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From Ballarat & District in the Great War

2nd Lt Edwin Wesley HAUSER

When we say the words, “Lest We Forget”, there as so many personal meanings and a depth of perception that affects us all differently. For me, it is the loss of possibility, the promise unfulfilled and the impact that had on the ensuing generations. Certainly, the loss of men of the calibre of Ted Hauser could never be fully appreciated. We should never forget…

Born at Belmont, Geelong in February 1891, Edwin Wesley Hauser was the second son of Jacob Hauser and Annie Spivey. Although both his parents were born in the Scarsdale district, their family origins were decidedly different. Whilst the Spivey family came from the large market town of Huddersfield in West Yorkshire, Ted’s grandfather, Conrad Hauser, was born in the small community of Nieder-Weisel in the German State of Hesse.

Jacob Hauser, who was a well-known school teacher, taught in the Geelong area for many years. Indeed except for the couple’s first two children, whose births were both registered at Lubeck, all of their remaining eight children were born in Geelong. His influence on Ted’s life became apparent when as a young man, he chose to follow in his footsteps and also became a teacher.

Ted’s first appointment as a junior teacher was to the Colac State School in 1906. The following year he was transferred to the State School at Beeac. Ted was obviously inspired to pursue his career at a higher level and as a result in 1910 he entered the Teaching College at Melbourne University. In 1911, his studies concentrated on his specialty of natural science (chemistry).

After graduating Ted was qualified to teach in secondary schools and took a position at the Rutherglen Higher Elementary. Ted then received a promotion to the position of assistant teacher at the Wangaratta High School. While living in the wine-growing district Ted also involved himself in the wider community. He had joined the Australian Natives Association as a teenager and during his time at Rutherglen he was often on the committee, including terms as vice-president and president to the local ANA branch.

The Junior Cadets also benefited from his instruction during his time there. Ted was also a ‘splendid all-round athlete’; he was described as an ‘enthusiastic tennis player, footballer, cricketer and a powerful swimmer.’ While at the Teacher’s College, Ted had also turned out for the University Rugby Team.

The Hauser family had moved to Ballarat East in 1913, due largely to Jacob’s poor health, but also to be near his elderly parents. They lived in Barkly Street and Jacob taught at the Mount Pleasant State School. His health, however, continued to deteriorate, and in 1915 he was forced to retire when his illness made it impossible to continue teaching.

Albert, the eldest of the Hauser boys, likewise, gained a significant position in the community working as Clerk of Courts at the Ballarat Courthouse.

When war was declared in August 1914, Ted chose to complete the school year before offering himself as a volunteer. He enlisted at Rutherglen on 12 January 1915. At a month short of his 24th birthday, Ted had matured to 5 feet 7½ inches; he was a strongly built young man and had no difficulty passing the medical examination. His most arresting features were his startlingly blue eyes and light brown hair.

Prior to leaving Rutherglen, Ted was the recipient of several valuable presentations from the teaching staff at the High School, the Mayor of the Borough, and his teammates at the local cricket club. But the members of the Rutherglen ANA made a special tribute.

On hearing that “Teddy” Hauser had enlisted, the committee of the Rutherglen ANA met and ‘decided that it would be
the correct thing, if the branch gave their president a souvenir to carry with him.’

In presenting Ted with a wristlet watch, the vice-president, Mr R. Henderson, stated that ‘…it was an honour to have the pleasure of making such a presentation. Mr Hauser had been a worthy member of the branch, a good president, and worthy of the highest approbation from members; he was again setting members an example by volunteering for the Expeditionary Forces. Their president was leaving Rutherglen on the Wednesday, and was going into camp, and would no doubt have a few months hard work; then he would probably be sent forward to do the bidding of his King and country. He was going to face the hardships and trials of the battlefield; and was breaking the ties of friendship for a time. It was a brave thing for him to do, especially when he was joining on the same footing as all volunteers, going into the ranks to work his way up. The members were sorry to part with their president, but they were glad and proud that he was setting such a fine example. In presenting Mr Hauser with a watch, each and every member wished that he may win distinction at the front, and that he would be spared to return to his parents and friends in Australia…’

The members all added ‘their quota of good wishes for the future success of the president, and that after an honourable career with the troops, and when victory rested with the Allies, "Teddy" would return to Australia and Rutherglen, when the Natives would give him a fitting welcome back…’

Ted travelled down to Melbourne, where he presented at the Sturt Street Depot on 4 February.

In his Will, made out on 27 April 1915, Ted named his mother as his main beneficiary, but made a specific bequest of his gold watch and chain to his sister Ella. His brother, Albert, was entrusted with overseeing the execution of the document should Ted predecease him.

Interestingly, despite his military experience, Ted was just a private when he boarded HMAT Ulysses at Port Melbourne on 10 May 1915. However, he was promoted to the rank of corporal during the voyage to Egypt and quickly became a highly regarded non-commissioned officer in the 21st Infantry Battalion.

He embarked for Gallipoli on 29 August onboard the ill-fated troopship Southland. As they steamed towards Lemnos on 2 September, the troopship was struck by a torpedo from a German submarine that blew a large hole in the ship’s side. There then followed episodes of confusion and coolness, and acts of great heroism. Ted Hauser was among those ferried to nearby Lemnos onboard a flotilla of assorted vessels. He was eventually able to write home giving an account of what would become a famous incident of the Gallipoli Campaign.

‘…Our company had just mounted guard. Suddenly there was a terrible crash and explosion. When it was realised what had happened there was an orderly crowd making towards the deck for life belts.

Boats were lowered, crowded with men. A gun shot off our ship; a few boats capsized; dozens of boats were tossed about by the waves.

About five ships came to the rescue. At last I found myself onboard a cruiser.

The torpedo struck the Southland fore and the second missed the stern or our vessel. We were a very orderly crowd of men, in fact we stood on deck until it was our turn without any anxiety. A few were drowned and a few killed by the explosion. Geo Langley and some others suffered somewhat from shock and bruises, but I got off scatheless.

I lost everything, all the little trinkets and my clothes. The ship was pulled ashore, and from there we have been able to recover many things, such as rifles, and equipment. The torpedo was badly sent or things would have been far worse.

The sailors on the rescue ships were very good to us, and gave us everything they could spare. We have much to thank God for, and may His presence still be with us; and may He still prosper our cause…’

In the course of a letter, George Furner Langley, also mentioned his mate. According to Langley, Ted ‘…had a rough time in the water, but he got through it alright and did not suffer from it at all…’ He was one of the lucky ones on that occasion.

Ted continued on to Gallipoli a few days later.

Letters that Ted wrote to his brother, Albert, and their father gave particularly colourful descriptions of his early experiences on the Peninsula.

‘…On Active Service – real dinkum too. We are right in it now, and I think if you were within 15 yards of the Turkish trench you would have a nasty taste in your mouth. We were brought into these trenches four nights ago, and we felt a bit nervy during the first night. Since then we have got used to the crack of the rifle and the bursting of bomb and shell.

We have been shelled all the morning. The shells have been bursting along our trenches, but the enemy’s guns seem just too close to enable them to drop right into the trench; so, they mostly knock the sandbags about and generally destroy our home. Several men have been wounded by the nasty things, and some have been shot by rifle fire at night when looking over the top of the parapet to observe any movement from the enemy.

I have been on duty for four days and nights, snatching a few hours’ sleep whenever possible, so I am used to trench life now.

For dinner one day it is rice, the next day stew. Last night I managed to find some onions, and fried them with bully beef in my mess tin lid. This morning I crushed up some of the hard biscuits and made porridge out of them in my mess tin. We have no water to wash up with, so my tin is in a mess.

Money is no good to us here just now, because there is nothing to purchase.

Every morning we hear and see aeroplanes flying around. Our ‘planes are distinguishable by the clouds of smoke following them, caused by shrapnel fired at them by Turkish guns. It would be pitiful to see one of them hit, but they seem safe enough.

I have been for four days now without a wash, and I feel dirty, sticky, greasy, and grimy. The flies are rather pleased that we cannot wash our clothes, because on every spot on them the flies have a meeting place. And don’t they bite! Sometimes we bless them more than we did the Turks. I often wonder what all this means. Then I give it up by thinking that “God’s in Heaven: all’s right with the world”…’

Writing to his father from his dugout, Ted said, ‘…At the time of writing I am enjoying a rest after three solid days' work with only three hour' sleep. Last night we spent in the trenches on sentry, which is a little different to the sentry work at Broadmeadows. I did not feel inclined for sleep, especially after M. Whitehead had stopped part of an explosive bullet on the left cheek, just under the eye. A few minutes later a Turk crossed our line, fell down into our trench and surrendered. Another Turk was shot while attempting to do the same thing. These incidents occurred within a few yards of my post.

During the night rifles were kept constantly at work, and bombs were being thrown every few minutes. The trench I am located in at present is less than 20 yards from the Turks' firing trench, so we can see the importance of the warning, 'Keep your head down.'

At night time the men on sentry must maintain a constant lookout and reply to all flashes from the enemy's rifles. Whitehead was taken to the hospital and bandaged up. He has since returned. Now he is sitting close to me waiting for my pencil. Before I left Egypt I bought a plentiful supply of envelopes and paper, but they were in my equipment, which was lost in the confusion after your experience with ________.

As I sit here looking down into a valley with the sea in the distance one continual thought fills my mind - however men could possibly land here and actually storm or even climb the cliffs, let alone face an enemy. The first contingent landed, and, carrying equipment and rifles, forced the enemy back a few miles. It is absolutely beyond understanding. They were simply marvels. Yet if there had been sufficient men here then we would have taken twice as much ground and held it before these wretched trenches were built.

For 2½ days we have lived on rations issued before we left the boat; so I have been living on biscuits and bully beef - and tea when we could boil it. Water is a great scarcity here. It is condensed from the sea. It is used simply for drinking purposes. We do not attempt to wash ourselves for fear of the supply giving out. My face cloth is very handy - for I can spare enough to wet it sometimes when a new supply turns up.

Glancing around just now I caught sight of a sentence in Whitehead's diary: "Thanks to our Heavenly Father for this deliverance." You can guess as well as I what that refers to. I have no Testament now, no housewife, no camera, only two pairs of socks and no money. I managed to pick up a small book of St John on board, and I opened it yesterday to read a chapter for Whitehead and myself. The chapter I happened to open at started, 'Let not your heart be troubled,' and I thought it very consoling to march to the trenches with.

We hear rumours over here of the Kaiser suing for peace and of a great offensive by the French; but we don't know how much to believe. I believe this: that if the Turks had their way they would wave the white flag instantly. The Turk who surrendered last night was as happy as could be this morning. He had little clothing and looked wretched.

The flies are very troublesome; in fact more so than the Turks, and they kill nearly as many in quiet times like this…’

Another letter written to Albert painted a more amusing picture, ‘…I can't tell you how much I appreciated a clean pair of socks, but, unfortunately, the papers I was longing for did not come to hand.

In your letter you said it was raining while you were writing. It is a coincidence that it was pouring while I was reading it. But in the evening, it cleared up, and enabled us to indulge in the most enjoyable evening I have put in since arriving here.

Along the whole line of our frontage at 10pm we sent in a few rounds of rapid fire, then threw jam tins over the parapet, and gave a wild war cry, at the same time showing our bayonets above the trenches. Immediately the enemy flashlights were sent up, and they poured in as heavy a fire as possible for a period of a quarter of an hour, while we were screaming at the fun from well down in the security of our trenches, and not firing a shot. Our object was to locate the positions of their field guns and to discover the strength of their trenches. We all felt like charging, but were restrained. The Turks must have got a terrible fright. There were no casualties in our company, and we had a very enjoyable half-hour. It is a wonder you did not hear the yell across there. Everybody's throat is quite hoarse today.

Yesterday the enemy's guns found our trenches, and a great number of shells were landed on them; but little damage was done, owing to the guns being so close that the shells had not sufficient angle for descent to enable them to land accurately.

Yesterday I tasted a few homemade biscuits, and they were much appreciated. The food has become monotonous, so I am going to have a try at a new dish for dinner - rissoles made out of biscuits and bully beef. Perhaps you would like a small helping! You can guess we are up to all sorts of dodges with a view to making our rations more appetising. The porridge this morning was lovely, we had milk with it, the milk having been issued to us in tins instead of having been put into the tea.

Firewood is the chief source of worry. Boxes are used mostly; but occasionally, at great risk of life, the cooks have to gather bushes from the scrub. It has to be done at the double.

The hardest work on the Peninsula is the carrying of supplies of water, which has to be done by the men themselves, the contour of the country being unsuitable for transports of any kind. A few mules are used. Men come out of the firing line early in the morning after being there all night, and have to settle down to fatigue work…’

The only blemish on Ted’s record came within weeks of the evacuation, when, on 22 November, he was admonished for ‘neglect of duty.’ He was among the last remaining troops to leave Gallipoli.

Back in Egypt Ted was once again singled out for promotion when, on 2 March 1916 in the Canal Zone, he received his third stripe. He was among the earliest of the Australian troops to transfer to France and sailed from Alexandria, bound for Marseilles, on 19 March.

Shortly after arriving within the roar of the guns, Ted wrote to his family: ‘The sweets, nuts, etc, are mostly devoured, as the sergeant's hut is rather a hungry one. The pipe will give relief to that GBD which I received at Christmas. It has been going strong since then, and is fairly strong now.

While we are still out resting we are training hard at getting ourselves fit, and it is more strenuous than actually in the firing line. All the work is made interesting in order to make the men fit. For instance, we have sports such as racing, jumping, and military events.

The evenings are beautiful now, and the after-tea sports cause a great deal of amusement. Prior to the beautiful spring weather setting in we were wading about in mud and water in the trenches. When I wrote for eatables I was on the desert where we could obtain nothing.

Here in France we are paid regularly and there is plenty of everything to buy. So don't go to the worry and expense of sending more. Both socks and face cloths are always welcome. During the cold weather we had leather vests lined with cloth issued to us, and they kept us warm.

While we are out from the trenches, we have a regular hot bath at intervals of four or five days, in large baths capable of holding about 20. Then we receive a change of underclothing; also we can have our clothes fumigated. Since we had our clothes fumigated in Egypt, I have not found any undesirable company. How different to Gallipoli!

We have been supplied with gas helmets and goggles, and it is a serious crime to be found without the former. Every civilian around here also carries his helmet, and we are also supposed to use our shrapnel (steel) helmets instead of our hats when walking about…’

On 30 May, Ted again wrote to his brother…

‘…We have been shifting about from place to place, and working like mad, so that now our C.O. has remarked that the health and condition of our men have never been better. We have had to endure sleeping out in wet and on dewy nights, travelling from place to place in wet weather (it rains every time we make a shift) marching in the snow, or rather sleet, and in fact everything that roughing it means; and all this now does not even give us a chill.

In marching from place to place you will understand that we always have full pack up, which means to us now no more than the bare equipments did at Broadmeadows.

Our last shift, was one that we have always been looking forward to. We had a most beautiful, although rather tiring, trip in the train from Marseilles to our present billet — three days nearly — and all that time living in the train. Try to picture me now sitting in the middle of a loft in a small village of France writing this by lantern light. Billeting simply means sleeping accommodation.

We are issued with our army rations as usual. Farming is carried on just as you would imagine among the peasantry. They are very kind people, and bestow more favors upon us than we could wish for.

The work here is not at all strenuous, mostly training to keep us fit and ready for the kind of work ahead of us. All the boys are quite in love with this billeting life. We are all happy as can be. In various paddocks around the village you can see our lads helping the old men with the plough…’

Just a fortnight later, Ted again put pen to paper -

‘…Since I wrote to you last we have spent some time in the historical trenches, and we are now enjoying a rest — a much-needed rest, for there is not much comfort or rest in the trenches. A real rest this is too. While it is blowing a bitterly cold wind outside and now and again trying desperately to snow, we are seated under cover around a cosy warm fire, playing cards, writing letters, and cooking extra dishes. Yesterday afternoon I had porridge and poached eggs on toast. Not bad for a soldier on active service, is it?

How different things are here to what they were on the Peninsular. In a small room about 18 feet square there is a group of crib players, a group playing "500," three of us writing letters, and a couple sitting around the fire reading magazines.

Yesterday morning we were a little short of rations, but by dinner time we had ample, because a few obtained leave and brought back their packs full of provisions such as jam, butter, cake, chocolate, eggs, fish, etc. Now we are extra happy to-day, because there is a mail to be distributed this evening, and also we are being paid. I am just on my last ounce of Havelock, so I am hoping for a parcel. Whatever else you send, don't neglect the tobacco; please, because it is difficult to get a decent smoke even here.

The military authorities were somewhat afraid of our boys misbehaving themselves among civilized people after being among the "Scietas" for so long, but so far our lads have proved themselves worthy of any trust. Every French woman, man and child is treated with the greatest respect. Isn't it a shame that those fellows in Liverpool Camp should be disgracing themselves and the army? They simply want a battalion of us who have been used to military discipline for a year or so to deal with them.

You would be surprised if you saw some of the methods of farming used here. They seem quite out of date to us. Here
you never see more than one furrowed ploughs. The stripping machines are worked by a horse. The horse, locked up, is continually walking up hill, and at the same time, drives the machine. Another machine driven by animals is the dog running wheel, which drives the water pump, on the same treadmill principle. The wheel is attached to the brick wall of the house, and the dog is continually trotting round the wheel pumping water.

In the middle of every back yard is a rubbish tip, where all spare straw, manure, rubbish, etc., are thrown. This pit provides the manure for the next year…’

Ted’s first major taste of action on the Western Front came at Pozieres in late July 1916. Casualties were high and on 31 July, Ted was felled by a bullet wound to the knee. Although it was only a relatively mild wound, it was deemed necessary to evacuate him to the 3rd Canadian Stationary Hospital in the coastal city of Boulogne. By the time he rejoined his battalion nearly two months later the unit had been transferred across the border into Belgium.

Within days of returning to the firing line Ted was promoted to company sergeant major. Once again, he wrote to Albert about the deteriorating conditions in the line.

‘…One night recently we were marching out for fatigue. A steady rain commenced and continued through the night. We no sooner had started work after an hours walk than the enemy’s machine-guns were trained on us. The bullets annoyed us for a time. As soon as one swept past us you could hear some real Australian language. However, we managed to complete the job early in the morning. Then commenced the fun, marching home, through trenches, across paddocks, along roads, and to finish up with about a mile across a paddock on a well-defined track. Every now and then some wag would sing an appropriate song such as “Where Is My Wandering Boy Tonight?” During the last stage I think everybody must have had at least a couple of spills, and we reached home with about two tons – more or less – of wet clothing ______. We don’t mind things like that; it is marvellous how cheerful we all are. Fancy recruits marching (or plodding) through mud and slush singing and whistling at night-time when one can hardly see his hand in front of him.

Last time I wrote I think I was a little down-hearted because the papers led me to believe the Germans had secured a victory at sea. Time, however, has contradicted those reports thank Heaven! and we still look to our Navy to defend the Island Home and protect our commerce…’

Then, on 3 November, Ted was ordered to proceed to England where he was to join the 26th Officers Cadet Battalion at Pembroke College on the campus of Cambridge University. After a successful period of training it was announced that he would be commissioned to the rank of second lieutenant. Pending his commission, Ted was granted a ten-day furlough. He had fully intended spending his time in a flying trip over England and Scotland.

On 27 April 1917 Ted made final preparations to return to the Front and rejoined the 21st Battalion on 2 May.

Within days Ted Hauser was dead.

According to one of his men, it was ‘the first day up the line for the Lieutenant with his star.’ There had been a degree of pride in one of their own rising from the ranks and Ted was popular with his men.

Witnesses said that he had been supervising a fatigue party carrying bombs near the support trenches at Bullecourt on 7 May. Standing on a railway embankment, Ted was in an exposed position when a shell burst nearby. The blast ‘smashed him up badly’ and a piece of shell struck him in the head, killing him instantly. He was buried in a shell hole near the railway line (in the vicinity of the old frontline trench) about 50 yards from the 6th Brigade Headquarters. Sadly, the grave was not able to be registered due to its proximity to the fighting and its location was soon lost.

News reached Ballarat quickly and the public flags, which were flown at half-mast with frightening regularity, once more marked the passing of a local serviceman when, on 20 May 1917, they were lowered in memory of Ted Hauser.

Perhaps the most fitting tribute to Ted, the man and the teacher, came in the form of a simple letter written by a young lad, the son of an Italian Army Officer, whom he had befriended and attempted to teach English while he had been stationed in Egypt. The letter – including spelling mistakes – was published as written in the Ballarat Courier.

‘…I had the pleasure of knowing your son, Sergeant Hauser, and I have been his dear little friend. He was going away from Heliopolis to the Dardanelles, and after a long waiting I had a big consolation to recive a letter from him wich I have answerd with many others, and I have received answerd. After a long time I have recived a letter from him in wich learn was he at Tel-el-Kibir, in Egypt. After it I write to him many letters and postcards, and till now I have not yet received answer. To many soldiers I ask for him, and nobody could give me a consolation. Your son before go away he gave me your address in cause that when, like now, I had no news from him I write to you. Espering that you give me good answers and news from him, and I send you my greatly love…’

When news of Ted’s death reached Rutherglen, there was a suitable out-pouring of grief for the popular teacher.

‘…The following announcement appeared in the " Argus" of Saturday last:—

Hauser.—Killed in action in France, on 7th May, 1917, Lieutenant Edwin Wesley, loved son of Mr and Mrs J.
Hauser, 133 Barkly street, Ballarat East.
This notice evidently announces the death of "Teddy" Hauser, who, while a resident of Rutherglen, was very popular.
As a teacher, he had the confidence of the teaching staff, the parents, and the respect of his pupils. As a citizen, his conduct was an example to many other young men; he also took an interest in public affairs, and when he enlisted he was president of the local branch of the A.N.A. and his name appears on the honor roll of the branch, also on the roll of past presidents.

As an athlete, he was one of the best—a fine footballer, a brilliant cricketer, and a good tennis player. Many
Rutherglen residents will regret to read of his death, but he died a noble death, in serving King and Country.

At the Methodist Church on Sunday evening [20 May 1917] special mention was made of the death of the late Lieut. E W. Hauser, who was a member of the church and a member of the church choir; his name also appears on the honor roll of church members who have gone to the front.

As an expression of sympathy to the bereaved parents the choir specially sang the hymn " Lead Kindly Light."…’

The family was to suffer further heartbreak when, on 22 October 1917, Jacob Hauser succumbed to his protracted illness. By the time of his death, the 57 year-old was paralysed. It was a sad end for such a vibrant, energetic and much-loved teacher.

After the war, exhaustive efforts were made to locate Ted Hauser’s final resting place. Sadly, his remains were never located and his name was added to the list of Australians missing on the Somme battlefields who are commemorated on the Australian National Memorial at Villers-Bretonneux.