Old Diggers; what happened to those who returned?

Click to see the front page of the Battalion News #37 from 1960.

It is not unusual for men who have fought together to stick together in peacetime. Indeed one would be surprised if that were not to happen. However the 42nd men must have set some sort of record. The 42nd Bn Association existed and held an Annual Reunion for 74 consecutive years and issued a twice yearly newsletter for 64 consecutive years and never charged an annual fee. There branches of the Association in Sydney and Melbourne. Members from Northern NSW were quite active.

To read the Battalion News choose one that has been linked from the list below and Click.

#24; Dec 1952
#25;Jul 1953 #26; Dec 1953 #27; Jul 1954

#29; Dec 1955
#37;Jun 1960
#40: Dec 1960
#59; Jun 1970

All will be scanned and linked as time permits.

	Sgt John Clarence PEACOCK, MM (1956) with his son Phillip George. Phillip was the youngest of 20 children to Peacock's second marriage. He was uncle to 14 when born and was awarded the Blackall Coronation Celebration Committee's silver medallion for being closest born to the time of crowning of QE11. Phillip's son Bradley marches for his Grandfather on Anzac day. He is likely to be the youngest grandchild of any WW1 Digger. He was 10 in 2002. Peacock was 66 when Bradley's father, Phillip, was born. Phillip was 39 when Bradley was born. Peacock also has surviving grand-children from his first marriage.
click	Sgt Charles William Frederick HARRIS, MM (1955). Harris re-enlisted in WWII but was rejected as being of a "Reserved Occupation". He worked for the American Army after the US entered the war. He had 2, possibly 3, children and has 6 direct line grand-children and 7 Great-grand children. He spent most of his post WW1 life in Sth West Qld installing wind-mills and doing plumbing contracting.
click	S/Sgt Robert Sydney MELLOY. For details see below
click	Pte Verdi George Schwinghammer grew up in Grafton and South Grafton, the grandson of German immigrants. His family were prominent members of the community, both his father and uncle serving as Councillors, both serving as Mayor, the whole family being closely involved with community and church life. Prior to the Great War, Verdi worked in Byron Bay as a manager for the Northern Rivers Co-Op Coy Ltd (Norco). Verdi never married. He spent a considerable part of his life helping other returned servicemen including two years as the honorary Secretary/manager of the Soldiers’ Church of England Help Society in Coolangatta. It would appear, from the letter of appreciation marking the end of his time there that the facility had experienced difficult times prior to his taking the position; "You restored the good name which the house had lost prior to your taking over, you maintained discipline and good behaviour among the inmates, in a wonderful way, and always remembering that while you had to care for them you were acting on behalf of the society." Always plagued by his leg wound, he received a pension following the Great War. He was subject to chronic lung problems, also a result of the war and, from time to time, he suffered fits of depression, which he would try to banish with music. He was a man who lived alone but was never truly alone. Living frugally and simply, Verdi’s life encompassed friendships with Bishops and other Church men, writers, actors, singers, musicians and returned servicemen and their families from both wars (he served as a Sergeant in the Pay Corps during WW2). He seems to have successfully reconciled the life of an impecunious bohemian bachelor with a deep spiritual commitment to his fellow man. (Submitted by Jack Fawcett, G/Nephew)
"awarded you the Society’s Bronze Medal & Certificate of Merit for saving the life of Molly Gibson & Noel King from drowning in the Clarence River at South Grafton on the 24^th December 1928." Royal Humane Society

THE HONOURABLE SIR CHARLES DAVIDSON, KBE, OBE died in Brisbane in November I985, aged 88. He was born in Brisbane in September I897. A Lieutenant in World War I, Charles Davidson was the last surviving officer of the 42nd Battalion A.I.F. As Lieutenant-Colonel, he had the unique privilege of commanding the same Battalion in the Second World War. It was said at his funeral: Sir Charles had leadership qualities such that he could, and did, make heroes of ordinary men. These qualities which aroused such respect and affection in his men ensured that they were solidly behind his campaign when he decided to enter politics. During his record seven-year term as Postmaster-General, television was introduced into Australia. Despite his high public office as one of the top ten in the Federal Government he remained a staunch Queenslander. His links with the 42nd Battalion and the sugar industry were never far from this thoughts. His knowledge of individual members and their whereabouts was extensive and up-to-date. The old warrior was very proud of the devotion of his men.

JOHN (JACK) McLEAN, DSO, MC, MID, Worthy Patron of the 42nd Battalion A.I.F Association since I964, died in Sydney in I978, aged 82. He was born in Warwick, Queensland, in I896. Jack was badly wounded in the Proyart battle, and was actually recommended for the Victoria Cross, but was eventually awarded the DSO. Everyone liked Jack; he was really a "story-book" soldier, not only in his manner and bearing, but with the finest attributes of care for and loyalty to his fellows.

FRANK MARRIAN, MM, died in Brisbane in I987, aged 90. He was born in Worcester, England, in I896. Frank was a quiet man who possessed warmth and charm which endeared him to all his fellows in the Battalion. He worked assiduously as Vice-President to pass on the "Spirit of the 42nd" to the younger generation.

GEORGE CARRINGTON, died in Brisbane in I980 at the age of 86. He was born in Whitby, Yorkshire, in I894. We had more than sixty years of friendship, as comrades in war and peace. We were together in the trenches in Flanders and on the Somme, fellow banana farmers on the North Coast, and both in the real estate business in Brisbane. George's hobby was philately, which seemed to suit his quiet gentlemanly nature to perfection.

CLARRIE TRUDGIAN, AM, MBE, MC died on a visit to Jerusalem in I98I, aged 86. He was born at Gympie, Queensland, in I896. Clarrie's name is inextricably linked with the Brisbane City Mission, of which he was Superintendent since I939. He was known as
Good Samaritan" and was ever near to help the needy and distressed. Clarrie and his wife Dorothy were on their way to the old battlefields. They visited us before they left~ Clarrie's memories were strong, but his body was aging and weakening. There were then sixty-four members of the Battalion still living. Diane wrote: "The days of their lives grown shorter, and yet become more in the degree of their worth".

JULES TARDENT, C de G., aged 88, died peacefully at his home. "Shady Gums" Southport on Armistice Day, II November, I982 literally with his pen in his hand. He was born in Roma Queensland in I894, of Swiss descent. It had been Jules personal goal for more than a decade to document his family's history and he died within a few days of the book arriving from the printer. I am honoured that he had reserved a numbered copy for me. I wrote 'A Comrade's Tribute' for the Battalion Newsletter and said:

To do justice to the memory of Jules Tardent one would indeed need a poet's pen. The memory of such a man as Jules will live forever with those who had the good fortune to know him and particularly the men of the 42nd Battalion in the First World War.

War, with all its trials and tribulations, serves one good purpose. It welds comrades together in an unbreakable bond. An Infantry Battalion such as the 42nd brought into very close association over a thousand men who lived together 365 day's a year, and for many men, that meant a period of over three long, long years. It seemed that it would never end. Men - yes, even mere boys - were put to the test. Few failed. They were all human, but the amazing part of life was that some, and not a few, shone out like beacons in the night ... Thanks, Jules! I for one shall never forget. Not that you were alone in your understanding of your fellow men, and an example to the younger members of the Battalion, but truly you dedicated your whole life to your unit, and were known in some quarters as "Mister 42nd".

It is a self-evident fact there have been many, not few, Old Diggers who have been prepared to "go in to bat for their old Batt". There are a few more whom I would like to credit before drawing the curtain. Their names and deeds should never be forgotten. Unlike those who died on the field of battle, age did weary them, eventually!

At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, We will remember them.

click

ROBERT SYDNEY MELLOY. Melloy or "RSM" as he was called (for his initials, not his rank) was granted the honour of being the "Last of the Old Campaigners" with respect to the 42nd Bn. He led a fascinating life. He served again in Australia during WWII and went on to be a very successful Real Estate Broker and part owner of restaurants including the famous 'Top of the State' revolving restaurant on the SGIO building. His life is retold in full in his memoirs. "Time Will Tell" Memoirs of a Kangaroo Point kid, by RS Melloy as told to Diane Melloy. Boolarang Publications (I993). ISBN 0 86439 I70 6. These following excerpts should be enough to whet your appetite enough to buy the book.

I. My father made no protest when I wanted to join up. My father endorsed the consent form. Like most women, my mother abhorred war and the thought of it, and was too kindly a soul to think that her son would shoot and be shot at. Not wanting to distress my mother by asking her to sign my life away, I did it on her behalf.

2. Early in I9I6 I reported to Thompson's Paddock and was allocated to the Third Reinforcement of the 47th Bn. After going through the hoops I was transferred to the 42nd. (Note. Melloy served with the 42nd so served alongside my father. Had he continued to the 47th as planned he would have served alongside my maternal grandfather, Cpl Charles William Davidson, MM). After a week of initial training, the CO called for members to join the NCO's instruction class. I applied, was accepted and then began intensive training at the Exhibition Grounds at Bowen Hills. From Private to Corporal to Sergeant took six weeks. Next I attended the Armourers School at Enoggera. There had been a call for volunteers and 20 were accepted. Only one would be Armourer Sergeant. My cockiness paid off and I was appointed Armourer Staff Sergeant of the 42nd. I was assigned 32 men, 8 from each Company to instruct during the voyage. It was quite a responsibility for an I8 year old.

3. The oddest communication I received on active service was as a summons to report back to Brisbane for duty in His Majesty's Navy. Evidently I had left Australia without officially notifying the Naval Cadets that I had enlisted in the Army. The official language brooked no procrastination and no equivocation. However my superior officer in the Army smartly said that the Navy had no right to me and I was to stay right where I was. I didn't mind too much at the time but later on how I wished I was back home on the banks of the Brisbane River!

4. My position as Armourer Sergeant made day-to-day routine somewhat more interesting. Our Lee Enfield rifles were good equipment and each man was responsible for maintaining his own. If anyone was negligent or had any problems, then the necessary restoration or assistance was my responsibility. Being a "Specialist" meant that I was attached to Headquarters, not to a Company. Therefore, to some small degree, I "ran my own race" because I was not directly answerable to a Company Lieutenant, but received orders from higher up. I was assigned one Private from each Section on a weekly roster basis, and it was my duty to supervise their work and teach them the rudiments of the arms and equipment.

My specialised work meant that I was at the beck and call of the entire Battalion but conversely, it meant that I had access to the whole Battalion and had to move around quite a lot. There were times when I was able to do this in style on a bicycle or motorbike. One day, I had a bit of luck. I was reconnoitring on my own between Hellfire Corner and the Menin Gate when I came across a motorbike which was lying in a ditch beside the road. Evidently, the dispatch rider had been killed. The bike was in first-class order, and I thought I should take care of it for the King. Thereafter, I was able to get about the country in style.

5. For me, however, that order to reinforce the line evokes a hideous memory which I can never erase no matter how much I try. We had to march through a sort of gully or ravine - a sunken road - about fifteen feet deep. The bombardment was heavy and a group of soldiers just minutes ahead of our group had been shelled. The sight that met our eyes was horrifying. Bits of bodies were slathered and plastered on the walls like ragged lumps of meat in a butcher's shop. The shelling was continuous, and some of our chaps also copped it.

6. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was blown up with a 5.9 shell: the impact parted me from my gas mask. I was unprotected when Fritz sent over the gas.. I inhaled phosgene. For some days afterwards, my lungs felt as though they were being continuously ripped apart by barbed wire. Breathing was agony. The medics in the Casualty Clearing Station gave me a dose of something like phenyle which they said was to counter the worst effects of the gas. I took it.

Shell-shock also got me. The shakes were uncontrollable. Our medical officer, "Doc" Thompson, said I was a "Blighty" case - pretty bad. I pleaded with him. I didn't want to leave my Battalion. He said I had been too young, and never should have left home at all. Doc Thompson was like a kindly uncle. He was obviously fraught and frustrated by the senselessness of it all. I know this now, looking back. Then, it didn't matter. Didn't make any difference at all. Here I was, and here I wanted to stay. The doctor went away, and returned a short time later:

"Here, drink this," he said, not unkindly.

I tried to raise the brimming mug to my lips.

"You can't even hold a mug, let alone a rifle".

"Doc, this is rum. I don't drink."

'Well, you do now. Just drink it!". More firmly, this time.

I did as I was told, and lay down on the stretcher. Twenty-four hours later, I awoke from a deep sleep. I wasn't shaking. Doc Thompson was standing over me, grinning: "Right, my fine lad, you're on a special daily issue from now on. If you insist on staying, that will be your medicine." Well, I have stayed so long, that I am still around to write this in my nineties! And I have been taking my medicine - like a good boy - ever since!

That was to prove the least troublesome part of my recuperation. Like the saying that if one chooses one's parents aright, one will live a long and healthy life, the same maxim holds true for choosing one's doctor. I was fortunate that Doctor Thompson came from Bundaberg. the Queensland town famed for the growth of sugar cane and the production of dark rum. He was able to prescribe what was actually folk medicine. It worked and I am grateful. Others also believed that rum actually did have curative powers:

"The gas was phosgene, and we were all sick, choking, when the QM arrived with rum. We swallowed some and the fumes of the rum and gas made us horribly sick and we vomited most of the gas out. After a couple of hours we only had a bad headache and didn't go out of action. Rum is the best cure for phosgene gas, but no good for other kinds".

7. One of my confreres, Sergeant Charlie Harris, fell in love with a Scottish nurse, Nancy Hall, whom he met in Paris. Charlie was a fine chap, a splendid soldier who had won the Military Medal for bravery in the field. He was universally admired, a fine figure of a man who could have had no argument with his Creator. Who knows whether it was distance or colour which caused them to abandon their future life together. Charlie was an Aborigine. Had it been otherwise, I feel that his preferment would have known no bounds.