Virtual
War Memorial
Australia

Ballarat & District in the Great War

Two Brothers in WWI James and Alfred Rooney

A photograph of a cheeky-faced boy caught my attention as I searched for my next subject – there’s always guaranteed to be a tale worth telling if a photograph was printed in newspapers during the Great War era. Although young Alf Rooney had my attention, he certainly didn’t make my task easy. As is all too often the case, the details you need to paint a full picture were just not available, but Alf had more than earned the right to have his story told.

Born at Ballarat East in August 1895, Alfred George was the second of six children, and eldest son, of James Rooney and Mary Anne Lydia Day. Ancestral information proved rather sketchy – James Rooney was also born in Ballarat East of Irish parentage. Lydia Day was more elusive. It appears that she was born in Victoria, and there was some hint that her family originated from Hitchin in the English county of Hertfordshire.

Life was tough for unskilled labourers during the 1890’s. The first significant economic depression experienced by the country caused untold hardship; 33 per cent of skilled workers were left unemployed. There were no figures for the unskilled. The Rooney family survived the worst of those years, with James working as a labourer for the City Post Office.

Young Alf had completed his first years at the Humffray Street State School, when illness prevented his father from working. On 29 July 1903, James Rooney was declared insolvent, with a debt of £53 and no discernible assets.

On recovering, James went on to become a senior linesman with the Post Office. The family home was at 22 James Street and Alf lived there until he reached working age.

While he was at Humffray Street Alf took part in the school cadets’ programme. He graduated to the senior ranks of the 70th Infantry Regiment. Renowned cornet player, Percy Code, was bandmaster of the regimental band and Alf came under his influence as a budding bugler.

By 1913, Alf was working for well-known baker, Fred Haymes, at his Adair Street Bakery in Ballarat West. Alf was living in Dana Street when, on 6 September, he and a friend, John Odgers, witnessed a nasty assault that quickly ended up in court.

Soon after, Alf left Ballarat to take a new position with prize-winning master baker, Donald Hartley Rowe, of Narre Warren. He was still working at Rowe’s when war broke out.

Alf volunteered at Ballarat on 15 October 1914 – being just two months past his 19th birthday, he was technically underage and required his parent’s consent to enlist. When he completed his attestation papers, he presented the recruiting officer with a slip of paper bearing what appeared to be permission from one of his parents…

‘This is to certify that I am willing to let my son enlist for the war.’

It seems entirely possible that Alf had written the note himself – the signature, which is partially illegible, is very different to those of both his parents and bears a similarity to his own hand.

Physically, Alf had no difficulty passing the requirements: Dr C. H. W. Hardy conducted the medical examination and noted that the young recruit was 5-feet 5¼-inches tall and could expand his chest to 34½-inches. In appearance, Alf had a fair complexion, with blue eyes and very fair hair.

Despite his youth, Alf’s two years’ experience with the 70th AIR added to his appeal as a recruit. He was immediately posted to C Squadron of the 9th Light Horse Regiment with the regimental number of 481 and the rank of trumpeter – an important role that could eventually involve sounding the charge into battle; it was also a perilous position that would make him an obvious target for enemy gunners.

Now, it wasn’t long before Alf found himself on the receiving end of authority. In fact, he showed a pattern of misbehaviour that could easily have become problematic. On 12 January 1915, at Broadmeadows Camp, Sergeant John Hennessy reported Alf for insubordination after he disobeyed orders. Lieutenant-Colonel Albert Miell heard the charge the following day and Alf was given 15-days confinement to barracks as a punishment.

Then, on 3 February, Alf was charged with breaking camp and being absent from the lines the previous day. Sergeant Charles Mitchell reported him for also being absent from the stables. This time, Major Thomas J. Daly heard the charges and once again, Alf was confined to barracks – this time for 7-days.

His problems continued when Sergeant John W. Gill reported him for being absent from parade later the same day. Major Carew Reynell chose a financial punishment on this occasion – he fined Alf the substantial amount of £2/10/. Just a day later, he was absent from the defaulter’s parade, and Company Sergeant Major William E. Harvey once again put Alf on report. Lieutenant-Colonel Miell immediately added to Alf’s financial woes by again fining him £2/10/.
Fortunately, before he could accrue further indiscretions, the 9th Light Horse was prepared for embarkation. On 11 February, after packing up their equipment at Broadmeadows, the regiment made its way to the docks at Port Melbourne. At 5pm HMAT Karroo, a single-screw combined cargo and passenger steamship, pulled away from the pier.

The Karroo and the accompanying Anglo Egyptian arrived at Alexandria at 6am on 15 March. The men immediately disembarked and entrained for Cairo; they arrived at Mena Camp during the night.

Four days after the Landing at Gallipoli, the 9th Light Horse was moved from Mena to camp at the Heliopolis Racecourse. At 1:20am on 16 May, the regiment left by train for Alexandria – all the horses and transport remained behind at Heliopolis. By 6pm the same day, the men had embarked onboard the transport Menominee bound for the Dardanelles.

Three days later, on 19 May, the transport arrived and anchored just offshore at Cape Helles. Around the same time, Turkish troops attacked the ANZAC perimeter. They made repeated unsuccessful assaults against accurate machinegun and rifle fire, in an attempt to ‘drive the invaders back into the sea.’ So, the decision was made, without having unloaded the troops, that the Menominee be temporarily re-directed back to Lemnos.

The 9th Light Horse was subsequently divided across two destroyers for the return to Gallipoli on 21 May – Headquarters, A and B Squadrons sailed first onboard the Scourge. Alf Rooney, with C Squadron, followed on the Scorpion. At 4pm the men were transhipped to horse boats just 300-feet offshore. The landing was carried out under shrapnel fire, but there were no casualties and the regiment was able to bivouac in a gully for the night.

At 11am the following day, the regiment began relief of the Auckland Mounted Rifles along Walker’s Ridge. It was an area the men were to become very familiar with over the coming months.

Their arrival was not a pleasant experience: lying between the two lines were thousands of corpses – both Turk and ANZAC.

Constantly exposed to the sun, the rotting bodies quickly made the situation unbearable, so both sides agreed to an extended Armistice on 24 May to allow for burial of the dead. It was a brutal introduction to warfare for the 19-year-old Ballarat baker.
After the allotted time expired, hostilities were immediately resumed.

On 7 August, during the Battle of Lone Pine, the 9th formed a Brigade Reserve and gave fire support to the 8th and 10th Light Horse Regiments. They were fortunate that day – the brigade’s disastrous attack at The Nek resulted in massive casualties. The 9th was not without its casualties: whilst directing fire from the parapet, Lieutenant-Colonel Albert Miell was shot and killed.

Towards the end of August, the men were buoyed by the prospect of a holiday at either Imbros or Lemnos and a break from the firing line. The men had moved to the beach at ANZAC Cove on 26 August, but within an hour the orders had been changed. Alf and his mates were sent back into newly captured trenches at the Damijelik Hills, north of Walker’s Ridge.

The next day, two attacking parties were sent out to under orders from General William Birdwood to take Hill 60 ‘at all costs.’ Poor reconnaissance and bad planning led to multiple casualties, with ‘the screaming of the wounded and those dying filled the air along with bullets and bombs.’ Amongst those killed was Lieutenant-Colonel Carew Reynell, who was leading one of the parties.

Efforts to bring in the wounded continued into the next day. Alf Rooney had been hit by bullets in the neck and shoulder during the action. He was removed to the beach hospital before being evacuated to the Hospital Ship Gascon. The journey back to Egypt took four days; on arrival, Alf was admitted to the No1 Australian General Hospital in Heliopolis on 2 September, before being transferred to the adjacent No2 Australian Auxiliary Hospital.

On this occasion, Alf got off relatively lightly, and he was discharged to duty just a few days later.
Back in Australia, an interesting article regarding his former employer, Mr D. H. Rowe, appeared in the Dandenong Advertiser. It seemed that, since the beginning of the war, the baker had released no less than eight of his employees to enlist for active service. ‘…There is no doubt that Mr Rowe has been considerably inconvenienced by the quick changes in his staff, but he has shown his patriotism in recognising that the needs of the Empire should have consideration before his personal requirements, and has placed no obstacle in the way of enlistment…’
Despite the Gallipoli Campaign still having three months to run, there does not appear to be any indication that Alf Rooney returned to ANZAC. It seems that he remained in Egypt as part of a composite Light Horse Regiment and did not rejoin his comrades until the 9th Light Horse returned to Heliopolis in January 1916.

It was to be a short reunion – on the 25 February, Alf was transferred to the 8th Light Horse Regiment. And whilst infantry units were soon transferring to the Western Front, the Australian Light Horse remained in the Middle East, where they cemented their reputation as fighting troops across the deserts and ancient lands of the Sinai, Palestine, Syria and Jordan.

The last major attack on the Suez Canal by the Central Powers was the Battle of Romani and was launched at the beginning of August, 1916. The 8th Light Horse was to take a major role in the campaign at Hamisah and Bir-el-Abd, from the 4 to 9 August. When the call went out, Alf volunteered himself for a particularly hazardous duty that would lead to him earning the Military Medal, which was confirmed on 23 September.

‘…Egypt, 1/10/16
Dear Mum,—
Just a few more lines in answer to your, ever welcome letter and postcards; they are just the thing. I have looked at them a dozen times a day. My word, mum, you do look different; you are quite fat, and so is Nelly; but I am keeping just the same.

I have got some good news to tell you, mum; something that you would all be proud of. It is that I have been awarded the Military Medal for bravery. I got a great shock the other morning when they read out that the General had recommended three of us for it, and it has been passed by the King. I have not received it yet, but I believe we are going somewhere to be decorated.

We are still in the desert. 1 won it, mum, on the 9th of August, when we had the big scrap.

We were in a tight corner. A lot of the boys had been knocked out; their ammunition was nearly done, and so was their water. I happened to be holding my officer's horse when they called for volunteers to carry ammunition and water to the firing line. To reach it you had to expose yourself to the Turks, and as soon as you showed yourself there was machine guns and rifle fire—something awful.

As soon as they called for them, I hopped out and threw some belts of ammunition on the horse and galloped up. I fancied I could feel the bullets touching me, but I got through all right. By jove, wasn't the boys pleased; they were just about finished. I did the trip four times there and back; and yet you would see men dropping as soon as they showed themselves.
I was just coming out once and there was a young lieutenant retiring with a machine gun—Lieut Buckland* was his name. He let out an awful scream. He was shot through the chest, and he dropped right in the open, and the Turks opened fire on us as soon as we went to get him in. As soon as he fell, I rushed out and pulled him in by the legs, and yet I never got hit. I feel pretty sure of getting home after that. But, poor fellow, he died that night.

We have been scrapping on and off since the 9th August. The blokes in France think they are having a picnic. But this is not all beer and skittles.

Eight months nearly in the desert without seeing anybody only soldiers and sand, and no sign of shifting. Don't worry about that report about me returning to duty 1 have been all right. What price the Australians in France? They are still keeping up the good name.

Don't forget to send us over some nice eatables for Christmas or before. I could do with some of your cakes now.

I am writing you a good long letter because we can seal them up. The medal I am getting, they say, is higher than a D.C.M., they say it is next to a V.C.
Well, mum, I suppose you will hear about it all from someone else, so 1 will say no more about it.
I saw young Wright** killed; he was just about dead when I saw him; he only lived a few hours.
Well, mum, I think this is all the news at present, so will close with best love and kisses from your loving son,
Alf. Best love to all…’
(*2/Lt Reginald John BUCKLAND DOW 9 August 1916; of Leadville, NSW **Tpr Henry Patrick WRIGHT KIA 7 Aug 1916, of Berringa and Ballarat)

A brief bout of enteritis resulted in Alf being admitted to hospital for treatment on 5 September, but he was soon back with his regiment.

Alf received further honours with the releasing of General Archibald Murray’s Special Despatch on 13 October 1916 – he was mentioned for his ‘valuable services rendered in Egypt.’

Back in Ballarat, Jimmy Rooney was eager to join his older brother at the Front, but his efforts met with rejection on four occasions. He wrote to Alf bemoaning the fact and received an immediate response: ‘You are badly needed. Give it another fly!’ Taking that advice, Jimmy undertook a course of physical culture (what we now refer to as body building) and applied again. When the 18-year-old was finally successful on 12 May 1917, it was said he was ‘the happiest boy in Melbourne.’

Jimmy, who was a counter-lunch attendant at the Cathedral Hotel in Ballarat, had previously been rejected for a lack of height and insufficient chest measurement. Given his tiny stature, it still defies logic that he was ever passed fit – Jimmy was a mere 5-feet 1½-inches tall, weighed only 108-pounds and his original chest measurement was just 29-inches. His one saving grace was that he could expand his chest by 4-inches. It seemed likely that he would have been blown over in a stiff breeze!

But, Jimmy was ‘a trier for honours, too,’ and determined to do his bit. He was assigned to the 21st Battalion, which was then in the thick of fighting on the Western Front.

Meanwhile, Alf was up to his old tricks back in Egypt. The regiment was at Shellal, a small and ancient village on the banks of the Nile, when, on 1 June 1917, Alf absented himself without leave. He absconded at 8:30pm and was missing until 9:30 on 3 June when he was apprehended by the Military Police.
Before he could begin his sentence of Field Punishment No2, Alf reported sick to hospital. He was admitted to the 3rd Light Horse Field Ambulance on 13 June suffered from partial paralysis to his left arm. He was transferred to the 24th Stationary Hospital at Kantara, via the 53rd Welsh Casualty Clearing Station at Rafa and the 26th Casualty Clearing Station at El Arish.

By 19 June he’d been transferred to the 14th Australian General Hospital, a major facility in Abbassia. The issue apparently stemmed from an old fracture to his wrist. Now, the confusing aspect of what would become an ongoing problem, is that there was no indication as to when the damage occurred. References made to the injury indicated that it had been caused by a gunshot, but they did not include any further information. Was it as a result of his wounding at Gallipoli? Or was there another incident that remained unrecorded? The other possibility was that he had broken his wrist before the war. Certainly, the damage was significant – both the radius and ulna had been broken and a later x-ray showed an anterior angulation of both bones with roughening in front of the radius. One examining physician concluded, however, that despite the injury, it was still ‘quite a useful arm.’

After nearly a month out of action, Alf was discharged to camp at Moascar on 10 July. He was transferred to the 3rd Light Horse Regiment the same day.
Initially it seemed that Alf’s weakened wrist would prevent him working in a mounted role. He was transferred to the Divisional Train Training Depot and then the Army Service Corps Training Depot in preparation for a new deployment. On 28 September, Alf joined the 38th Company of the Australian Army Service Corps Divisional Train and was promoted to the rank of driver.

During the winter months, Alf’s wrist again began to cause him difficulties. He was admitted to the 45th Stationary Hospital on 13 January 1918, once more suffering from partial paralysis.

Four days later he was transferred to the 44th Stationary Hospital at Kantara, where the problem was seemingly connected to the shoulder wound he’d suffered at Gallipoli. However, at the 31st General Hospital in Port Said, where he was admitted on 21 January, the focus returned to his damaged wrist.
Alf spent a full month at the 14th Australian General Hospital in Port Said, before he was transferred to the nearby Rest Camp on 28 February.

It wasn’t until May that Alf was fit enough to resume duty; he was detailed to begin with the AASC Training Unit at 6am on 3 May. But he was immediately in trouble again – this time he was charged with being absent without leave when he had failed to report at the place appointed for parade with his new unit. It wasn’t an auspicious beginning – Alf was confined to barracks for a week. However, before the month was out, he had returned to the Port Said Rest Camp.
During this same period, Jimmy Rooney was fighting in the line opposite Ville-sur-Ancre in France; in a degree of brotherly symmetry, he suffered a severe gunshot wound to his right shoulder on 19 May. Jimmy’s war was effectively over.

On 11 June, Alf rejoined the 38th Company Australian Divisional Train. He continued with this unit until 26 October, when he was once more forced to report to hospital for treatment. Rather than transport him over land, Alf was sent onboard the transport Dunluce Castle; he embarked at Beirut on 9 November and arrived in Egypt two days later. By this time, the Ottoman Empire had already signed an Armistice with Great Britain. News of the formal end of the war was all the word when Alf reached Cairo. There was finally a reason to celebrate.

Given Alf’s ongoing health concerns, the decision was quickly made to expedite his return to Australia. He was classified an invalid, and sailed from Port Suez onboard the transport Aneas on New Year’s Day 1919. He was due in Melbourne on 31 January.

Alf had been away from home for four years: he had seen and experienced things that assured he would be changed forever. As the recipient of a Military Medal and Mention in Despatches, he would also be remembered as a young man of exceptional bravery against impossible odds. He was discharged from the AIF as medically unfit on 6 April 1919.

For his first year back in civilian life, Alf lived with his parents, in Yarrowee Street, Ballarat East. Although he was still regarded as a baker by trade, he did not return to his previous employer at Narre Warren.
In 1920, Alf married 19-year-old Aley Walters, a native of Fingal, Tasmania, whose family had settled in Ballarat. Their first child, William, was born before the year was out.

Choosing an entirely new career path, Alf joined the Victorian Railways as a repairer and painter. This guaranteed multiple moves around the State over the ensuing years.

Alf and Aley were living in Geelong when, on 2 November 1922, they welcomed their second son, Alfred James. To differentiate between father and son, the boy became known as Joe.

During early 1924, the family lived at The Two Mile in Moe, before moving to the small community of Moranding in Central Victoria. They were still at Moranding when they suffered the loss of their eldest son, William. The little boy was buried in the Kilmore Cemetery.

Continuing to follow the work, Alf and Aley moved to Derrinal (near Heathcote), Knowsley (near Echuca) and Axedale; they also spent time living at both 361 Burnley Street and then 6 Survey Street in Richmond. By 1942, they had finally settled at 25 Braid Street, Footscray.

Joe Rooney mirrored his father’s earlier war service by enlisting in the Second AIF on 25 June 1943. He served with the army after the war until he was eventually discharged on 3 February 1947.

Alf continued to work with the Victorian Railways in the years following the war. He and Aley lived at the Braid Street property even as the district boundaries changed from Footscray to Kingsville. It was a quiet life, far removed from the tumultuous madness that Alf had experienced with the Light Horse. His death at Footscray on 18 February 1960 was acknowledged by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. Aley outlived him by more than 30 years.