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"PRIVATE E. E. OWEN. 

Pte E. E. Owen, who was killed at the Dardanelles was 34 years of age. He was a native of Wallacetown, Allendale, and was well known in the football field and sporting circles, being greatly liked by his comrades. He left Victoria with the 4th reinforcements of the 7th Battalion, 2nd Brigade. His mother is Mrs. 0. M. Owen, of Wallacetown, and for her and the other relatives much sympathy is felt." - from the Ballarat Courier 25 Sep 1915 (nla.gov.au)

From Ballarat & District in the Great War

Pte Edward Edgar OWEN #1800 

At the height of the Victorian gold boom of the 1870’s, numerous townships sprang up around the mines. Where there was work, there were also all the necessary commercial and spiritual accompaniments.

The area northeast of Creswick was dotted with these communities and they flourished as long as the gold kept coming. When it dried up, so eventually did the towns. It was a gradual process that reduced the populations and removed the ammenities. In some instances, the settlement disappeared altogether. The danger was that the history of the families who lived there could also be lost. This story focuses on the life of one young man who grew up in a town that time has now erased. His name was Ned Owen.

The land around Creswick was particularly rich. The rich black volcanic soil of Smeaton, Kingston, Glendonald, and Ullina, made for excellent farming. But it was the diamond-shaped area of gold deposits in the middle of these towns that brought the miners. Allendale, Broomfield, Lawrence, Jerusalem and Wallacedale were all thriving communities based around the extended Berry Consols series of mines that tapped into an underground river of gold. It was the lure of gold that brought James Owen and his 13-year-old son to Victoria in 1854. It was appropriate that the ship that carried them to a new life was called Hope.

Despite their very Welsh surname, this family of Owens had a long generational connection with the historic town of Warminster in southwest Wiltshire. But James Owen had been working as a coal merchant in the London suburb of Bermondsey when his eldest son, James Edward William, was born on 6 February 1841. The tragically early death of his wife, Rebecca, in 1847, when she was only 31, made the move for father and son an easier decision.

At St Paul's Church of England in Clunes, Victoria, on 6 February 1871, the marriage of James Edward William Owen and Caroline Maria White was celebrated by Reverend John E. Herring. Caroline was a first-generation Australian, with her birth being recorded at what is now the Adelaide suburb of Thebarton, in South Australia on 15 July 1850. Her parents, however, were both Londoners – her mother, Caroline Maria Nichols, came from Islington, specifically an area then known as Copenhagen Fields, while her father, John Grove White, could claim to be a true Cockney – he was born at Hackney, well within the sound of the Bow bells.

Caroline White had grown up moving around the goldfields of Victoria. In her early teens the family settled near Clunes, where her father became the proprietor of a store and post office on the Clunes-Creswick Road. White was known to be of ‘intemperate habits,’ but when he died suddenly from an ‘extravasation of blood on the brain’ on 11 May 1869, an inquest was needed. A post mortem revealed ‘the brain was much softened, and the liver and spleen greatly diseased.’ Life had not been easy for young Caroline.

James and Caroline wasted no time in beginning their family, and James supported their growing brood by working in the Clunes gold mines. Like all miners, he was aware of the inherent dangers of working in deep lead mines – the deepest shaft at the New North Clunes reached 500-metres and at such depths slips and falls were always a risk. Air quality was monitored as carefully as was possible at the time, but there was little understanding of the damage caused by microscopic silica dust and the damp. James would later pay the price for long hours underground.

By 1878, the family had moved to Wallacetown. The settlement was situated just over a mile northeast from Broomfield and three-quarters of mile south of Allendale. Wallacetown was named after local mining investor, John Wallace, from Garrigill in Cumbria. He also ran the Wallacetown Hotel. The passage of time has erased Wallacetown and it is now sometimes suggested that it was another name for Broomfield. However, at the time these were two very distinct villages. In fact, Wallacetown had two churches – St Margaret’s Church of England and a Presbyterian Church, as well as the hotel.

It was at Wallacetown that James and Caroline Owen’s youngest son, Edward Edgar, was born on 26 October 1880. He was baptised at St John’s Church of England in Creswick on 15 February 1882. The little boy was known by the diminutive of Ned – and that was often then lengthened to Nedler.

Two further little girls, Maud and Ada Alice, completed the family of six surviving children.

One thing that Wallacetown did not have was a school. So, when Ned reached school age he was enrolled at the Allendale State School. The head teacher at Allendale was Mr Charles Reddin, who was known for his kindness to the children while continuing to improve results at the annual examination conducted by the Education Department.

Reddin also instilled an awareness of community in his young students. When a gas explosion at the Bulli Colliery in New South Wales, killed 81 men and boys, Reddin initiated a subscription amongst the children to raise money for the disaster fund. Mining communities understood better than most the dangers faced by those working underground; they were also aware of the shortcuts that exposed workers to potential tragedy. One miner at Bulli said that the men ‘knew of the existence of fire-damp in the mine, but that they were afraid to speak under penalty of dismissal.’ The Bulli explosion, which occurred on 23 March 1887, remains one of the worst mining disasters in Australia: in a moment fifty women became widows and over 150 children were left without fathers. Efforts to raise money sprang up across the district. But Mr Reddin’s effort showed the children the importance of supporting others in need.

Ned was still at the Allendale School when Mr Reddin was promoted to a new position in Port Melbourne in July 1889. The children were sad to see the popular head teacher leave and presented him with a gold Maltese cross pendant and a 12-volume set of Chambers’ Encyclopedia.

For a long time, James Owen’s health had been poor. Too many years working in gold mines had taken their toll. In 1890, he applied for assistance from the ‘incidental fund’ provided by the Creswick Miners’ Association. It was voted that he be given £3. Being unable to provide for his family was devastating. It also meant that his children had to fill the void. There was no hope of recovery and the subsequent death of his father on 31 October 1896, was life-changing for Ned Owen – at the age of 16, this was the moment the boy became a man. Being a cheerful positive personality, an ‘optimistic fellow,’ allowed Ned to make the best of things and helped him deal with his grief. It also made him very popular with the other young people around the area.

After leaving school, Ned had followed his older brother, James, into the mines, although mining at Allendale and Broomfield was already on a decline.

One thing that defined Ned Owen was his sporting ability. He was just a lad when he started playing football and it was on the football field that he was often referred to by the nickname Nedler. Every aspect of his game was outstanding – he had a devastatingly accurate left foot, was a strong mark (although he was only 5-foot 7) and could score goals from all positions. Ned was also fast – really fast. In fact he was regarded as one of the fastest footballers in the Creswick district. That he was also seen as a ‘smart athlete’ indicates that he had that innate ability to read play, create space and make it all seem easy in the process.

In 1904, Ned had what would now be seen as a break-out year when he was signed to play in the forward pocket for South Ballarat. One of the founding clubs of the Ballarat Football Association, South was also one of the league’s most successful. Ned quickly showed that his reputation as a goal scorer was well deserved and his name appeared constantly on the goal sheet. During that season, he was frequently named as one of South’s best players and figured prominently every week. That they were Premiers that year was in no small part due to the dynamic play of Nedler Owen.
Unfortunately, this was at a time when there was little money to be made from playing football. And even good footballers had to go where the work was. So, after just one season with South, Ned was forced to look further afield for employment. He moved to Ararat where he worked at the profitable Cathcart Gold Mine. Ned played football while he was at Ararat, but never again reached the heights of that 1904 season.

His reputation, however, remained undiminished.
By this time, Ararat had already developed into an important municipal town. Besides the lucrative gold mine, the area was well-known as an agricultural centre, producing high quality grain and wool. The wine industry was also thriving. There was ample entertainment through various social organisations, with numerous lodges, and the Town Hall was an excellent venue for concerts and plays. Trains through to Ballarat and Melbourne ran four times a day for those seeking wider outlets, and no doubt Ned Owen was able to easily visit his mother with the availability of such reliable public transport.

War quickly changed everything.

In the early months of the conflict a steady stream of men rolled through recruitment depots all over the country. At Ararat, the newly completed Drill Hall in Collings Street became the focus for local men looking to volunteer. Ned Owen presented himself there on 4 January 1915. Doctor Fred Hayman, who ran a practice in Ararat’s main street, was the medical officer who assessed Ned’s physical fitness. He found that the 33-year-old met all the stringent AIF requirements. Ned’s height was never going to be an issue (the minimum height at that stage of the war was 5-feet 6-inches); he was also neatly built at 142-pounds and had a muscular chest of 36-inches that he could expand a further two inches.

As I already indicated, despite his name, Ned Owen did not have a recent Welsh connection in his family. His colouring was, however, what many would ascribe to that race of people – he was dark skinned, had dark brown eyes and black hair.

After being accepted into the AIF Ned immediately left for camp at Broadmeadows, where he spent the bulk of the next three months training. As he had never been part of a citizens’ military unit, this was all new to Ned. No doubt he had plenty of experience firing a rifle, but the drilling, marching and military discipline was quite revelatory.

As part of his attestation, Ned had named his mother as his next-of-kin. He allotted part of his “six-bob-a-day” to her upkeep, showing that she was financially dependent on him for support.

When Ned left for the Front on 14 April, there was little fanfare. He sailed from Port Melbourne onboard the troopship Wiltshire with the 4th reinforcements destined for the 7th Infantry Battalion with the regimental number 1800. What those onboard the Wiltshire had no idea of knowing was that during their voyage to Egypt, the AIF would land at Gallipoli, completely changing the face of Australian history and how we, as a people, would come to see ourselves.
Ned spent just a few short weeks in Egypt before he, too, was on his way to the Dardanelles. The 7th Battalion had taken part in the historic Landing at Gallipoli on 25 April 1915 and had suffered shocking losses – 153 men were killed or died of wounds on that first day at ANZAC. Then, at Cape Helles, on 8 May, another 62 were lost, with a total of 250 casualties.

By the time Ned reached his unit on 26 May, the 7th Battalion had returned to ANZAC. The reinforcements reached the beach around 4 in the afternoon, with two men wounded during the landing. Ned immediately felt the presence of the 7th Battalion’ commander, the enigmatic Lieutenant-Colonel H. E. “Pompey” Elliott, who seemed to be everywhere all at once. He was an officer who believed in leading from the front.

For much of June, Ned Owen was involved in garrison duty and working parties in an area of line opposite Braund’s Hill. There was increased activity during July and Ned quickly began to understand the art of sniping at Turkish loopholes, the danger of enemy shrapnel and high explosive shells. At times the Turks were so close they could be heard talking.

Desperate attacks by the enemy resulted in ‘considerable loss’ and Ned soon became accustomed to the apparent cheapness of life in the trenches.
But nothing could prepare him for the coming Battle of Lone Pine.

Beginning at 5:30pm on 6 August, the 1st Brigade’s objective was to take and hold the Turkish line at Lone Pine, which they were successful in doing before nightfall. Fierce fighting continued over the coming days, with the 7th Battalion (2nd Brigade) in front of Johnston’s Jolly waiting for orders to move into the Lone Pine trenches. Around this time, Ned suffered some minor bomb wounds to both arms. He was treated at the No3 Field Ambulance on the beach before being evacuated to the No15 Stationary Hospital in Mudros on the nearby island of Lemnos, where he was admitted on 9 August. The following day he was transferred to the 24th Casualty Clearing Station (also in Mudros), but was soon discharged as fit to return to his unit.

When Ned reached the 7th Battalion on 14 August, they were in reserve at Phillips Top – an area that overlooked Shell Green towards Gaba Tepe. The next day they relieved the 1st Battalion at Lone Pine.
From 5pm on 15 August until 11am on 17 August, Ned Owen was in the frontline at Lone Pine. The men continued to consolidate their position and sniped the enemy continuously. In reply, the Turks shelled the positions held by the 7th Battalion.

After a much needed rest at Phillips Top, Ned was once again back at Lone Pine on 19 August. At 4pm the Allied artillery opened up a bombardment on the enemy trenches. In response, the Turks shelled the 7th Battalion with 6 and 75mm high explosives. They caused very little damage and only two men were wounded. One was Ned Owen. This time he had suffered a shrapnel wound to his right foot. After being treated at the Casualty Clearing Station run by the 3rd Field Ambulance, Ned was immediately moved to the Guildford Castle, which was then acting as a hospital ship.

The lapse of time between Ned being wounded and his admission to the 21st General Hospital in Alexandria may have contributed to the deterioration in his condition. But it was the lack of understanding around wound treatment that complicated his case and Ned was already suffering from gas gangrene by the time he reached Egypt.

This potentially lethal infection was caused by the bacteria Clostridium Perfringins. It generated gas bubbles in the dying tissue and thrived in covered and sutured wounds simply because it did not require oxygen to grow.

With experience came better forms of treatment, but the basic principle remained.

‘…All war wounds, and in particular those caused by high velocity missiles are contaminated, a.o. by clostridium spores. An immediate suture of those wounds, through which necrotized tissue is covered (an ideal anaerobic environment), furthers the development of gas gangrene…’

Of course, the first aid given to Ned’s wound involved both suturing and bandages. In this case an emergency amputation was the only avenue of treatment. The doctors amputated Ned’s foot on 25 August, but the infection had already spread. Muscular necrosis affected all his major organs and he went into shock. It was known that this type of ‘spontaneous evolution’ was mostly mortal within a few hours – and Ned was dead before the day was out.

A Reverend Page, attached to the hospital (but not with the AIF) was tasked with burying Ned Owen’s body in the Chatby Cemetery at Alexandria.

The dreaded telegram carrying news of Ned Owen’s death reached Allendale during the evening of Saturday the 4 September. Whilst the community quickly became aware of the situation, Caroline Owen remained oblivious as she was away from home – she had been staying with her youngest daughter, Maud, at Newtown near Smythesdale as they awaited the birth of her second child. (The baby boy was born on 13 September). Reverend Joseph Best (q.v.) received a telegram from Base Records asking him to convey the news to Caroline in person.

‘…Kindly inform mother…of sad news also convey regret and sympathy of King and Queen and Commonwealth…’

On 7 September, a special farewell evening for local soldiers was held at Allendale. The chairman, Dr William Parker, from Kingston, made a speech to the local soldiers and expressed, on behalf of the audience. the ‘fervent hope that God would spare them to come back safely after helping in the glorious fight for their Empire.’ The death of so many Australians weighed heavily on his mind, and he made special mention of the death of ‘poor “Nedler” Owen,’ who was known to them all – ‘a fine, manly little chap.’

James McDonald (#1791) had been a friend of Ned’s from when they were boys. The pair had gone to Ararat together and worked side-by-side in the mines, before they enlisted together. He gave a candid view of a portion of their time at ANZAC when he wrote from Heliopolis on 8 August 1915.

‘…Just a line to say I have not been too good for a couple of weeks, with bad teeth and dysentery. I had ten weeks banging at the Turks and dodging shells and bullets, and succeeded in stopping one in the wrist; had it been half an inch further down it would have gone right through the joint, and that would have brought me home. But I can tell you I am no-wise anxious to go back.

The side was blown out of my coat, a shell bursting right between me and "Ned." He is still going strong, but about settled for a spell. Albert and ''Gundy" were alive when I last saw them. We were engaged in "sapping" most of the time, a game in which you are always prepared to go up in the air. We have lost most of our mates, and all I can say is that we live in holes like rabbits most of the time when we are not working.
Most of the Ararat soldiers are well, and one of the best soldiers here is George Racham; he is as game as they make them. That is all I can say at present, unless I start telling you how many I killed or captured, like a lot more who have not seen a Turk since they came here.

We are well treated here, and the place we are camped in is Luna Park Hospital, and alongside is what they call the Palace Hotel, one of the largest and best, so you see we get a square go when we have earned it. Some of those who write and growl have never been out of Cairo…’

In publishing the letter in the Ararat Chronicle, the editor had to provide the note:
‘Since the above was written Private "Ned" Owen has been reported as killed.’

When Ned’s possessions were returned to his grieving mother, the parcel only contained his personal Testament. Caroline was later granted a pension of £26 per year for the loss of her son. The Owen family also had Ned’s photograph (taken in civilian clothes) hand-painted by a photographer to create an image of him wearing his uniform. This was not at all unusual and photographers became quite adept at this type of work, even adding dead soldier sons into family portraits.

When local soldiers began to return from the war, “welcome home” committees worked tirelessly to arrange special evenings. In July 1919 the people of Allendale gathered to welcome home the young men of the district and to pay homage to those who did not return. Sir Alexander Peacock, Premier of Victoria, was called on to present Caroline Owen with a handsomely framed certificate commemorating her fine young son.
Now when you drive between Broomfield and Allendale there is no sign of the former settlement of Wallacetown. There are no buildings or war memorials, nothing to suggest that a fine young man had once called it his home. How quickly all things pass…

So, say his name: Edward Edgar Owen.

‘He had a kind and generous heart;
he is greatly missed.’