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The summary below was completed by Cathy Sedgwick – Facebook “WW1 Australian War Graves in England/UK/Scotland/Ireland

Died on this date – 16th June.... Lt Rupert Holton Herd was born at Ballarat, Victoria in 1892. He enlisted in the Australian Imperial Force (A.I.F.) on 17th January, 1915 as a 23 year old, single, Accountant from E. S. and A. Bank, North Melbourne, Victoria.

Rupert Holton Herd applied for a Commission in the Australian Imperial Force (A.I.F.) on 30th June, 1915 & was appointed 2nd Lieutenant on 12th July, 1915. He embarked from Melbourne on HMAT Ceramic (A40) on 23rd November, 1915 & was posted to Details at Tel-el-Kebir, Egypt on 5th February, 1916.

Promoted to Quartermaster while at Staging Camp on 28th February, 1916 the transferred to Cyclist Corp on 14th March, 1916. He was promoted to Lieutenant & proceeded to France from Alexandria on 19th March, 1916.

Lieutenant Herd was absorbed on strength of 13th Light Horse Regiment & seconded for duty with 2nd Australian Division Cycle Corps. He was taken on strength of 1st Anzac Cyclist Battalion on 12th May, 1916.

Lieutenant R. H. Herd proceeded to Australian Flying Corps on 29th November, 1916 & joined the Royal Flying Corps School of Military Aeronautics, Reading on 5th December, 1916. He was later attached to Central Flying School “B” Squadron.
On 16th June, 1917 Lieutenant Henry Irving Newton, R.F.C., was piloting an Avro 504A (serial no. 9774) with Lieutenant Rupert Holton Herd as Observer. The plane was en route from Upavon, Wiltshire & overshot the runway at Eastbourne Aerodrome. Lieutenant Newton restarted the engine intending to make a second attempt to land but the engine did not pick up and the aircraft lost speed and nose-dived into the ground. The plane’s petrol tank burst & the plane went up in flames. Lieutenant Newton was able to scramble free, uninjured from the wreckage but Lieutenant Herd was pinned beneath the wreckage.
Lieutenant Rupert Holton Herd was killed accidentally on 16th June, 1917 as a result of an aeroplane accident at Eastbourne Aerodrome, Sussex, England. He was buried in Ocklynge Cemetery, Eastbourne, East Sussex, England where 6 other WW1 Australian War Graves are located.

(The above is a summary of my research. The full research can be found by following the link below)
https://ww1austburialsuk.weebly.com/eastbourne.html

From Ballarat & District in the Great War

Lt Rupert Holton Herd,
13th Light Horse Regiment,
2nd Australian Division Cycle Corps
1st Anzac Cyclist Battalion
Royal Flying Corps School of Military Aeronautics, Central Flying School “B” Squadron

‘…To give you some idea of what it feels like to be in the air, let me lead off by saying that flying is just the most wonderful sensation in the whole wide world — when you get used to it.

Just at present I am flying a type of machine called 'Avros.' They are not used on active service, but are built in England merely for instructional purposes.

I don't suppose I shall ever forget my first solo. It was a nightmare. I was terrified. l wonder if you can realise what it is like. With the excitement of getting off and the number of things to be attended to for a start you don't have time to think until you are about 500ft up.

Then comes the awful thought, 'I am alone!' The roar of the engine seems to fill the whole world. Every movement of air rocks the machine, just as waves do a dinghy. I felt as if I were in a walnut shell on a rough sea. Without a doubt, it is all a matter of keeping your head for a start. If I clutched the joy-stick in terror the movement would be transmitted throughout the whole plane— perhaps I would nose dive or side-slip.

I talked to myself. I tried to sing. Anything to keep calm. 'Lad,' I told myself, 'it's these two hands that are holding you from an inquest. For God's sake, get hold of them, and be steady.'

When at last I calmed down a bit I began to look around. I had been too busy watching my instruments to notice where was going. My altimeter said I was 3000ft up. My watch said I had been up 15 minutes. I found I was well up behind the clouds. Lord only knew where the earth was. I didn't. I at once got panicky again. I only had one wish in life— it was to be able to place my foot on a bit of good hard earth again. I had come to the conclusion shortly after I had got 100ft up that I did not want to be in the Flying Corps at all. It was only a fad. I was cut out for an infantryman. If only I could get down again I'd resign at once,' I told myself.

After spending what seemed to be about three days amongst the clouds, and what was, in reality, only about four minutes, I suddenly emerged to see the beautiful green earth coming up to hit me. There seemed to be a sea of houses underneath me. I discovered later that it was Bulford camp.

A bit of open ground was all I wanted. Anything to land on with out crashing. About two miles ahead I saw the very thing I wanted — a beautiful open, flat green. I altered my gliding angle, and steered for it. As I got nearer the place seemed to be covered with other machines, tacking about. Anyhow, I had to get down. My only prayer was that in doing so I would not kill too many people. I throttled the engine right back, so that she was just ticking over. Practically the only sound I could hear was the whistling of the air through the bracing wires. I ascertained from what direction the wind was blowing by the smoke rising from some buildings ahead, and turned into it.

It was all over in a second. I flattened out very gently, as I had been taught to do. For a portion of an instant the ground showed very green. Then I could distinguish the length of the grass. It was about 2in long. 'Feel for it! Feel for it,' I could almost hear my instructor saying over my shoulder, as he used to do when he went up with me. I felt with the joy-stick very, very gently; and presently a slight bump, almost, imperceptible—then another. I held her off, and gradually she settled down, with the wheels of her under-carriage running silently over the ground. What a sigh of relief when at length she stopped!

I switched off, and looked round to see where I was, and found I was back in the aerodrome, almost in front of my own flight. My instructor was half-way out to meet me.

"Well done, old man. Splendid! Top-hole landing. Congratulations. Could not have done better myself. Come down to the mess and have some hot milk!”
I could not speak. I undid my belt mechanically. I got out, all groggy, my eyes bulged out like organ stops. I tripped over some of the lower control wires, and nearly fell down.

"Proud of you, my boy. Good show. Fully expected you to crash. Am greatly relieved, I assure you.”
I strolled off with him as best I could. I seemed to be all leather coat, and high boots, and goggles, and helmet.

Mechanics were already wheeling my machine back into the hanger.

Goodness only knows how I got down safely. I hardly slept a wink that night, thinking of what I had to go through again on the morrow. I had some horrible thoughts. I could picture myself nose-diving from 5000ft, and being rammed so far into the earth by the weight of the engine that it would take a waterwitch to find me.

At present, though I am not a good flyer, I have enough confidence in myself to enjoy being up. It is exquisite, without a doubt. But, I have some bad times in front of me yet. I've yet to do night flying, and stunts such as looping, and stalling, and zooming. But I suppose I shall get over it…’

This most vivid and honest account of a young pilot’s first solo flight was written by Lieutenant Rupert Holton Herd. If his letter does not capture your imagination, then what followed just weeks later may make him unforgettable.

Rupert was born at Ballarat, like his father before him. He arrived on 28 March 1892 and was the first-born child of David Herd and Katie Ellen Holton.

The Herd family originated in the Scottish district of Kirkaldy in Fifeshire. Although the details are somewhat sketchy, they arrived in Victoria at the height of the gold rush and David Herd was born in Ballarat during 1860.

From an early age David Herd showed that he was adept at handling money. On 1 October 1885, a new branch of the English, Scottish, and Australian Chartered Bank opened in Essendon. The bank was under the management of a Mr Charles J. Taylor; David Herd was named as clerk in charge.

By the time David Herd married Katie Holton on 26 August 1891, he was well established with the bank. The marriage was celebrated at Hadleigh House in St Kilda by the Reverend D. P. Neylan. And whilst it doesn’t have any real impact on the story, the details are too sweetly descriptive to be ignored. Katie wore an ‘exquisite lace veil,’ over her gown of white silk and the traditional orange blossoms. Her bridesmaids, Ada and Ellise Holton, Chrissie Herd and Mary Anderson, were dressed in pink and lilac and wore gold brooches that were gifts from the bridegroom. Due to the earlier deaths of both her parents, Katie was given away by her brother, James.

The wedding breakfast was ‘prettily arranged with pale tea green liberty silk and rose fairy lamps, which had a charming effect.’ To celebrate the occasion, an "at home" was given at Hadleigh House in the evening.

Soon after their marriage, David Herd took a position with the Ballarat branch of the ES&A Bank in Lydiard Street north (sandwiched between the National Bank of Australasia and the Bank of New South Wales and now home to solicitors, Baird & McGregor). It was in the residence over the bank, in the very heart of Ballarat, that Rupert Holton Herd was born.

However, due to his father’s occupation, Rupert was not destined to grow up in Ballarat. By 1893, David Herd had taken over the Collingwood branch and it was at the bank residence that their second son, David Birrell, was born in October. To distinguish him from his father, the little boy was known as Bing.

In 1895, the bank transferred David Herd back to the Essendon branch. The bank was architecturally quite magnificent and it held a prominent position on the corner of Mt Alexander Road and Bank Street. Katie maintained her growing family in the lovely residence over the bank.

Rupert and Bing began their education at the Winstow Ladies’ College on the corner of Mt Alexander Road and Buckley Street. Despite its title, the school, which was run by Miss Harriet Wright, did also cater for boys. At the annual distribution of prizes in December 1900, (held in the St John’s Church schoolroom), Rupert received awards for grammar and drawing. Whilst little Bing was rewarded for his lessons and reading.

In June 1901, after a long association with the bank in Essendon, David Herd was transferred to the branch in Leveson Street, North Melbourne. The locals were sad to see him leave and presented him with a purse of sovereigns as a way of expressing their gratitude.

The move was, however, marked by the sad death of young Colin, the third son of David and Katie Herd. He died on 9 November 1901, leaving an unassuageable level of grief for his parents and siblings.

For the next few years the family lived in Queensberry Street, just around the corner from the bank. The children were then enrolled at the Erroll Street State School.

Annexation of North Melbourne to the City of Melbourne became a hot topic during 1905. Students at Erroll Street took part in an essay writing competition on “The Advantages and Disadvantages of Annexation.” Now, this was weighty subject matter for 12 and 13-year-olds, but was indicative of the level of congress within the classrooms of the period. The following piece is Rupert Herd’s first-prize winning entry.

‘…You will no doubt recollect some time back the recent voting which took, place at the Town Hall, at which the ratepayers of this town were called upon to decide, whether or not this community should become one with the City of 'Melbourne. The "Greater Melbourne" scheme has been for a long time under discussion, its merits and demerits have been aired in the columns of the daily press, and through the agency of public meetings and pamphlet. A preponderance of public opinion has, however, swamped the voice of the dissenters, and, judging by the decision, of the ratepayers, who are competent to judge the merits far outweigh the demerits.

Among the things which call for assent to the scheme are that, instead of there being a mayor and other officers in each community, there will only be one suite of officers, and the cost will be correspondingly lessened. This, of course, will reduce the municipal rates which will also be reduced by the junction with the city, for it is found that rates are lower in large communities than they are in smaller ones.

On junction with the City of Melbourne, the electric service, will be supplied to this town, thus providing far better lighting.

Another advantage is – that the universal half holiday will be held on Saturday. This, in some respect, will be an advantage, and in another a disadvantage. The advantages is - some trades have their weekly half-holiday on Wednesday, and others on Saturday, while a carpenter (whose holiday is on Saturday) should require some nails from the ironmonger (whose holiday comes on the Wednesday) to finish a piece of work; thus his work will be delayed for another day.
Also, the receipts from the Victorian market will be shared with our town, and our roads and pathways will be kept in splendid order. There are also many other advantages but these are the chief ones…’

Rupert was presented with his prize by Stephen Barker, the final mayor of North Melbourne prior to annexation.

In 1906, Rupert entered the illustrious halls of Melbourne’s Scotch College. Bing followed soon after. At that time Scotch was still located at its original site in East Melbourne. The headmaster was Scotsman, William Littlejohn, who continued to foster the school’s intense pride in its Scottish background.

Whilst it was apparent that Rupert Herd was academically gifted, he was also an accomplished lawn tennis player. He was later referred to an article headed ‘Victorian Champions at the Front,’ alongside Rodney Heath, Davis Cup player and dual winner of the Australasian Championship (prior to the Open era).

After two years at Scotch, Rupert left to study accountancy. In October 1911, it was announced that he had passed the intermediate examination held by Incorporated Institute of Accountants, Victoria. He later gained the certificate of the Banker’s Institute and was set to follow his father in a lucrative banking career.

Like so many promising young lives, Rupert’s prospective career path was suddenly interrupted by the advent of war. When he enlisted in Melbourne on 6 January 1915, Rupert had no previous connections to the military. Even though there were major units stationed close to where he had grown up, it seems that Rupert was not overly keen on the military life – or he had more important fish to fry. But war changes everything, and the young accountant suddenly saw his way clear.

His compulsory medical was conducted on 6 January 1915 and he easily passed the high enlistment requirements to join the AIF – he was 5-feet 8¼-inches tall, weighed 10-stone and had a good-sized chest that he could expand to 37-inches. Although his portrait does little to reveal it, Rupert had a ruddy complexion, with brown eyes and reddish-brown hair. The three vaccination marks on his left arm was evidence of the vigilance shown by his parents when Rupert was a child.

Not only did Rupert name his father as his legal next-of-kin, he made an allotment of three-fifths of his pay directly to him. No doubt this was more of an astute way of saving money than any indication of his parents requiring financial support.

On 18 January 1915, Rupert formally took his oath to serve King and country for the duration of the war. He immediately joined a military depot, the closest to home being at Royal Park. There was also a large camp nearby at the Melbourne Showgrounds.

By the 1 March, Rupert was at Broadmeadows and was training with the 5th reinforcements for the 8th Infantry Battalion. It soon became apparent that this intelligent and accomplished young man, despite his lack of a military background, had the qualities looked for in an officer. He quickly passed through Signalling School and after completing the 5th Officers’ Training School, made an application for a commission on 30 June. However, a lack of available vacancies meant Rupert had to wait.

He continued to train and, on 17 July, he passed the competitive examination for second-lieutenant.
Meanwhile, Bing, who had been working as a bank clerk in Brisbane, also decided to join up. He completed his paperwork on 15 July, and left for Egypt with reinforcements to the 2nd Light Horse Regiment.

By the time of his second application (dated 17 November), Rupert had gained a stone in weight and was measured at 5-feet 9½-inches. On this occasion his application was successful and he was posted to the 7th reinforcements to the 13th Australian Light Horse Regiment.

Although Rupert’s full lieutenancy had not yet been confirmed (the promotion was to come through on 18 March 1916), he was named as lieutenant (voyage only) in command of the 7th reinforcements when they sailed from Melbourne on 23 November 1915 onboard HMAT Ceramic.

Rupert’s projected unit, the 13th Light Horse, had arrived at Gallipoli in September 1915 and had spent the final three months of the campaign manning the trenches at Lone Pine. They finally left ANZAC on 20 December, returning to Egypt early in the New Year.

Rupert and the latest batch of reinforcements spent their initial time in Egypt with unit details and it was not until 5 February 1916 that they formally joined the 13th Light Horse at Tel-el-Kebir. His first role with the regiment was as quartermaster at the Staging Camp.

However, Rupert’s time with the 13th Light Horse proved to be short when, on 1 March, he volunteered for the newly formed Australian Cycling Corps. Confirmation of his promotion to lieutenant came through within days of the transfer.

Bing was also in Egypt by this time and there can be no doubt that the brothers made a point of catching up.

After crossing over to France at the end of March, the Cyclists were reorganised as corps troops, with the formation of the 1st and 2nd Cyclist Battalions, attached to the I and II ANZAC Corps. Rupert was assigned to the 1st Cyclist Battalion on 12 May, and was immediately appointed as acting quartermaster.
Back in Egypt, a tragic occurrence was unfolding. On 22 August, Bing Herd’s body was found floating in the River Nile. A post mortem examination revealed no signs of external violence, but showed marked decomposition, proving that the body had been in the water for several days. The examining doctor gave drowning as the cause of death. It was concluded by a Court of Inquiry that there was ‘not sufficient evidence to show how it got there’ (in the river). Nevertheless, there was a great deal of circumstantial evidence presented at the Inquiry that, in the lead up to his death, may have indicated a possible intention.
It is not known how much of the gathered information was relayed to the Herd family.

Although his position as quartermaster was only intended to be a temporary appointment, Rupert was still carrying out these duties six months later. By this stage, Rupert was clearly feeling dissatisfied with his war contribution. On 5 November 1916, he requested that his position be terminated and he began the process of a transfer to the Australian Flying Corps.

The reasons behind that remarkable letter now become clear.

Rupert’s flying terrors were justified. The pilot casualty rate was extraordinarily high – anything from a few weeks to just eleven days for a new combat pilot. That was if they made it to the Front. Despite advancement in both aircraft and training, there was still a high chance that a trainee pilot would not survive the course.

Just weeks after writing of his first solo flight, Rupert Herd was designated as an observer/passenger on a flight from Upavon to the aerodrome at Eastbourne, on 16 June 1917. The pilot in this instance was 21-year-old Lieutenant Henry Irving Newton, of the Royal Flying Corps. The machine for the flight was an Avro 504A (A9774).

Whilst the distance between Upavon (near Devises in Wiltshire) and Eastbourne on the East Sussex coast is less than 100 miles, in 1917 this was considered a long flight, especially for inexperienced airmen.

As they neared the runway at Eastbourne, Newton appears to have misjudged the approach and overshot his landing. Realising his mistake, he restarted the engine (which had been switched off for landing), intending to fly around the airfield before making a second attempt. However, the engine failed to pick up enough revs and stalled. They were about 100-feet off the ground, when the Avro nosedived into the ground. The impact caused the petrol tank to explode, sending flames 100-feet into the air.

Whilst Lieutenant Newton, who had sustained only minor injuries, was able to scramble from the wreckage, Rupert Herd was trapped underneath. He had suffered a fractured skull in the crash and was (hopefully) unconscious when the flames engulfed him.

A subsequent Court of Inquiry found that the accident was due to the engine failing at a critical moment; and a finding of “accidental death” was handed down.
Rupert’s body had been taken to the mortuary at the Eastbourne Town Hall. At 11am, on 20 June, after being placed in a coffin of the ubiquitous “good polished elm,” his body was accompanied to the Ocklynge Cemetery by an escort of six cavalrymen from the nearby Cavalry Command Depot.

The sad tradition of military funerals laid out all the trappings for Rupert Herd – his coffin was draped with the Union Jack, with bearers, firing party, band and trumpeters all supplied by the Cavalry Command Depot. Wreaths on the coffin included one from the Officers of the Royal Flying Corps. His youngest brother, Leonard James (Jack) Herd (32368), who was training at Lark Hill with the Australian Artillery, attended the funeral. This was an enormous undertaking for the lad, who was still just 17-years-old.

The service at the graveside was conducted by the Reverend James Reid, from the Presbyterian Church in Eastbourne, and was concluded by the sounding of the Last Post.

Rupert’s personal effects were eventually packaged up for return to his parents. The first parcel contained his Vest Pocket camera in its case and a packet of photographs. A suitcase held seven books, a key ring with keys, a fountain pen, cigarette case, a damaged wristwatch, two wallets, and his identity disc, plus uniform numerals, stars and a Royal Flying Corps cap badge. There was also a cheque book to the Commonwealth Bank of Australasia (London) and some private papers. His clothing was packed into a valise, along with a wooden box, card plate, a second wristwatch, pen knife, badges and buttons, regimental colours, a prismatic compass in case, his tobacco pouch and pipes, and the usual assortment of personal bathroom items and ephemera.

This was a particularly difficult time for David and Katie Herd – of their six children, only three now remained. Katie was granted a fortnightly pension of £5 for her two sons, but that was small comfort. In choosing an epitaph for Rupert’s headstone, they seemed intent on underlining his identity.

In memory of the loved
Eldest son of D. & K. Herd
of North Melbourne.

For me, the essence of Rupert Herd was held within that transparently honest letter. Yet, in spite of his fear, he went back up. His was a rare kind of bravery – he faced his demons and did not give up. His death, however, will always haunt me; it was if he had some presentiment of his own death.

Poor Rupert.