soil' area, two men stand out as possibilities:
Joseph Claude Keys, a station hand from Gunnedah, and Michael Emanuel John Wartley, a farm labourer of Gilgandra. Joseph Keys' service number (2203) was only four different from Lynch's (2207). Longun is considered the best-educated and the leader of the gang of mates, and Keys was 30 years old, certainly much older than Lynch, who was just 18. Keys, a bullock driver who became a driver in the army, enlisted in Bathurst, so may have been known to Lynch. However, he was only 5 feet 7 inches (170 centimetres), much shorter than the 6 feet 2 inches (188 centimetres) that we are told Longun is. After the war Keys returned to Australia on a d
ifferent ship to Lynch, while in Somme Mud the mates travel home together.
Michael Emanuel John Wartley (service number 2297) was born at Boggabri and came from Gilgandra where his girlfriend, Miss Maud Evison, received his pay. His next of kin, his mother, lived in Narrabri. He was in Lynch's D Company, but several factors make him a less likely candidate for the character of Longun. He too was only 5 feet 7 inches (170 centimetres) tall, was aged only 22 at the time of his enlistment, and was captured by the Germans in early 1918 and not repatriated until May 1919. He returned to Australia on the Medic, a different ship to Lynch. There is an interesting entry in Wartley's personal file stating that he 'deserted' between 8.30 a.m. on 26 September 1917 and 6.35 p.m. the following day. He was court-martialled and given a sentence of five years, which it seems he did not serve.
Of the character Darky we are given few clues other than 'Wiry, wild and witty. As hard boiled as you make 'em. A fellow who'd been everywhere and done everything and perhaps everyone worth doing.' His identity remains a mystery.
Yacob, we are told, is a Russian Jew who deserted his ship, but only one man on the Wiltshire, Frederick Bradley (service number 2142), was listed as a seaman. Bradley was from Birkenhead, Cheshire, and his religion was Church of England, so we can safely assume it was not him. He spent most of his time in the 13th Battalion, was captured at Riencourt, near Bullecourt, in June 1917 and was repatriated to England in late December 1918. There were no Russian names on the embarkation list – in fact, very few non-Anglo Saxon names at all – and no men listed their religion as Jewish.
Although we are told Yacob 'stopped a bullet in the shin during a hop-over in front of Gueudecourt ... and we have no idea where he is' [p. 171], we have no way of researching this further nor any clues within the manuscript that can help us identify this man.