A Family at War
Like many thousands of others throughout Australia,
Samuel and FannyÕs two eldest boys, Samuel John and Albert Ernest Free,
enlisted in the First AIF. We donÕt know why they decided to do this. Perhaps
they were following the example of others who had gone before them, or were
influenced by friends or government propaganda, or simply saw it as a chance to
escape the hardships and monotony of outback farming.
Following a medical examination at Swan Hill, they
enlisted together in Melbourne on 24 July 1916 where they swore to Ôwell and
truly serve our Sovereign Lord the KingÕ, Ôresist His MajestyÕs enemiesÕ, and Ôcause
His majestyÕs peace to be keptÕ. The attestation papers showed Albert to be 22
years and three months old, single and a farm hand by occupation. He was just
over five foot six inches tall, had blue eyes and, like many others of British
stock, a fair complexion. Sam was both taller and older than his brother, by
some 15 months, also blue-eyed and single but was slighty heavier and had a
darker complexion which he inherited from his motherÕs side of the family.
15 Machine Gun Company at the Seymour Camp
The boys were both allocated to the 15th Machine Gun
Company and did their initial training at the large Army camp at Seymour. As a
consequence, they were able often to go home on leave where they proudly
displayed their new uniforms and enjoyed the attention and adoration of the
local community. But the needs of the war were building and it soon came time
to leave Seymour for Melbourne and beyond. It is likely that Samuel and Johanna
invited their friends and relatives to either their farmhouse or the local
school hall to farewell their two sons. In a, by now, accustomed routine,
speeches would have been made congratulating the young men on their decision to
do their duty and suggesting they would give a good account of themselves. The
guests of honour would have thanked those present for their kind words and good
wishes and, with their friends, enjoyed the sumptuous supper, dancing under the
stars and, at the end, Ôthe sweet sorrowÕ of joining hands and together singing
Auld Lang Syne.
Samuel and Johanna would have
been proud of their sons, although the mounting casualty lists and the return
of the wounded and shell-shocked veterans of Gallipoli and the early campaigns
in France would also have given them some cause for concern. But like most
parents, they hid their fears for the sake of their children and the good of
the nation.[1] They also allowed themselves to be
distracted by the patriotic speeches and by their other duties. Johanna had the
rest of her large family to look after and Samuel, along with his brothers
James and William, had plenty of land still to clear and, in the new year,
bountiful crops to harvest.
In due course Sam and Bert (pictured above) travelled by
train from Seymour to Melbourne where they had their photos taken at the
Central Studios at Ripponlea. Together with hundreds of others, they filed on
board the SS Port Lincoln on 20 October 1916. Probably as their ship began to
move away from Port Phillip Bay, Johanna received two post cards that her boys
had posted two days earlier and on which they wrote:
Well mother we were paraded today and told that we
are to embark at 8.45 on Friday morning at the new Port Melbourne pier on the
Port Lincoln but canÕt say for sure when we will be clear of the heads, but I
suppose I will be able to send a wire from Melbourne. Well Mother donÕt worry
we will be back among you again before 15 months and donÕt forget to pray for
us occasionally. We will still be on the water at Christmas they reckon, but we
may be landed by new year.
Your loving son Sam.
Just a few lines to let you know we embark on
Friday, we are ready to go at a minutes notice but we will not get on the boat
until Friday morning, they say [it] will be a week out side the bay before we
sail. I will write before I sail so Good Bye and Good Luck until I come back.
With love from
your Loving Son Bert
After spending some time outside the Heads, the SS Lincoln
sailed west past Perth and then on towards South Africa. After the first few
weeks the initial excitement of their first sea voyage would have subsided and
the boys would have grown tired of the monotonous diet and accompanying routine
of physical training, lectures, deck games and rumour mongering. Their interest
was soon revived, however, on sighting the outline of the eastern coast of
South Africa and, after that, the port of Durban. Here it is likely that they
would have shared the experience of Corporal Alan Campbell of the Australian
Flying Corps whose ship left Melbourne shortly after, and followed the same
route as, the Port Lincoln, and who later wrote in a letter to his mother:
The first person that we were able to discern on
land was a girl, or perhaps she would prefer, a young lady, neatly dressed in
all white, who waved to us and in excellent semaphore, sent Australia some very
nice messages. We gave that girl the loudest cheer that, I think, I ever heard,
2500 of us together and she disappeared. We had not seen a female for so long,
that the sight of her did us good.
After a few days leave in Durban, the Port Lincoln got
ready to sail and the ships company was treated to the spectacle of a local
YWCA worker, a Miss Campbell, coming onto the wharf with several chaff bags
full of fresh oranges which she threw to the departing troops as fast as her
native helpers could pass them to her. When all the oranges were despatched,
she waved goodbye and, like her compatriot on their arrival, semaphored them
ÔGood LuckÕ. This so touched the watchers that they, like many before and
after, took up a collection and sent her a gift from England. The ship sailed
without an escort to Cape Town and then along the west coast of Africa and
across the equator. They were now in Ôdangerous watersÕ and were not allowed to
smoke or show lights of any kind on deck after sunset. This was for good
reason. Much to the trepidation of the soldiers on board, a German submarine
began stalking the Port Lincoln and chased it into the port of Freetown in
Sierra Leone where, without a pilot, it ran onto a sandbar luckily within the
harbour.
Sam and Bert and their colleagues
were hastily disembarked and spent a pleasant week in Freetown seeing the
sights, having their photograph taken and waiting for a replacement transport
ship. This was the SS Ulysses which left in a convoy from Sierra Leone on 5
December and arrived at Devonport in the United Kingdom three days after
Christmas. The following day they marched into a transit camp at Perham Downs
where they were allocated to the 4th Machine Gun Company and remained for the
next four months.
During this time, life at Lalbert went on. Samuel
finished harvesting and, with his sons, continued to make improvements to the farm.
Johanna and her daughters joined others in the district in attending and
organising sewing circles, dances, flower day celebrations and other gatherings
to provide goods for the troops and raise money for the war effort. The local
schools joined in and, on Commonwealth day and other holiday occasions, held
colourful bazaars at which there were be-ribboned stalls packed with goods of
all kinds, and people partook of such amusements as sheaf tossing, sack racing
and ladies nail driving. The family also eagerly awaited letters and cards from
the brothers which, in addition to their own news, often contained that of
relatives or other familiesÕ sons and, to the delight of the younger children,
photos of strange places and exotic peoples.
Active
Service in France and Belgium
In May Johanna received a card dated 7 May 1917 on which
Bert wrote that he and Sam had Ôvolunteered to go to France [and] will be
leaving some time this week, so I will say Good Bye and Good Luck just until I
come backÕ. The brothers sailed from Folkestone for the Machine Gun School at
Camieres in France on 10 May and, on 16 June, were posted to 10 MG CoyÕs Team
No 6 which was part of 3 Section and was commanded by a LCpl George Piggot
Holmes. 10 MG Coy was part of the machine gun battalions that operated under
the control of the Australian Army Corps and were allocated as needed to the
infantry brigades and other formations. The 10 MG Coy served with the 10th
Brigade of the 3rd Australian Division.
The brothers joined their unit just after the Battle of
Messines in Belgium in which 35 members of the company and 750 from the
Division overall were either killed or wounded. The company returned to the
front not long afterwards, however, and Sam and Bert would have their first
experience of trench warfare in a diversionary attack that took place in the
Messines sector on 29-30 July.
3 Section, 10 MG Coy in France
TheWindmill Feint
The Windmill Feint, by infantry from 11 Brigade, was
directed against a series of German outposts that were located forward of their
main line (the plan was to make the Germans think that HaigÕs coming offensive
was going to be launched there rather than its actual location at Ypres to the
north). The guns of 10 MG Coy were
grouped with those of 9 MG Coy in order to contribute to the barrage covering
the initial attack and then to provide support for subsequent S.O.S. tasks. In
the days leading up to the attack, Sam and Bert and their colleagues spent most
of their time stockpiling thousands of rounds of ammunition. As one of their
colleagues, L. M. Jungworth, recorded in his diary, this was exhausting and
dangerous work:
We would have to walk through sticky mud knee deep
3 miles to the ammunition dumps and then each man took a box containing 200
rounds. It was almost too heavy for a man to lift on his back. Sometimes we
would tie them on so as to have our hands free to keep from falling and then
sometimes men would fall and be unable to get up. All the time we would be
getting shelled but be too exhausted to care.
On the night of the attack, No 6 Team moved into its
positions and waited for ZERO hour. It started raining and a stray shell landed
in the midst of an adjoining section, killing two men and wounding two others.
According to the unitÕs war diary, at 3.50am the guns of the two machine gun
companies opened fire at the rate of 50 rounds per minute onto the ground 100
yards in front of 11 BrigadeÕs front line. The focus of their fire was advanced
a further 100 yards a minute until Zero plus 30 minutes when Ôtwo guns in each
section ceased firing and the remainder scorched back to a range of 2800 ydsÕ.
At ZERO plus two hours Ôall guns ceased fire and layed [sic] on their S.O.S.
linesÕ. Altogether some 75,600 rounds of ammunition were expended in the
initial barrage the efficiency of which was said to be
shown by the statement of a prisoner who rushed
over to our lines shortly after ZERO. One bullet had penetrated his left wrist
and another had torn across the front of his jacket without wounding him. He
stated that he he had been in a shell hole post with several others. When the
barrage opened they all attempted to reach our lines and he was the only member
of the party that succeeded in coming through the machine gun fire.
After heavy fighting, the infantryÕs objectives were
achieved and the soldiers of the 42nd and 43rd Battalions dug in for the
expected counter-attack. At 9pm bodies of German soldiers were seen moving from
their front line towards the Australian positions. S.O.S. rockets were fired
and the machines guns of 9 and 10 MG Coys Ôreplied within a few seconds,
followed almost instantly by the artillery. Under this barrage and fire from
the posts, the German movement died awayÕ (p. 719). A further and final counter
attack mounted at first light met a similar response. The operation was
considered to be a success even though 11 Brigade suffered 550 casualties and
Ôthe German Command was never in real doubt as to the true object and direction
of HaigÕs offensiveÕ (p. 721).
Passchendaele
HaigÕs new offensive began on 15 July 1917 and initially
involved Australian troops from I Anzac Corps in assaults on the Menin Road,
Polygon Wood and Broodseinde. But the intensity of the fighting and the level
of casualties were such that units from II Anzac Corps were inevitably needed.
After the diversionary attack on 31 July, 10 MG Coy had been withdrawn to the
rear of the line where they overhauled their guns and took on new
reinforcements. On 13 August the unit, now totalling 9 officers and 214 other
ranks, entrained with the rest of 10 Brigade to Wizernes from where they
marched to Mieurles and then to St. Sylvestre Cappel. On 3 October 1917, the
unit moved to the rear of the line near Vlamertingue where they made ready for
the first stage of an attack against enemy forces dug in around the village of
Passchendaele. In 10 BrigadeÕs sector, this was to be carried out by the
infantry battalions. Numbers 1 and 3 Sections of 10 MG Coy, under the command
of Lieutenant Smith, were to provide supporting fire for the attacking infantry
while 4 Section, under Lieutenant Woods, would advance with the infantry and
assist in the consolidation of the final objective.
Thus on the evening of 3 October 1917, the two brothers
and their comrades found themselves digging in their guns on a barrage position
in the vicinity of the Bremen Redoubt. It had began to drizzle and sharp,
chilly squalls drove in from the southwest causing the battlefield to become,
in the words of the official history, ÔgreasyÕ if not yet ÔdrenchedÕ. A German
artillery barrage, which preceded an attack of their own on the same night,
began to fall among the waiting Australian infantry who were, by this stage,
crowded together just to the rear of the front line. In spite of the casualties
this caused and the ever-worsening weather, the morale and expectations of the
troops was high in large measure because this was to be the first time in which
the divisions of the two Anzac Corps would actually fight side-by-side.
The attack began at 4 am and soldiers of the brigade
moved forward under the barrage provided by the artillery and the machine guns
of 1 and 3 sections. After heavy fighting all of the brigadeÕs objectives were
achieved. The attackers dug-in and Sam and Bert and their colleagues hastily
moved their guns forward to a new barrage position from which they could cover
likely assembly points for the expected German counter-attack. This did not
eventuate however, and, after a sleepless night, the company was relieved by
one from the British 66th Division.
The brothers were no doubt relieved that they had
survived but also pleased that they had performed their tasks professionally
and well - Sam was now the No 1 in his team which meant that he fired one of
the sectionÕs guns - and had helped the attacking infantry achieve all of its
objectives. While the cost of the attack would have would have given them pause
for thought (the Australia divisions lost over 6340 men killed or wounded
including 26 members of 10 MG Coy) they had little time to dwell on its
possibilities, for already they were getting ready for the next and more
difficult stage of the operation.
Sam, Bert and the other members
of Team No 6 of the 10MG Coy (photo taken a few days before the battle of
Passchendaele).
This involved a two-phase assault by the troops of 3
Division on Passchendaele itself. It would prove to be much less successful.
The attack, which was to be conducted by the 9th and 10 Brigades, was to begin
at first light on 12 October 1917. On this occasion, 1 and 4 sections of 10 MG
Coy were to form the barrage battery and 3 Section under Lieutenant Potter plus
a subsection of 2 Section were Ôto move forward to [the] jumping off tape with
the infantryÕ and join in the attack. Bert and Sam and the other soldiers from
the two brigades spent the night of 10 October on grassland flats to the east
of Ypres. According to the official history, Ôtents, which were to have been
provided, were not thereÕ and so the soldiers had to camp Õon the wet grass,
under such timber or old sheets of iron as they could findÕ (p. 910).
They began the approach to their jumping off points at
around 6pm on 11 October. As the history of the 39 Battalion described, the
area they were crossing had just been Ôwon from the enemy, and consequently was
badly broken up by gun fire into a series of shell holesÕ. This and continuing
driving rain made the ground almost impassable except along duckboard tracks
which had been laid the previous day. These had also been visible to the enemy
and so the approaching soldiers found they were being Ôaccurately and
persistently shelled not only with high explosive, but, at some points, with
[mustard] gasÕ. Those who got off the duckboards risked being drowned in sodden
shell holes, or, in the pitch dark, found themselves crawling over the bodies
of British soldiers who had been killed or wounded in the lead-up attack.
The leading platoons did not reach their assembly points
until around 3am whereupon they pulled their waterproof sheets over their heads
for shelter against the rain, and tried to sleep. But as 39 BattalionÕs history
records, their ordeal was by no means over:
Zero hour was still two hours ahead. Continuous
heavy rain fell the whole time and the Germans kept up É [their] bombardment.
Little schrapnel was used, and the ground was so soft the shells buried
themselves before exploding. But for this circumstance, the waiting troops
would have been decimated before the battle began. As it was, heavy casualties
resulted. The men longed for zero hour, preferring activity to a passive
submission to a heavy bombardment.
During the move to the assembly point, Bert became
separated from the No 6 Team. In a letter written in 1918, BertÕs then section
commander, George Holmes, told BertÕs mother that Bert Ônever got up to us at the front É [and] was when last
seen to my knowledge on or very near the barrage lineÕ. The attack on
Passchendaele began at 5.30am and required the leading lines of infantry to
walk just behind the artillery and machine gun barrage while dodging the
incoming German shells and dealing with pockets of resistance that remained
after the barrage had passed. The attackers were hampered by the worsening
weather and intense fire coming from positions on their left flank. While a few
eventually reached the village of Passchendaele, the heavy casualties and lack
of support forced them to withdraw and to consolidate their line roughly where
the attack had begun. There they held on grimly until relieved by 11 Brigade
the next day.
Number 3 Section, which lost three of its guns in action,
was withdrawn from the line at the same time although Sam and its other
surviving members continued to help man the barrage position that was
maintained on Abraham Heights for a further week and until relieved by a
Canadian machine gun company. Bert was posted as wounded and then missing in
action on 20 October 1918, the day before 10 MG Coy unit returned by train to
Mieurles. The unitÕs overall losses were three killed in action, 27 wounded in
action, one, Bert, wounded and missing in action, and four missing in action.
The 3rd Division suffered some 3199 casualties in all and would take months
before it was able and ready to fight again.
After Bert was reported as missing in action his family
were duly informed by telegram. While fearing the worst, they would have hoped
that he was still alive and had become lost, or was lying wounded somewhere or,
even, had been captured by the Germans. Sam, too, clearly hoped that his
brother had somehow survived although his own experience would have warned him
not to expect too much. This was clear from a card he sent to his mother from
Renescure on 28 October. After informing her that he was Ôback in comfortable
quarters again and doing fairly wellÕ, he added:
Now mind what ever you do donÕt worry about Bert.
He is only one of the noble thousands doing their bit and if God in his mercy
spares me to come back, your lot will not be so bad, some have lost all you
know.
In a
note sent on 3 November 1917 Sam told his parents that ÔI have not heard
anything of Bert yet so my fears are pretty well confirmedÕ. By Christmas of
that year, he found it necessary to say in a card to his father: ÔWell Dad old
man keep your spirits up and I see another good year so that takes trouble off
your shoulders one wayÕ.
The strain on BertÕs parents was not helped by the
receipt of a form letter from an officer in the AIF Base Records in Melbourne
on 11 February 1918 stating that Ôno further official news has yet been
receivedÕ on BertÕs fate and asking if they had Ôany news of the soldier from any other sourceÕ (emphasis
added). If so, the letter continued, could they forward details plus any
letters and post cards from Ôthe soldierÕ since he was posted missing. While
entitled to be angry and upset by the impersonal nature of the letter (and its
implications), Samuel replied simply and honestly as follows:
I have received no further news than officially
reported missing. I am forwarding one of Pte A. E. FreeÕs letters and one of
his brotherÕs letters. His brother was in the same company as he so you may get
some information about the soldier that was with him when missing. I hope you
will do your best.
This reply prompted the authorities to cable France for
more information but none would be forthcoming until a Court of Inquiry,
conducted after the war on 18 November 1918, found that Bert had been killed in
action.
The anxieties and fears of the
family now settled on Sam. Following the battle of Passchendaele his unit was
placed back into the now relatively quiet Messines sector in order to rest and
prepare for HaigÕs coming Spring offensive. Sam was clearly upset by the loss
of his brother and spent a further period in hospital before, with his
ÔMelbourne matesÕ (shown in the photo) taking a well-earned weekÕs leave in Paris
in December 1918. He also occasionally met up with his old section commander,
George Piggot Holmes, who had moved to another section when he was promoted to
sergeant, and with whom Sam got on well.
While Sam and his colleagues eyed the Eiffel tower, Haig
and his generals sat in their chateaux preparing their coming offensive. The
Germans, too, were planning an attack of their own which was aimed at knocking
England out of the war before the Americans arrived, and was made possible by
the release of thousands of troops from the Eastern Front following the
overthrow of the Czarist regime in Russia. The German offensive, code-named
Operation Michael, began on 20 March 1918 and fell on the British forces
located in the area around the Somme valley in France. In light of the initial
German successes, 3 Division, commanded by General Monash, was ordered to move
from Belgium to Arras in France where it would join its sister divisions and
the New Zealanders in seeking to block the enemy advance.
Sam and his colleagues in 10 MG Coy were part of MonashÕs
advance party which was initially deployed by train to Mondicourt on 27 March
1918. As the official history described,
here as elsewhere on that day, the unloading
Australians found themselves unexpectedly plunged into an atmosphere of panic É
French civilians and British troops - largely of labour corps and railway
companies, mixed with stragglers and wounded men - streamed continuously
rearwards along the road from Pas, two miles away, which they said was now
threatened by the German advance.
The guns of 10 MG Coy were hastily deployed to defend
Mondicourt until the rest of the brigade arrived, and soldiers were sent
forward on bicycles to try and ascertain exactly where the enemyÕs leading
troops were. No sooner had the leading battalions of 10 Brigade detrained, then
they were ordered to move to a position some two hours march away from where
they embussed at around 3 am and were driven further southwards. Two hours
later, in the cool dawn of France in early Spring, Ôthey found themselves
bumping into the dusty village of Franvillers on the Amiens-Albert road, high
on the edge of the Somme country which was so familiar to the four other
Australian divisions, but in which theirs, the youngest, though experienced in
great battles in Flanders, had never yet servedÕ (p. 154). Once again Sam and
his by now exhausted colleagues were confronted by scenes of panic and
pandemonium:
As far as the eye could see, especially along the
road from the south-east, came carts lurching with towering loads, precious
mattresses, bedsteads, washstands, picture frames, piled together with chairs,
brooms, sauce-pans, buckets, the aged driver perched in front upon a pile of
hay for the old horse; the family cow - and sometimes calves, or goat - towed
behind by a rope or driven by an old woman or small boys or girls on foot (p.
174).
Intermingled with this retreating stream were withdrawing
British artillery and transport units some of whose soldiers warned the
Australians that they would soon become ÔJerryÕs souvenirsÕ. Undeterred, the
soldiers of 10 Brigade dug in across the Bray-Corbie road and, along with a
number of other Australian formations to their north and south, awaited the
German attack. This took place in early April to the south of 10 BrigadeÕs
positions and near the town of Villers Brettenaux. During the battle there,
which involved 9 Brigade as well as a number of British units, Sam and his
colleagues in 10 MG Coy alternated between occupying positions on 10 BrigadeÕs front
line near Mericourt and providing barrage support from the 3rd Machine
BattalionÕs headquarters at Ribemont.[2]
This pattern was maintained until 10 May when 10 MG Coy was relieved by 5 MG
Coy and, with the rest of the 3 Division, withdrew to Allonville for rest and
recuperation. While in Allonville, Sam and his mates, all dressed in fighting
order, were reviewed by the Commander-in-Chief of the British forces, Field
Marshall Sir Douglas Haig, as paart of a divisional parade.
On 21 May 1918, 3 MG BattalionÕs war diary showed that 10
MG Coy returned to the front line where it relieved 4 MG Coy and resumed its
previous duties there. The diaryÕs next mention of 10 MG Coy occurred on the
25th May when it noted that the company had sustained Ôcasualties from shell-fire
[and] 5 ORs were woundedÕ. One of these was Sam. According to the letter
written to SamÕs mother by George Holmes,
One evening he [Sam] was on duty going out of the
line with one of the CoyÕs limbers and while he was riding in this limber almost
out of the shell area a shell from the enemy burst right underneath the vehicle
and Sam received a piece of shrapnel in the abdomen. The dressing station was
not more than 100 yards away and all haste was made thereto. The doctor done
all possible for the boy and Sam was [..] with his wounds dressed in 1/4 of an
hour after he was hit so you see medical aid had done all possible to save his
life. He was shortly afterwards conveyed to the 47th Casualty Clearing Station
where the sisters had charge of him and also medical attendance of the very
best. He never rallied I am told but gradually sank and died at 2.15 pm the
next day.
The family were advised of SamÕs death on 3 June 1918.
They had no idea of what exactly happened to him until they received George
HolmeÕs letter in late July. The Army did not officially advise them of the
circumstances of their sonÕs death until 16 October 1918. This letter, which
referred to the Ôregrettable loss of your sonÕ, also stated that a photo of the
grave would be Ôtaken as soon as possible andÉtransmitted to next-of-kin when
availableÕ. The photo did not arrive until March 1920 and recorded the grave as
being that of Albert rather than Sam. This was rectified in a number of
follow-up photographs that had been requested by Samuel and were sent to the
family on 25 August 1921.
The photo of Sam Free and record of where he is
buried
We do not know how Samuel and Fanny and their family
coped with the loss of their two sons and brothers. They may have been
comforted by the idea that their boys had sacrificed themselves for the sake of
the nation and the empire, or that they were merely one of many, many families
who had lost their loved ones (11 of the 47 residents of Lalbert and its
surrounding district alone who had enlisted for active service in the Great War
did not return). They would have been helped by the support and expressions of
sympathy received from relatives, friends and former comrades. Particularly
welcome would have been the following sentiments contained in the letter from
Sgt George Piggot Holmes, who signed it as ÔAn Australian SoldierÕ and was
himself killed in France a few months after Sam:
From the time they both joined us they were in my
team and I was a proud NCO to have such fine chaps. É Now Mrs Free I have taken
on a very unpleasant duty in trying to let you know what I can about the sad
ending É [and] I ask you to bear up through this terrible trial and try to
console yourself as much as possible by the fact that both of your boys were
regarded as brave soldiers and were the friends of all in the camp. Their loss
is mourned by all. I am especially sorry that one son could not return to you
again; but we all came here of our own free wills, the only army of volunteers
the whole world knows today and are regarded as the best fighters on the
Western Front. I will do all in my power to send you any information which you
might think fit to ask and ask you in return to look upon them proudly with a
calm and steadfast eye for they were soldiers [underlined] not afraid to die. I
have a brother who has given his life for the land we call home, the best land
in the univers ÔAUSTRALIAÕ.
Sgt Holmes
The memories and the hurt would
have been revisited and compounded by a number of subsequent events. These
included the news that the war had finally ended which sparked enthusiastic
celebrations and a sense of relief throughout the country with Lalbert being no
exception. A schoolfriend of the younger Frees, Frances Meehan, later recalled
that, upon receipt of the news, the children were given the rest of the day off
from school and Ôroamed around the township singing patriotic songsÕ. A
bonfire, topped with an effigy of the Kaiser that was filled with fireworks,
was built between the hotel and the Lalbert railway station. As night fell,
Samuel and AlbertÕs sister Hilda was given the honour of lighting the fire and,
as Ôthe flames reached the Kaiser and it exploded in a shower of sparks, the
crowd cheered wildlyÕ.
On 15 March 1919, the family received a package
containing the effects of Ôthe late No. 415B Private S. J. Free, 3rd MG BtnÕ.
This contained a wallet, a safety razor, an electric torch, a metal cigarette
case, a handkerchiel and some photos and cards. Among the cards was one from a
Private F. Kelly in France who described himself as an Ôold cobberÕ of Sam, and
a number from Australia. The latter included a card from his younger brother
and three Christmas cards from young women, Alice Hash, Molly and Susie and
Nell.
In the subsequent years, they received
for each boy the British War Medal and the Victory Medal (April 1921), a
pamphlett on ÔWhere Australians restÕ (19 May 1921), and a memorial plaque and
memorial scroll (November and December 1921). As the years passed, they would have continued to
draw comfort from the annual remembrance ceremonies although, over time, even
these tended to downplay the sacrifices that the countryÕs mothers in
particular had made in favour of those of the soldiers who served. As Joy
Damousi describes, Ôin 1920, mothers occupied a central place in the countryÕs
memory but, by the eve of the next war, the remembrance of their sacrifice had
been shifted to the peripheryÕ (1999: 34). This was evidenced by the refusal of
the RSL and other bodies to allow women to take part in dawn ceremonies in
different places across Australia or directly to participate in the Anzac day
marches. Some women were not prepared to endure their marginalisation in
silence and organised their own grieving ceremonies. But most gave way to the changing
circumstances and mourned their losses alone.
