THE TRARALGON & DISTRICT HISTORICAL SOCIETY INC

ARMISTICE NIGHT 1918
Written by Tom Maguire, Gordon Street, Traralgon

          
       News of the end of the War to end Wars was first received in Traralgon by Nurse Miller, Sub. No.17, from her sister in Melbourne.  Eric Hinde was the telephonist on night duty that night, and I happened along about 9.00 p.m. at the time the call was going through.

       Central Exchange provided confirmation of the doings in Melbourne and inside two minutes it was “on” in Traralgon.  The first person I nearly knocked flat in the gutter was Grandpa Wickes, the old chap with a beard to his belt and a Kettle Drum in his hand.

        He took up a position in front of the Post Office and beat out a rhythm that no doubt caused a stirring of the sleepers at the Bluff.  He was soon joined by another couple of bandsmen who had been at practice on Col. Bogey, Home Sweet Home, and God Save, the three hit tunes of the time, especially presented at the Railways Stations to welcome the return - now quite frequent - of Diggers maimed and sick, sent home to recuperate, and who, after being home for a week or two, were soon to be plied with the query “When are you going away?” by those flag waving patriots who hid behind whiskers and lived in fear that the enlistment age might be extended to include them.  Here I’ve got myself side-tracked, so back to the night and days of the Armistice.

        Martin Dunne, Postmaster, was down like a flash from upstairs demanding “What the hell [is this] row?”.  The Senior Constable, seldom seen out after dark,    “ahem-ed” his way around the corner and demanded to know what was all the shouting, bellowing and screeching about - were they mad or going mad.

       He espied the light that appeared in the Bar of Mary Hoare’s pub opposite and immediately decided it was necessary to investigate.  This he did through the now wide open bar door.

      We next saw the Senior days later, and no doubt he still had the sixpence in the vest pocket, which for years had been ceremoniously produced and passed across the bar, then with equal dignity, returned to the pocket following the firm refusal by Mine Host to accept the sacred token.

       That night we burnt the Kaiser, hanging from the lamp post in the middle of the road, and on the following day we again burned him in effigy after parading him in the person of Mac Christensen, heavily chained on the bonnet of Ike Cone’s Ford.  Mac was lucky to have escaped the scorching, as anything could have happened on a day like that.  The pubs had no time to wash the glasses, and the cellars were full of 18’s in those days.

        Most realised that from now on, Mum could not be appeased with the excuse of having stopped to celebrate the sinking of the German Fleet, which Reuter’s never failed to report when things got really tough at the Front, and the Casualty List in the Argus filled a column or more.

        By the way, the first local casualty was one R.T. Rolls, a former member of the Journal staff - wounded in the chest at Dardenelles, and on June 8^th. 1915, Pte. W.B. Fletcher was killed in action.  He left a wife and 5 children - he was a railway employee.  Who amongst us on that Armistice Day fully realised what had we to celebrate?

        No longer would the visit of your Minister of Religion be feared, as they were the bearers of those dreaded notifications - Killed in Action, Missing Believed Killed.  The notifications of the lesser degree - if I can use the term - Casualty, Wounded, Missing, was by telegram delivered by the Postal Messenger to the next of kin.

         Of course, we would miss the Recruiting and War Loan rallies -

         Motor trucks covered with sheet irons to resemble tanks, rattling and roaring with open exhausts over the blue metal and pot holes in the Main Street.

         The special train of obsolete guns, some probably scrounged from City Parks and Gardens, purported to having been captured from the enemy.  All were accompanied by Spruikers exhorting support for War Loans to enable the capture of the rest of the enemy artillery and end it all.  Our local Civic Leaders joined in, and I can recall one Shire President delivering a most fervid appeal standing on the barrel of a gun, concluding his oration by announcing that he would give £100 to the Loan, then stepping backwards to disappear out of sight to the floor of the railway truck.  He survived the fall; perhaps he doubled his contribution.  Who knows?

         We listened to the tales told by our Recruiting Sergeant, of the many achievements of our Diggers in the field of battle.  Primed beforehand with the names of the locals overseas, he made a point of knowing each personally, and could assure any volunteer they would be there to welcome them, but they had better hurry as it would be all over in a couple of months or so.

         Naturally, the best side of the whole exercise was the doings in Cairo and Paris when on leave.  This side of the propaganda was reserved for the crowd in the Bar, as it was not altogether a subject with a rating “G”, especially as a couple of local dignitaries or Ministers usually occupied a place on the lorry or stage at the rally.

         Later we had Lieut. Victor Crowe, a prominent footballer from Moe, as an advocate for “The Sportsmen Thousand”.  Then there happened along, a platoon of 19 year old youths ready for embarkation; their call was “Won’t you join us”.  They spent a couple of days with us billetted in local homes.  If they did manage to obtain any enlistments, at least they left behind a couple of replacements.

         We would also miss the street processions, organised to raise money for Red Cross and Comfort Funds.  Ike Cone and his Model T, the drapery and men’s wear props. of  Mac. Christensen, the hangings and burnings so loudly applauded as the Kaiser swung in flames from the gas lamp post opposite the Post Office.

         Those two ladies, Miss Ada Cone and Miss Ada Drane, who dared convention to represent “Joan of Arc” in the processions, astride their horses wearing military strides, etc.  Our first woman car driver, Miss Grace Bailey - later Mrs. Harry Campbell - driving the family car to give support to local efforts.

        All this was now to pass.  Billy Hughes was back from the Peace Conference.  His main contribution to the whole affair was his suggestion, that as the map of Europe had that many lines and criss-cross boundaries, perhaps the President of Poland, Paderewski, would play it on the piano.

         Flag waving patriots syndicated to purchase land to later offer to Soldier Settlement at considerable profit.  They also obliged the hard-up Digger by purchasing his War Gratuity Bond at half its value.  Reluctantly they supported our Kay Street War Memorial, and with its Dedication, no doubt assumed their debt now liquidated as this could never happen again, ever.

         That was Armistice, and the year that followed is part of the Story only.