Virtual
War Memorial
Australia

Ballarat & District in the Great War

Capt Frederick John Crompton Sale MC+Bar
 
I first “met” Fred Sale back in 2006 when I was working on my book Dinkum Oil. It was just a brief passing acquaintance, limited by the lack of available records at the time. Time has now released the information required to allow a closer look at this remarkably brave young man.
Frederick John Crompton Sale was born at Ascot Vale on 14 June 1892. He was the fifth child – and only son – of Frederick Sale and Caroline Laura “Carrie” Crompton; the death of one daughter as an infant, left Fred with three doting older sisters: Maude, Emily and Madeline.

On the face of things, Fred Sale was a Melbourne boy. He was, of course, born there; he also grew up in the suburbs, living in South Melbourne and Toorak; he gained his early education at the Burnley State School, although it appears he also spent time at the small Bald Hills State School. However, his family had particularly strong ties to Ballarat and district. The Sale family came from the English Midlands, with connections to Lichfield and Kings Norton. Fred’s paternal grandparents, John and Emily Sale, arrived in the Colony of Victoria in 1857, with Fred’s father, who was just a baby. Frederick Sale was also to be an only son – the family settled in Ballarat East, where four subsequent daughters were born. John was a bricklayer and he was working on the Melbourne Law Courts when, on 13 July 1880, he fell about 36-feet to the ground. He died two days later from the resultant injuries, never having regained consciousness.

Fred’s mother, Carrie Crompton, was born at Miners Rest in 1854. His maternal grandfather, Caleb Crompton, had migrated to Tasmania as a free settler. Originally, he came from the village of Nafferton in Yorkshire. He ran the successful Spring Dale Farm near Longford for some years before moving to South Australia. The discovery of gold resulted in the family travelling through to Ballarat, where Caleb planned to trade as a publican. They soon settled at Miners Rest. In a rather tragic symmetry, Caleb also died as the result of an accident: on 29 December 1854, he was returning from the races at Dowling Forest, when he fell from his horse and apparently broke his neck.
Through Carrie’s sister Emily, Fred was also first cousin to the Blackman boys, Leslie and Lyle.

Whilst his father had become a bricklayer like his own father, Fred had aspirations to a higher level of construction. After finishing his elementary education at State School level, he continued on to the Working Men’s College in Latrobe Street, which was forerunner to the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology (RMIT). There Fred began his studies in architecture.
By 1913, Fred’s parents had moved to Sulky, 7½-miles north of Ballarat. And from that time, Ballarat became home once again for the extended Sale family.

Just prior to the war, Fred joined the company of Bates, Peebles & Smart, architects, of 47 Queen St, Melbourne, as an architectural draftsman.

With no prior military training, it was a somewhat unusual decision by Fred Sale to seek a commission with the AIF. He was sent to the 3rd Officers’ Training School at Broadmeadows in early 1915, where he qualified for the rank of second-lieutenant. The appointment was gazetted on 24 March 1915 and Fred was posted to the original 21st Infantry Battalion.
Physically, Fred cut an impressive figure – he stood 6-feet ¾-inch tall and weighed 11-stone 2-pounds, with a 35 to 38-inch chest. In photographs, Fred stood out being clearly taller than those recruits of average height.

On 8 May, the men of the 21st Battalion boarded HMAT Ulysses at the Port Melbourne Town Pier. Fred Sale was then a part of the Headquarters Staff. It was an emotional departure for the thousands of people who thronged the wharf that day.

‘…The boys were singing 'Good-bye Melbourne Town, 'Australia will be There,' 'Soldiers of the King,' and the world-famed 'Tipperary.' As the boat moved out from the pier the big paper streamers snapped, and it seemed as if the last links were broken. Then it was that we felt the pangs of parting, and many if not all of us, prayed that God would protect our dear brave lads on the water and those at the front, and bring them safely to the hearts and homes of those who love and are proud of them…’

Fred’s first experience of war came before he set foot on the beach at ANZAC Cove. He had been promoted to lieutenant and was travelling to the Front when the troopship, Southland, was torpedoed on 2 September. His letter describing the event gives a delightful insight into Fred’s cheerful personality…
‘…As you will see, we are here at last after a rather eventful voyage. You will of course have heard of our torpedo episode before now. In any case, you will have received my cable through Jack; I sent it to him, as I thought you would get it sooner, there being no telegraph station at Sulky, don't suppose one could conceive more sensational incident than being struck by a torpedo. Only for its tragedy, I would not have minded a bit. But through it we lost our brigadier and about 30 others. You can imagine what a shock it was to young Linton; poor chap, he was very much cut up.
We were sailing along pleasantly on a perfectly smooth sea, and as we were only four hours out from the port where we were to land, a big island base, before going actually into the firing line, but only about 60 miles away. We were packing up our kits and preparing to disembark on to small lighters, which do the final 60 miles run. Up on deck several chaps had their field glasses out, and were interested in a small craft a few miles ahead lying under the protection of a small island. She appeared to be stationary, and had a rather large boat of some description sheltering alongside her. She caused a certain amount of curiosity, but no concern.

In the meantime, I had gone below and about half an hour afterwards was coming up again, when crash! bang! there was a terrible explosion, and I felt the great ship of 12,000 tons lift a couple of feet or more out of the water. Everybody rushed for life-belts, and the confusion for a few minutes was awful. I went below to my cabin with difficulty to get mine, and then rushed up on deck to the place I had to assemble my men in case of accidents, and to the boats to my platoon, only to find a crowd who had been standing near had rushed the boat and had begun to lower it down. Most of them were the crew, and none of my men. The letting down process of the boat was unsuccessful, as one end stuck and the other dropped loose, with the result that the boat hung by one end in mid-air, about 40 feet above the water, and all fell out. As the ship had not been stopped they were left behind a couple of hundred yards, and believe most of them were drowned.

I was faced with the problem of getting my men off, and this was no easy matter, as the boats were very quickly filled and let down. My chaps behaved magnificently, and I got them to sit down and wait for a while, and I scouted round for means of escape. I discovered on the deck above some collapsible boats, and got my chaps up working on these. They were very cumbersome things, and as the davit ropes and falls had been messed up by those previously letting down boats, we had considerable difficulty in making headway; fortunately, however, my platoon sergeant is a sailor, and he proved himself a Briton to the core.
Altogether, we got six of these boats off, not too bad for No. 5 Platoon, eh?

There were several accidents with boats; some capsized and some were smashed to atoms as they were lowered. The first half-hour was full of thrills, as the steamer sank considerably by the head, and would list alternately from side to side. However, owing to the torpedo being fired a sec or so too soon, she did not strike in a vital spot, but hit just at the centre of the forward hold, and made a hole 26 feet long by 9 feet deep, and went right through to the other side, making a hole 6 feet square; rather a tidy hole, wasn't it? But the water-tight compartment saved her.
They managed to just get her to port, a distance of 60 miles, and beach her. One of my men was killed and two others drowned; 12 men were killed by the explosion. A troopship carrying British Tommies was torpedoed only a fortnight before; she sank a quarter of an hour after being struck. The knowledge of this made things a bit unpleasant for a while.

My sergeant and batman stuck to me right through the piece, and we were amongst the last fifty to get off. Oh the marvel of the wireless! Within an hour of being fired on, little curls of smoke appeared all around the horizon, on what previously appeared to be a barren waste, with the exception of the island and the small boat I mentioned before, and there we were, surrounded by ships of all classes, which commenced picking up our boats. We got on to a hospital ship and were treated very well. We transferred to another vessel and re-formed our units.
Of course, when we were struck we removed as much clothing as we could, and had to leave all behind, also our kits; but they were eventually rescued from our old ship. I got everything of mine back except my torch and a jack-knife. I carried dad's watch and your photo with me, so they ran no risk of being lost.
I am sure you would have died laughing had you seen "little Freddie" tearing about on deck in a semi-clad condition, getting tangled up in rigging and roped, yelling, "Yo, ho, ho" and ''Heave, ho, me hearties!'' and other nautical expressions in a very unnautical manner. I could not help laughing myself at times.
It all seemed so unreal to be torpedoed in what seemed a perfectly untrammelled sea. It was a wonderful experience, but I do not desire a repetition of it. The boat our brigadier was in capsized and it was the shock of immersion that killed him; or, at least, he died five minutes after he was rescued.

Billy Pearce, of Ballarat, was the real hero of the occasion. He arranged a party to go into the stoke-hold, and he himself drove the engines to get the ship back. He is a mining engineer (1st class). Nelson Wellington worked well also. He is a captain now…’
Fred continued his letter with a vivid description of his early experiences at Gallipoli.

‘…Well, to get on to the real business. After a spell of six days we moved out again from our island base at 4 o'clock in the afternoon; this time aboard a small 1500-ton steamer. The fourth boat I had been on inside a week, and turned our faces to the real scene of action.

Dusk came on slowly, and we were on deck after tea, sitting quietly, engrossed in our own thoughts, when "Hark! What is that" Ha! at last, the faint boom of big guns could be heard, far off as yet. The realisation that I would soon be right in it all, gave me for one a real thrill. After eight months of training at soldiers' work I was at last within a few miles of the real thing.

Darkness settled down over us now, and we crept slowly in. Everybody was silent, and there were no lights on board. The growl of guns became more audible, and lights could be seen now along the shore, with the occasional flash of a searchlight; closer yet, and the patter of rifle shots came on the ear; also flares from the trenches were being thrown up, and big guns now roared close at hand.

Our boat stopped, and we waited and listened. Nothing happened for a while. But at last a little tug towing a barge came alongside and began to take us ashore. A torpedo-boat destroyer came up to within a couple of hundred yards of us and began to blaze away. We had not seen her as the night was pitch dark, and her first shot made us bob and clutch hold of one another, as we were standing closely packed on the barge. I suppose we were a bit nervy, naturally, for the moment to find her so close at hand. However, we soon got over that, and, having arrived at the little landing stage, were soon making along the narrow strip of beach which had been so dearly earned only five months before.

Guides took us on through the dark gullies, which reverberated most horribly with the rifle fire from the ridge ahead of us. We stopped after about a mile, and in no time distributed ourselves in dug-outs on the side of a hill, crept in like rats, and slept the sleep of the just and innocent.

We were up early, and cooked our own breakfasts, then stood for orders. It was just like a picnic scene to see the men around fires cooking for themselves. We were in the trenches during the morning, and have been there ever since. Strange to say, our battalion took over the very one that Lyle's (Lieut. Blackman) battalion has held so long. I met him during the day, and he was delighted at the prospect of being relieved for a while. He looks fairly well, but is much thinner than when he left home.

We have been here now just a fortnight, and are enjoying the change thoroughly. The trenches are clean and comfortable, and I have a little dug-out-right in the firing line. We get plenty to eat; plain food, of course. Bully beef in tins, biscuits, bread twice a week, tea, sugar, bacon, and tinned milk, tobacco and cigs galore.

My men are as keen as mustard, and as I get to know them the better I like them the more. They are a fine crowd of chaps, and I am very proud of them.

Arthur Williams is back again here after being wounded; you can imagine my delight when he came round to see me. He was here at the landing; I was down on the beach the other day looking for "Kempy" and a few others, and was just returning when an officer passed me whose face seemed familiar. I asked if he could direct me to Capt. Douglas Smith. He answered—"What! Are you Fred Sale?" It proved to be himself—another delightful surprise meeting! I am going to see him soon, but he is some distance away from us, and I cannot get too far away from my own section. Douglas looked fat and well, and seemed to be enjoying the whole business. He told me he was engaged, and was proud of the fact. He did not say anything about being wounded. I could not get any information whatever about poor old Jim Edgecombe; all that I could find out in Egypt was that he was wounded between the landing and the fifth day. I hope he is not going to prove one of the tragedies of the war; and I cannot find Kempy; I presume he has been relieved to Egypt. His work was mostly on the beach, so, except for occasional shrapnel fire, he was comparatively safe.

We have had several bombardments by the enemy artillery, which stirs things up considerably; but, fortunately, does not do much damage. The enemy trenches are about 70 yards from ours, and all I have seen of them is an arm as it throws up something over the parapet. They don't shoot themselves, and I believe are terrified that we are coming at them with the bayonet, which we all hope to do very soon. Our men are simply itching to get at them.

At some points the trenches are so close that they can throw tobacco and cigs to one another; also, notes are exchanged, generally of the following nature. Our chaps received a note saying—"Now, then, you fellows, we know you are new at the game; surrender and we will promise you a good time!" The reply was characteristic: ''You know what the first Australians were like; well, we are a _____ sight worse!''

You are asking why I do not write. Well, I do write, but it seems you do not get the letters regularly lately have been getting yours regularly; but a while ago as much as six weeks went by without a letter. I have written very regularly, and sent postcards and photos, by the score, so probably they will turn up in a heap. You have no idea how we long for letters over here. The arrival of the mail puts life into everybody.

I am still enjoying most astounding health, and so far no sign of a change. That torpedoeing seems to have done me no harm, but steadied me all rounds. I believe this work will make a man of me; but I am not in love with the life. Military life does not appeal to me like my own profession. I won't be sorry when the time comes for me to go back again to my old work someday. But I do not regret coming, and I have the satisfaction of knowing that I came of my own free will; I was not forced into it. We have been under fire quite a lot now; but we are pretty safe behind deep trenches, except, of course, when shells hit us up occasionally, and knock our trenches about a bit, but do little damage to us.

Night time is our hardest work. Pearce, Sanford, Trainor and myself take it in three hours shifts. The enemy keeps up sniping all the time, throws up flares, a bomb or two also, and punctuates the whole performance by pretty hot machine-gun fire. The nights are as cold as charity—beat Ballarat hollow. I have plenty of warm clothes, though, so l am quite all right. The days are simply perfect; just like our Australian spring—beautiful sunshine and crisp, clear air. The flies are pretty thick, but not so bad as we expected. We sleep in our clothes, and never take off our boots—must be prepared for every emergency here. Water is the only shortage; but I manage to wash every day with a sponge, all with a pint of water; not too bad, eh? Care has to be taken to observe a proper sequence, or, else disaster occurs…’
Little did he realise, but for Fred Sale this was just the beginning of what would be an incredible war.

Other than a ten-day stay in the Beach Hospital with influenza during November, Fred remained in the frontline at Gallipoli until the evacuation in December.
After a stint in the Canal Zone, the 21st Battalion was readied for the transfer to France. They left for Alexandria in the middle of the night on 19 March. The troopship Minnewaska had been allocated for the voyage across the Mediterranean. For Fred and the men who had been onboard the Southland, the distribution of lifebelts and placing of ships guards at lifeboat stations and submarine lookout posts must have been an instant reminder of the imminent danger they were about to face. Fortunately, this trip passed without incident and the Minnewaska arrived at Marseilles on 24 March.

On the night of 29-30 June, Fred Sale was one of the officers detailed to lead a large trench raid on German positions in the Rue-du-Bois sector. It was on a bigger scale than any previous raid by Australian troops and was carried out by a very select party formed out of one company from each of the battalions that made up the 6th Infantry Brigade.

‘…The divisional artillery and the corps heavy artillery gave effectual support to the raiders. The enemy trenches were entered at three places in square 1.21 c. The right and centre parties met strong opposition in the enemy trenches, and had no time to take prisoners. The left party met with less resistance, and brought away five prisoners. It is estimated that the raiders killed 80 Germans, including 2 officers. Our casualties were 7 killed and 15 wounded…’
Fred arrived at Pozieres on 28 July. It was during this period that his courage first brought him to the attention of the unit commander. He was recommended for the Military Cross ‘for excellent work at Pozieres and plucky endurance under heavy fire.’ In these rarefied conditions, Fred distinguished himself by ‘an untiring devotion to duty and his gallant bearing in action.’ Whilst the decoration was ultimately not awarded, it became part of a continuing pattern of bravery. This incident was acknowledged with a promotion to the rank of captain.

When it came time for the Official Historian, C. E. W. Bean, to write the narrative for action at Mouquet Farm on 26 August, Fred Sale figured prominently in its retelling. Indeed, the pair returned to that section of the battlefield in December.

Fred had been in command of the left company in Zigzag Trench at “Mucky Farm” that day. He showed incredible coolness in assessing the situation under heavy fire, and re-organised his men into better positions.

‘…Crowded along its parapet, the Germans with two machine-guns poured a stream of fire upon Australians visible to them near Mouquet Farm. This attracted the attention of Captain Sale, holding the crater-post near Point 77. In crawling along Zigzag Trench, vainly searching for the other companies, he found a Lewis-gun team with 1,500 rounds of ammunition. These gunners, reinforcing his post, now swept the parapet of Point 54 and shot down the German gun-crews, though other Germans eventually managed to remove both guns from the parapet. Both Sale and Jones, seeing that their posts had not been fully located by the enemy, kept most of their men hidden, waiting for the expected counter-attack…’
Fred attempted to get messages back to battalion headquarters, but the first two runners did not make it past the German machine-gunners. Although he had been wounded in the left arm, Fred chose to accompany a third message – and even negotiated a return to his isolated post, guiding the relieving troops through constant heavy fire. He remained on duty into the next day, despite suffering a second wound, and finally had to be ordered back to the regimental aid post. After being treated at the 49th Casualty Clearing Station at Contay, Fred was transferred to the 2nd Red Cross Hospital in Rouen on 28 August.

On 1 September, Fred sailed for England onboard the Hospital Ship St Andrew; two days later he was admitted to the 4th London General Hospital at Denmark Hill in Camberwell.

While Fred was in England, it was formally announced that he had been decorated with the Military Cross for his actions at Mouquet Farm; the small paragraph in the London Gazette concluded that he had ‘done other fine work.’ He later received a letter of congratulations from General William Birdwood.

'…Just a line to congratulate you very much upon the Military Cross, which I am so glad has been given you for your good work when you commanded the left flank of the attack on Mouquet Farm trenches, and when I know you displayed high soldierly qualities in organising and consolidating the defence of the captured positions under heavy shell fire. It was a real fine piece of work, too, when, though wounded, you remained on duty after your runners had become casualties, you yourself reported to battalion headquarters, and then returned to your post. Examples of this sort are exactly what are required to ensure success.

I thank you so much for your gallant work, and sincerely trust that you may be spared to see the war through and gain still further honours…'

A mail boat was Fred’s transport back to France; he arrived at Boulogne on 15 November and then reported to the Australian Divisional Base Depot at Étaples. Two days later he rejoined the 21st Battalion at Factory Corner near Flers.

Inexplicably, there was then a nearly 12-months gap in Fred’s service record. We know that he returned to Mouquet Farm in December, where a photographer captured a stark image of him with Charles Bean.
Of course, his duties as an officer continued; this included writing letters of condolence to grieving families back in Australia. Fred wrote the following to the family of Corporal William Verdon, who was killed in action on 22 December 1916.
‘…Somewhere in France,
Jan. 7, 1917.

Dear Mrs Verdon, -
Before this reaches you, you will already have heard of the death in action of your son William, who has been in my Company since leaving Australia. I need hardly tell you how grieved I was to hear of his fate, and to you I must express my deepest regret at the loss of so noble a son and so brave and fearless a soldier. Yet I do not regard death as the end of all things, and I am sure you will also share my idea, and there is always the consolation that you will meet him again under better and purer conditions. Also, I am sure one cannot conceive a nobler death than in the service of one's own country. It is a soldier's death, and I am sure Bill himself had no lesser ideal. Many a good man has died, and will yet die, in the service of his country and all it means, but the sacrifice is not in vain. Unless the sacrifice is made now we will not live in peace, and will have to make equal, if not greater; sacrifice in the future. I will close now, hoping you will accept my sincere regrets at your great loss. I can assure you I can never replace Bill in my Company.
I remain, yours respectfully,
FREDERICK SALE, Capt…’

The 21st Battalion took part in the Second Battle of Bullecourt in May 1917; but it was at Broodseinde Ridge on 4 October, that Fred Sale once again proved what a remarkable soldier he had become.
During the attack at Broodseinde, Fred led his company ‘with the greatest dash and gallantry’ and continued to display his trademark coolness and initiative under fire. In the half hour prior to the attack, the battalion came under heavy shellfire as they waited on the jumping off tape, but Fred held his men together. Throughout the battle, he continued to inspire his men with his courage. At the final objective, ‘he practically superintended the whole of the consolidation, and owing to his keen grasp of the situation, sent back most valuable and complete reports…’ For this performance under such trying conditions, Fred was once again recommended for the Military Cross – the third occasion – and was subsequently awarded a Bar to the decoration.

After being relieved from the line, Fred was immediately admitted to hospital to receive treatment for haemorrhoids. Clearly, throughout that monumental day, Fred had fought through considerable pain, which makes his actions even more outstanding.

Sadly, Captain Billy Pearce, who Fred had spoken of with such admiration following their experiences onboard the Southland, had been killed at Broodseinde. Fred was amongst a select group of soldiers who wrote to Billy’s father, Isaiah Pearce, to express their inner thoughts of one Ballarat’s bravest officers. He wrote simply:
'…I have never seen a man so cool and fearless under fire. His men would have followed him anywhere…'
Fred was able to close out the year enjoying Paris Leave and then Christmas in England.

Returning to the frontline in January 1918, Fred was detached for duty as the acting-brigade major with the 6th Australian Infantry Brigade. This was his role throughout the climactic German Spring Offensive and the Allies own offensive that ultimately turned the tide of the war.

Fred enjoyed a further leave pass to England in September and, when he returned to France on 3 October, the Australian involvement on the Western Front was drawing to a close. Intriguingly, Fred was detached for duty with the 59th American Brigade on 6 October. It was a brief assignment that lasted just four days before Fred returned to his previous duties with the 6th Brigade. Then, on 13 October, he was transferred to the 24th Battalion, which had left the frontline for the final time a week earlier.

With the war over and the realities of peace descending over Europe, thoughts turned not only to returning home, but also to the possibility of further education as the men awaited repatriation. As an early volunteer, Fred was granted 1915 Leave on 20 January 1919. This was reassessed and extended on 14 March after Fred was accepted as a part of the educational scheme devised by Australian chaplain, Bishop George Long. As a student at the Architectural Association School of Architecture in Bedford Square, London, Fred was to receive full pay and subsidies. Although in its infancy, the AA was to become one of the most prestigious and competitive architectural schools in the world; it is now the oldest independent school of architecture in the United Kingdom. This was a wonderful opportunity for Fred Sale.

In August, Fred sent a private cable to his family in Ballarat notifying them that he had successfully passed the qualifying examination for an Associateship of the Royal Institute of British Architects. It was a highly coveted qualification as prestigious institutions were known to be quite ‘cautious as to the bestowal of honours that they regard as “hallmark” to the public.’ The qualification guaranteed that Fred would be at the forefront for lucrative post-war contracts.

During his time in England, Fred had made the acquaintance of a young English nurse, Irene James. At this stage it is not known exactly how they met, but it is clear the connection was particularly strong. There was also a shared understanding of the war – Irene’s brother, Stanley Prewett James, had died in a London Hospital on 23 December 1915 from severe wounds he received while fighting at Hill 60 in summer 1915, whilst serving with the 15th Battalion of the Canadian Expeditionary Force; he was just 22.
So it was that, on 1 November, after more than four years away from Australia, Fred boarded the SS Orvieto to begin the long voyage home, knowing that he was leaving behind the love of his life. It was a bittersweet moment.

Fred’s appointment in the AIF was formally terminated on 16 February 1920. At the same time he went into partnership with another up and coming young architect, John S. Keage. Their offices were at 430 Little Collins Street, in the centre of Melbourne.
This was to prove a golden period for Fred Sale.

His winning design for the new eight-storey building for the Royal Automobile Club of Victoria at 94 Queen Street, Melbourne, was announced in July 1920. In February 1921 he prepared designs for the Mildura Anglican Church and Soldiers’ Memorial Hall. Then in March 1921, the partnership was successful in winning the contract alongside Irwin and Stevenson to transform the St John’s Anglican Church in Latrobe Street.

A significant contract came in the form of Fred’s winning design for the Shire of Colac War Memorial, which was announced on 7 April 1921. The contract came with a first prize of 35 guineas. This came soon after he had been beaten into second place by the firm of Irwin and Stevenson for the contract to design the South African Soldiers’ Memorial in St Kilda Road. It was noted at the time that all three prize places had been secured by returned servicemen.

On 4 August 1922, Irene James arrived in Melbourne. She had made the long voyage unaccompanied, but Fred was there to greet her when the Hobson’s Bay landed. They were married on 7 December at St Anselm’s Church in Middle Park by the Reverend C. C. MacMichael. Their first home was at 94 Wellington Street in East St Kilda.

Contract successes continued to come the way of Fred’s firm – in June 1923, Sale and Keage designs for the new portico on the St Kilda Town Hall ‘and the remodelling of the internal arrangements’ were awarded both prizes by the St Kilda Council.
However, a sudden and unexpected tragedy changed everything.

In the early hours of 7 November 1924, whilst driving home, John Keage crashed through the picket fence at a notoriously dangerous railway bridge in Royal Parade, Parkville. The car then plunged 30-feet down an embankment to the railway line and overturned. Keage was killed outright, with his body pinned under the wreckage and his head wedged between the horn and the crushed bonnet.

In a frightening coincidence, on Monday 25 May 1925, Fred Sale was also involved in a nasty car accident. He had spent the weekend in Ballarat and was returning with his brother-in-law, Dr Payne Philpots; they were driving along the Geelong-Melbourne Road near Werribee when they were struck from behind by a larger speeding vehicle. Fred had little warning of the impending impact, which flipped them over and caused both men to be thrown from the car. Whilst George Philpots was unhurt, Fred Sale suffered several broken ribs and severe lacerations to his face, right ear and both hands; he was treated at a private hospital in Werribee. The driver of the other car, a John Dondey, was convicted of negligent driving and had his license endorsed.

By this time, Fred and Irene had moved to 290 New Street in Brighton and were awaiting the arrival of their first child. On 9 July 1926, Irene gave birth to a son, Richard, at the Cambrai Private Hospital in Alma Road, East St Kilda. The small family was completed by the birth of a daughter, Claire, in 1929.

Fred continued to win contracts – in July 1926, his design for the new picture theatre in North Coburg and new Christ Church in Newport were both successful. Then, in March 1928, he was named as joint architect for the extensions and alterations to the Naval and Military Club in Alfred Place, Melbourne. At the same time, he claimed the important contract to design the new clubhouse at the Commonwealth Golf Club.

In the early 1930’s, Fred, Irene and the children moved to 11 Newbay Crescent in Brighton. But, the discovery (around 1927) that Fred was suffering from pulmonary tuberculosis seemingly brought an end to his stellar career as an architect. The infection, which can lay dormant for some years after exposure, was rife in the crowded, unsanitary conditions of the trenches on the Western Front, and it caused the early deaths of large numbers of returned men. Fred Sale would have had no idea that he had probably carried the disease back with him.

As his condition deteriorated, Fred began to suffer bouts of haemoptysis and it was a distressing sight to see him coughing up blood. He was taken to the home of Madeline and Payne Philpots in Ryans Road, Mount Macedon, where it was hoped the clearer, cooler air would bring some relief. Unfortunately, the disease proved to be intractable and incurable, and he died there on 28 July 1937. He had just reached his 45th birthday.

Fred Sale’s enduring connection to the district had been made permanent by the planting of Tree number 2584 in the Ballarat Avenue of Honour. Sadly, he was another remarkably brave and talented man taken far too soon.

"SALE.— On the 28th July, at Mt. Macedon, Victoria, Frederick J. C., beloved husband of Irene, and beloved father of Richard and Claire, aged 45 years. Privately cremated Fawkner, 30th July.

SALE.— On the 28th July, at Mt. Maccdon Frederick John C., beloved only son of Mr. F. Sale, Hobart, and the late Mrs. Sale, of Melbourne, loving brother of Maude (Mrs. F. Chambers, Hobart), Maje (Mrs. C. Stuart Smith, Perth), Lynne (Mrs. Geo. Philpots, 3 Holyroyd-avenue, East St. Kilda), aged 45 years.

SALE.— In memory of Captain Frederick Sale, M.C. and Bar, 21st Battalion A.I.F., who passed away at Macedon on 29th July.

A tribute to a true "digger," a beloved vice-president and a wonderful man, from the executive and members of the 21st Battalion Association." - from the Melbourne Age 31 Jul 1937 (nla.gov.au)