I'm very proud of the rich Aussie heritage passed down to me by my forebears, and not just those fondly remembered aspects of it that resulted in my love of hunting and the bush.
Thanks to the heroic and selfless efforts of my Grandfather, Lance Mallard, and uncles Hedley and Guy Mallard, whom sadly I never met, I am also privileged to enjoy a very rich Aussie Anzac heritage.
Due to a very fortunate quirk of fate, however, when I think 'Anzac' it is not the heroism and accomplishment of my family's menfolk that first springs to mind. Rather, it is the pride, the bravery and the stoicism of those they left behind when they boarded the transports bound for war.
That 'quirk of fate' comes in the form of my Great-Grandmother, Louisa Maria Mallard, who, with a mixture of pride and trepidation, waived her sons farewell.
Louisa, or 'Loo' to her beloved family, was an exceptional woman. Classically educated, incredibly articulate and with a marvellous flair for detail, Louisa wrote many long letters to family in an easy style during and after WWI, each of which embodies what we now refer to as “The Spirit of Anzac”.
Human nature is such that letters are invariably lost or discarded with the passage of time. However, Louisa’s easy and colourful commentary, not to mention her extraordinarily beautiful copperplate hand, were such that her letters were preserved as cherished records of family history and that of the Australia of the early 20th century.
Louisa was a mother, a nurse and a poet. In fact she wrote the official Anzac Homecoming Memento published as “Our Anzacs”, although her name would not be put to that work. It was a different era and a Defence Department loath to publish a chronicle of the war under a woman’s name, insisted it should instead be attributed to one “Lou Mal” for its verisimilitude of masculinity.
For those up for a wonderful read and perhaps a little cry, Our Anzacs can be found here
I have just finished transcribing a letter Louisa wrote to a beloved niece in England, in which she describes her joy at being one of the lucky few to send sons to war and have them all return safe. The letter also contains much information about the times and welcome home the country and her little community in southern Sydney would prepare for its heroes.
I thought I’d share this letter with visitors to my blog, both for its historical relevance and for its value as a reminder of how we once and duly revered those who served their country.
It seems to me such reminders are needed these days, as the commitment and sacrifice of 21st century service men and women is too often overlooked, even trivialised and derided by some.
To me, the spirit of Anzac is as much about the recognition and appreciation of selfless commitment and service to one’s community as it is about war and winning against apparently insurmountable odds. Louisa, I think, felt that way too.
So, without further ado, Louisa’s letter.
Anyway, I'll get outaya way now.....
Lleyton, Station St
Mortdale Illawarra Line
New South Wales Australia
August 24th, 1919
Dearest Queenie,
Your last long letter deserved an answer before now, only that we have been coming through our share of the influenza. Unfortunately, since our Guy’s return, I had Pa laid up with a threatened attack of pneumonic influenza, and Eulie with tonsillitis. As I had just risen from my bed after an attack of bronchitis and rheumatism it was rather a strain on me and as soon as Pa was about again and able to look after himself I had a relapse and nearly curled up and out of this world.
Correspondence has had to be declined duly until things came normal again.
But I had written to you dear, a long letter and sent you an Anzac memento. I was wondering what kept you silent. Since the receipt of your last letter, Guy has come home. He came per transport from Shropshire as an invalid, and landed here on May 17th. I was sorry he did not go and see you all but the fact is some third cousins – Mallards at Wimbledon – have so claimed and enamoured him that every hour of his home furloughs were given to them.
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| Louisa Maria Mallard (nee Osborne) - 1859 - 1944 |
His Grandma, Aunts and Cousins at Hampstead saw very little of him. I have scolded him about his negligence and that is all I can do. I know that walking used to soon tire his swollen knee when he first came home, and at Arthur Mallard’s the boy had a handmaiden at every turn, and was perfectly spoilt by that houseful of daughters. No wonder he did not want to move when he got to such a coddling, fussing home. When he tried to get away to visit other friends or relatives, one or the other cousin would take the glumps and get red eyed, and Uncle Arthur would ask Guy to stop to the end of another day or two just to please him.
At the last, he had made up his mind and got them to concur with him that he must go to see his mother’s brother and family at Bedford, and walking to the post office for his mail he found his O.C’s commands to return to camp to go on transport home. This is Guy’s excuse and you must all accept it, but I think the Wimbledon cousins were very monopolistic. One of them has smitten Guy’s fancy seriously and had she not been engaged to a young fellow who enlisted from the Bank of New Zealand and lost a leg in Flanders and has since returned to New Zealand to get a home ready for her, I believe that I would have had a Pommie daughter-in-law as well as a returned soldier son to welcome home.
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| Guy Mallard |
They correspond with each other. She is at the same home that Hedley goes to moonshine around another couple of fascinating flapper cousins. He and Guy stayed at Uncle Arthur Mallard’s together one short furlough and had the days of their lives, for Arthur Mallard is very well todo, is a fine sport and allowed the lads to roll up the carpets, set the pianola going and dance every night they were there. When they weren’t dancing one had to set the gramophone whilst the other flirted with the flappers, and vice-versa. You cannot entice a young Australian anywhere unless there is plenty of “skirt” and “jig” and “liquids” about. I don’t know about the latter commodity at Wimbledon, only that Arthur Mallard is no pig or prig about it. The boys had ale with lunch and dinner and could join their uncle with a night cap if they liked.
In Hed’s letters he has not said anything about having been to see his Uncle Osborne and family as I had told him and given him the address to do. But I am hoping that on his final furlough he took the trip to Bedford. I am just awaiting his return to ask him if he did. He should have been home by the “Boorara” today. We have been preparing to go and meet him. The vessel was expected to reach Melbourne on 21st inst, to come here by the 24th but we have had no news since he wirelessed at Adelaide a few days from here. We have got the place decorated with mottoes, flags, battalion colours and triple colour paper bells. A new flagstaff is erected for the heavier bunting, and over the road bridge which he will pass, will be a big “Welcome Home” banner.
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| Hedley Mallard |
The railway station will be flagged and representatives of two committees to which I belong will be there to give him a welcome. The driver of the train will blow his whistle at the station last passed to this. If it is in working hours we manage to return home from the Anzac buffet (where the soldiers’ friends meet their returned men) the brickworks here will sound their buzzer. This was all done when Guy came home, except for the brickworks buzzer as work had ceased.
If you have seen Hedley, I am quite prepared to have you say you have lost your heart to him. In Lance’s last letter he says that all the French girls worshiped Hed, but that he kept himself good and clean from this temptation and offers, and he was proud of the Kiddie. He is a great favourite here. If there is sufficient reliability as to the day Hed’s boat arrives at Sydney, there will be a big crowd at the Buffet and especially at our station to meet him. Mostly girls, for Hed was a real Lothario amongst the flappers around here, and each one thinks herself the special choice, while he assures me that there is only one girl (a rather old one too) in the world for him, that is his Mother Machree.
Lance too is on the way home. After nearly losing him with the deadly flu, he is really coming home! We will not know what vessel or time he will arrive by or in, until he strikes Australian waters, then the Defence Dept will let us know and enclose two tickets to the Anzac Buffet in Sydney for two next of kin to be admitted to the Buffet enclosure where the V.A.D’s from some depot will dispense tea and cake to the soldier and his two friends. The other friends have to wait outside and behind railings under trees until the soldier is released. He can be medically examined in an adjoining office, get a suit of civilian clothes, his kept back pay, and railway pass for duration of furlough if his friends will go on waiting for him. We were waiting about from 11am until 6pm for Guy.
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| Lance Mallard M.C. |
It was raining in sheets in Sydney and gusting winds at intervals. The Buffet was a series of dripping pools overhead from overlapping umbrellas and people packed like boxed figs and connecting pools underfoot. If it rains the day Hed arrives I don’t intend to go to Sydney to meet him. The dreadful time I had waiting for Guy brought on my illness and Pa’s influenza is attributable to it also. But as to Lance’s return I cannot think of it as realisable. It seems too good to be true. He is bringing the biggest distinction that has been brought to this place. In the next township to us my once butcher’s carter’s son, won the V.C. (Hamilton) and we have several M.M.s and D.C.M.s amongst the lot who enlisted from here. We have a big Honour Roll. Every second house or more on this street gave a soldier or sailor to the Empire. Our incoming Sydney trains lately, when transports have come into port, have taken to crowing over the return of some hero. Altho’ death has left many a home vacant.
The black coat of the cleric was frequently seen up and down and in and out our little township during the last days of the mowing into the Huns. One’s heart was always quailing lest the black coat and white stock should stop to fumble at one’s gate. It was a cruel task to impose on the clergy. The rector of his parish has grown grey from the sorrow of his commissions. He is an aged man. In one day he had eight calls to make around here to tell the dire tidings to mother, wife or sister. I wrote a request to O.C. of Base Records of our Defence Department to ask for vital news to be sent direct from them to me. It was the kindest and cleanest way of dealing the cut.
And so you had Keith to stay with you. I am so glad that he made amends for his neglect. Poor little girl! You deserve especially nice treatment for I can see that you do all you can to make others happy. I was rather amused to read of Keith’s opinion of us. Especially his uncle. His remarks were flattering and made I think to come back. For Keith is almost an unknown nephew to us. Of the three we like Cecil best altho’ he has his oddities, such as not wearing a hat. But Cecil is one of us and feels it and makes you feel it. We have seen Keith once in about seven years. That was before the time he enlisted and up to that time he came to Sydney occasionally but stayed at a Jewish Aunt’s at Glebe Point. Aunt Prissie Jonsen had three servants in her employ and everything spoke of money around her. Her husband was a finance agent. His weekly house keeping money to his wife was 10 pounds without wages and rent, for “Havilland” belongs to Albert Jonsen.
I have been to their home when I was a nurse, but there were always cards parties of an evening, money stakes and the people were Jews. One Sunday I was there, Albert asked me how my poor Jesus was getting along. He was an atheist then and I was piously inclined. I know that as soon as I could get out of the room and find Julius, the eldest son, a boy of 15 and a dear lad, I asked him to see me to the tram. I went back to hospital hours before my gate pass expired. I never went to Jonsen’s again. Julius married a R.C. and became of her creed, went over to San Francisco, was in that earthquake but sometime after worked his passage over as a steward to see his mother.
Hedley called in at Jonsen’s to wish his Aunt Eulie good-bye before going over to the war. Eulie and brother were staying here. Prissie Jonsen fell in love with Hedley and gave him a pair of mittens. Her youngest son, Frankio, chummed up with Hed. The two elder boys – Willie and Otto – were already in England in camp. One has gained the M.M. His mother never knew of his achievement, for about two years ago, she dropped dead while holding up some dresses for her maid to pack for her. We are 11 miles away from Sydney and of course people like those of mine at Greta like to be near the city to do their shopping. But now that Prissie is dead the last time Oscar and Eulie were down in Sydney they came here to stay.
Keith and Lance should have embarked in the same vessel for Aussie, as they were drafted in the same quota, but our dear Lance got influenza badly and had to delay his homecoming. So Keith I believe according to my memory, the 28th of June. Cecil met him and conveyed him home to Greta and afterwards had to see him on the train back again for Sydney and Randwick Military Hospital to undergo an operation for a hernia under Sir Herbert Maitland. His father and mother came down to visit him after the operation and bivouacked with us. Bernard has been out to the hospital to see Keith and take him some gifts from us. So have Warrell and Ivy and the two children. Poor lad, he seems to be having a bad time as his incision burst out afresh. But I have not heard from him lately and it is rather an awkward journey to make from here to Randwick Hospital. Awkward for one like Bernard who has only "Saty aftn" to himself.
It is quite out of the question for me to go to see Keith. My ankles and feet will not allow me to walk much. It is this end that is the trouble as after reaching Sydney it is all tram journeys right up to the gates. For although our street is named Station St it is a good distance from the station and we have no other means than Shank’s Pony to get to it. But Keith has promised to come out to see us as soon as he was able to move about. He was to let us know when that would be.
We are daily expecting the news of Lance being in Australian waters. We had letters from Hed and Lance by last mail of Friday (28th inst). He said he would be on his way by the time the letters reached us. Florrie will go off her “onion” as they say over here, when we know for certainty. As for myself! Well, I cannot say what my darling Chum’s homecoming will mean to me or how I will be able to control my joy. Just now I put my thoughts aside as I have to concentrate on Hed’s coming. I do hope that the Kiddie went to see you before starting for home. At least I feel sure that Lance would. If he had a possible chance he would.
I was wondering dearest Queenie, whether you received Eulie’s letter thanking you for the pretty and nicely worked handkerchiefs. I saw the letter addressed to you waiting for Pa to stamp and take it with him to post in Sydney.
About Ray, I haven’t heard from him for years and when he wrote I do not remember anything unkind or spiteful written. I know that he had suffered some wrong from the Allens, but Will Allen was always a bit of a mystery to Oscar and myself. What Ray told me of the Allens was about his transactions with them and of their treatment towards him. They were not relations of ours, but merely connections of second marriage. I would not like one brother to write scandalous things to me about the other. In fact, I’d drop correspondence with both so as to keep free of involvement in a family wrangle overseas.
I offered Ray a home and a start of lands for poultry rearing if he had cared to find some means of emigrating. Of course his age is now against him and also the Government regulations. Every emigrant man has to bring no less than 200 pounds cash with him to Australia and the age and occupations are limited for Assisted Passage. If ever you undertake to come over we will try between the two homes to find room for you and make you feel at home.
I hope to be able to return to my propended literary work as soon as our three hero boys are settled down into uneventful civilian lives again. Eulie is old enough now and capable of managing home with the help of a weekly laundress. The women charge 10/- per day for washing, but I never pay more than 6/- as mine is not a heavy or dirty wash of clothing and is done in four hours easily.
Now, my dearest Queenie, I must get to my bed as I have to be up betimes tomorrow to clean out my kitchen and Dover Stove, and there is my Digger to think of who always expects his meals “at the toll” and hot ones too.
So asking you to distribute my love to my dear Brother and spouse, to Midge and yourself, also love from Eulie, Darrell and the two earthly kiddies.
With fond love and kisses
I remain dearest
Your loving Aunt
Loo
©gmallard2016 all rights reserved
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