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From Dictionary of Australian Biography

Capt, Temp Major EW Tulloch by PC Dane

Eric William Tulloch (1883-1926), brewer, soldier and rower, was born on 16 April 1883 at Ballarat, Victoria, eldest son of William George Tulloch, brewer, and his wife Agnes Ann, née Wheeldon, both Ballarat born. Educated at Melbourne Church of England Grammar School (1897-99), he represented the school in football and rowed in the first eight and four. In 1901-02 he won the Victorian Champion VIII's title for the Albert Park Rowing Club and in 1902-04 represented the State in the victorious interstate eight-oared crew.

After studying brewing under Auguste de Bavay, bacteriologist of the Foster Brewery, Melbourne, Tulloch was brewer at R. Marks & Co., Maldon, Victoria, in 1904-06. For the next two years he was head brewer at the Swallow Brewery, Perth. In that city on 15 April 1908 at St John's Anglican Church he married Lillian Jane Temby.

A commissioned officer in the Citizen Military Forces, Tulloch joined the Australian Imperial Force in January 1915. As captain in the 11th Battalion, he landed at Gallipoli on 25 April. He was wounded that day while achieving his objective, the southern slopes of Battleship Hill, and was probably the closest officer to enemy lines until repelled.

Recovering in Australia, he was posted in October 1917 to France where he was gassed in the second battle of Passchendaele and fought on the Somme at Cappy. On 23 August 1918 near Chuignolles he commanded two companies and captured Froissy Wood; on 18 September at Hargicourt, near Villeret, with two others Tulloch overpowered and captured the crews of two enemy machine-guns. He was given command of the 12th Battalion and awarded the Military Cross and Bar. Appointed officer-in-charge of the rowing section, sports branch, in February 1919, Tulloch coached the A.I.F. crew which won the King's Cup at Royal Henley.

On his return Tulloch took up a senior position at the Victoria Brewery where he worked until his death. He was an original member of Legacy and was gazetted in 1921 lieutenant-colonel, 22nd Battalion, Commonwealth Military Forces. He coached the Melbourne Grammar first eight which won the Head of the River in 1923 and finished second in 1924. That year he was appointed to the Old Melburnians council.

Early on the morning of 8 May 1926 he disturbed an intruder in his room at the boarding house, Lauriston Hall, East Melbourne. During a struggle Tulloch was fatally shot. No motive for the killing could be established and the identity of the murderer has never been discovered. Tulloch's funeral was conducted with full military honours. After a service at Melbourne Grammar chapel, the procession, more than a mile long, proceeded to Brighton cemetery by way of St Kilda Road which was lined by thousands of people. His wife, who had been in Sydney receiving medical treatment, survived him; they had no children.

From Ballarat & District in the Great War

Major Eric William TULLOCH MC+Bar
 
Every life is interesting, but some carve a position into history that is unique and every so often a story presents itself that is exactly that. Everything about Eric Tulloch’s life was exceptional from beginning to its most horrifying, sudden end.

Born at Ballarat on 16 April 1883, Eric William Tulloch was the eldest of just three children born to William George Tulloch and Agnes Ann “Annie” Wheeldon. His parents were part of a cohort of the first-generation born at Ballarat during the boom following the initial goldrush.

Annie’s father, Isaac Wheeldon, had arrived on the goldfields from his native Liverpool with all the idealistic miner’s zeal and hopes of getting rich quickly. He was to build on his pioneering efforts by becoming a noted mining investor and foundation member of the Ballarat Stock Exchange. He went on to have prominent roles in the Madame Berry and Madame Berry West mines, and was a director of the Band of Hope ‘when the company’s Golden Gate shaft was pouring out its wealth into the pockets of the shareholders of the company.’

William Tulloch senior was also an early arrival in Ballarat. He had come to Australia from Dron in Perthshire, a rural area on the River Farg in the foothills of the Ochil Hills. His younger brother was named Dewar Lauder Tulloch – they were so intensely, proudly Scottish. After landing in Sydney in 1844, William Tulloch had travelled through to Geelong, where he tried his hand at various occupations, including cattle dealing and store keeping. But it was as a brewer that he was to make his mark. Whilst others were mining precious metal, William pursued profit in liquid gold.

From the early days, William had joined in partnership with his uncle, Alexander McLaren, and they ran a successful store in Lydiard Street. By 1869 they had established themselves as the Royal Standard Brewery, (Tulloch, McLaren & Co). In 1872 they completed ‘new and very commodious premises’ that just happened to be right alongside the Welsh Church reserve. There was some tongue-in-cheek humour in the situation, with ‘foaming tankards and fuming Templars…the order of the day.’ These new buildings included a ‘four-storey tower in brick rising 67 feet high’ and had frontage in both Lydiard and Armstrong Streets. (Many of these buildings still exist as part of the SMB complex).

After the untimely death of Alexander McLaren on 13 February 1875, the business was to become known as Tulloch and Sons. William George Tulloch, as the eldest of the sons, became a principal player in the brewery’s continued success.

On 8 September 1880, William George Tulloch and Annie Wheeldon were married by the Reverend William Henderson, at 11 Eyre Street, the Wheeldon family home. William and Annie then made their home just up the street at number 27. It was there that baby Eric was born.

Wealth and prosperity enabled the young couple to maintain two homes, with a second property in Taylor Street, Moonee Ponds (where their daughter, Elsie, was born on 15 July 1886) and then in nearby Athol Street, where Norman Wheeldon Tulloch was born on 6 March 1888.

Eric began his education at Ballarat College. But he was just 11 years old when his life was upended by the sudden, tragic death of his father on 15 September 1894. William had spent his Saturday afternoon riding to hounds, but a head cold affected his ability to really enjoy the outing. He returned to their home in Drummond Street where he told the maid he was going to soak in a eucalyptus bath. That was the last time he was seen alive. The next morning his body was found partially emersed in the cold water – he had been asphyxiated by the fumes from the gas hot water heater, caught in the confines of the poorly ventilated bathroom.

Annie and the children then moved to Point Nepean Road in the Melbourne suburb of Elsternwick. This was within a short distance of Annie’s parents, who had moved to Glen Huntly Road in the late 1880’s. Eric was transferred from Ballarat College to the Melbourne Grammar School – then known as the Church of England Grammar School. During his time at Grammar, Eric would represent the school in football and, most importantly, rowing.

There was a certain expectation that the family would maintain their position in Melbourne society and there were plenty of opportunities for entertainment. One 17 September 1897, Eric and Elsie took part in the Juvenile Fancy Dress Ball given by Mr and Mrs John McWhae of “Finholt” in Camberwell. The event was held in the Camberwell Shire Hall and hundreds of children took part – Elsie was dressed as “Queen Esther” and Eric as a “student.” The following year, on 19 August, another ball was held in the Elsternwick Hall. This time Norman joined his siblings – he was dressed as Indian prince, Ranjitsinhji (reputed to be one of the finest cricketers of all time). Elsie reprised her Queen Esther costume and Eric was dressed as a cricketer. At 15, Eric cut quite a dashing figure, with a thatch of dark brown hair and unusual brown-grey eyes, he was already a handsome young man.

Eric had also started to build his reputation as a rowing talent. It appears this was a family passion – his uncle, Charles Norman Tulloch (who was just five years older) was also a champion rower who won at national level. In 1899, Eric was named as stroke for Grammar’s second eight. He was fast approaching his full height of 6-feet, and already weighed 11-stone 3-pounds. Before the end of the season he had been promoted to the first crew, rowing in either the 2nd, 3rd or 7th seats. He was also rowing for the strong Albert Park club and representing in coxless fours. In 1901-02, rowing for Albert Park, Eric was part of the winning eights crew in the Victorian Championship.

After graduating from Melbourne Grammar, Eric began a four-year apprenticeship in brewing at Fosters Brewery in Melbourne. His tutor was outstanding Belgian brewer and bacteriologist, Auguste Joseph François de Bavay.

In May 1903, Eric was selected to row for the Victorian eights crew in the Australian Championships held on the Lower Yarra. The river was ‘as calm as the proverbial mill pond,’ and the “Blues,” with Eric rowing in the 5th seat, gave a polished performance to take the title.

‘The race throughout was a splendid display, of rowing. There were no accidents or fouling, and the race was truly rowed. The superiority of the winners was manifest throughout…’

Eric’s ability was attracting attention from ‘amongst the champions’ and he looked set to enjoy a successful future. However, in August 1904, having completed his apprenticeship at Fosters, he left for a new position at the Springs Brewery of Richard Marks & Co at Maldon. His loss, plus the retirement of two leading rowers, meant the Albert Park club suffered a ‘serious loss of strength.’

His time at Maldon was relatively brief and marked by one reportable event in March 1906 when he was charged with ‘endangering the public safety by riding a bicycle on the footpath.’ The shire secretary, Mr Reeve, stated that he had seen the young man riding on the footpath at the corner of High and Hospital Streets. The Maldon Shire Council was only seeking a nominal penalty and admitted they had only taken action to impress the public that they were seriously prepared to enforce the by-laws. Eric admitted he had ridden his bicycle on the footpath and was fined a total of 2-shillings and sixpence.

In June 1906, Eric left for Western Australia to take up a new position as head brewer with the Swallow Brewing Company in East Perth. The time in Maldon had interrupted Eric’s promising rowing career, but it was suggested that he would be ‘a great acquisition’ to one of the West Australian rowing clubs. By October, Eric had joined the Swan River Rowing Club. He rowed in the 3rd seat of the senior coxless fours crew for “the Swans.” He was also named as coach of the Perth High School rowing crews.

The death of Eric’s grandfather, William Tulloch, on 24 October 1906, was to mark a significant baton change in the family’s brewing business. His pioneering work had seen his brewery flourish and, after joining in partnership with Irishman, James Coghlan, in latter years had become known as the Ballarat Brewing Company. This company would go on to become home of the famed Ballarat Bitter and its icon, Ballarat Bertie.

Shortly after taking over as manager of Beigel’s Brewery in Australind Road, Bunbury, in early 1908, Eric returned to Perth to marry Lillian Jane Temby. The marriage was celebrated at St John’s Church of England in West Perth on 15 April.

Lilly had endured a tough start to life. Her father, Joseph Temby, was a miner from Redruth in Cornwall. He had been the publican of the Prince Albert Hotel at Clunes, where Lilly was born in 1884. However years of mining had led to him contracting “miner’s complaint,” which resulted in his early death on 23 September 1889. Lilly was just five years old. Her mother, Margaret Bryens, then died on 21 June 1890 – leaving the little girl an orphan.

By this time, Bunbury was a thriving centre, and the newly married couple settled into a home in White Road. There was always plenty of activity, with Elsie and Norman visiting and Eric involved in multiple organisations. His developing interest in the military saw him join the 86th West Australian Infantry Regiment and examinations in November 1908 confirmed his appointment to the rank of second-lieutenant. “Smoke socials” at the Bunbury Drill Hall were a regular event.

Eric had a prominent role in the formation of the Bunbury Swimming Club in November 1908, and he was an original committeeman with the club. Possessed of a strong bass voice, Eric also took part in concert performances by the Bunbury Amateur Orchestral Society.

In January 1909, it was announced that Beigel’s beer had secured first prize for colonial ale at the National Show held in Busselton. It was considered quite an achievement for Eric Tulloch as they had beaten the famous Swan Brewery for the honour.

At the end of 1913, Eric and Lilly returned to Victoria. Eric soon obtained a lucrative appointment at the brewery of James Boag and Son. Situated on the banks of the Esk River in Launceston, this proud and famous brewery had earned a reputation of producing some the finest beer in the world.

Eric continued his involvement with the military by joining the 92nd Infantry and was promoted to the rank of captain.

Immediately after the announcement of war with Germany, Eric Tulloch began to help in the process of mobilising men around Launceston. That there were seven individual rifle clubs in the city – the Union Jack, Old Launcestonians, Railway, Kookaburra, Post and Telegraph, Golfers and the Launceston clubs – shows how seriously such pursuits were then viewed. Men from these clubs were encouraged to present themselves (with their rifles) at the Launceston rifle range for training. While they waited their turn to shoot, the men were instructed in signalling and drill by Eric Tulloch, and other members of the 92nd Infantry. On the 10 September, 40 employees of Boags and their rival Scott and Griffiths Tamar Brewery, enrolled as members of the Launceston Rifle Club. Two days later 190 men turned up to fire at the range. This was seen as a very serious business.
Finally, after successfully helping to train a significant initial fighting force, Eric Tulloch also enlisted. He applied for and was immediately granted a commission in the AIF on 23 January 1915, and was posted to the 3rd reinforcements of the 11th Infantry Battalion. At 31, Eric was in the prime of his life. To reinforce the stature of this man, he was 6-foot tall and at that time weighed 13-stone 2-pounds with an expanded chest measurement of 42-inches. He was a mountain of a man who commanded attention.
With Lilly safely settled with his mother at “Kooralbyn” in Erin Street, West Richmond, and receiving two-fifths of his pay for her support, Eric was free to leave for the Front. In command of the troops onboard the Itonus, he sailed from Fremantle on 22 February.
The bulk of the 11th Battalion was amongst the first troops of the AIF to embark for Gallipoli – they left Alexandria on 1 March 1915 for an ‘unknown destination.’ They anchored off the Greek island of Lemnos three days later. Eric Tulloch joined them there on 10 April.

At 4:30am on 25 April 1915, the 11th Battalion landed at ANZAC (a mile south of Fisherman’s Hut) under heavy fire from Turkish rifle and machine guns. They immediately stormed the cliffs, which were estimated to be 300-feet high. Working with fellow officers, Pen Patterson (q.v.), Joseph Lalor (grandson of Eureka rebel, Peter Lalor) and Ivor Margetts (all with the 12th Battalion), Eric Tulloch led his men in a steady push inland.

Lieutenant Edward Yeoland Butler, of the 12th Battalion, was at the forefront of the next stage of the fighting.

‘…Rushing forward a little, we got under cover, and attempted, to form up the different companies. Captain Lalor, Captain L. E. [Laurence Edgar] Burt, Lieutenants P. J. Patterson and I. S. Margetts, of the 12th, and Captain E..W. Tulloch, of the 11th, an old Ballarat Col-lege boy, were amongst, those present. Word was sent along to us to prepare for a counter-attack, and Captain Lalor, who took command, decided to hold a spur just ahead of us. We had just got to it, and I was writing a message for him to the Brigadier, when the Turks were seen coming over some rising ground (Hill 971) on our left front. Captain Lalor instructed me to advance and hold them back while he dug in.

I advanced with what men I could get, but it was frightfully rough country, and by the time I got to a commanding rise I had only about 30 men left. I was not at all satisfied with the po-sition, however, and decided to push on to a hill some 700 yards further ahead, where I hoped to get a better field of fire. From this position we were able to open fire on the enemy from 500 to 1000 yards. Captain Tulloch, with some of the 11th, reinforced me on the left, and we held on for a considerable time. One or two men were hit and were sent to the rear…’

For Eric Tulloch this was a wild ride. It was later reported that he had reached the southern slopes of Battleship Hill, making him the officer who got closest to the Turkish positions before being forced to retire. In an interview with the Official War Correspondent, Charles Bean, after the war, Eric spoke of seeing a Turkish officer standing under a stunted tree at Chunuk Bair seemingly handing out orders to messengers. Many believe that the officer was Mustafa Kemal - Atatürk. Eric took one parting shot before retreating. He missed. That officer went on to become a revolutionary statesman and father of modern Turkey.

Eric later wrote of his adventure in a letter to Lilly that was published widely in Australia.

‘…Here I am — one of the lucky ones — with a nice clean bullet wound through, the fleshy part of my left thigh, sitting up in bed. On my left, a nephew of Mrs Riddell Stanley; on my right is Major Alderman, formerly of Launceston. We are in a big tent in the hospital grounds, with ten beds in it, all officers. Close by is a big building With 40 officers, and two other buildings contain about 800 men. They look after us splendidly. We all look very nob-by in a suit of grey flannel pyjamas. We get up after breakfast, and hobble out into the sun — those of us who can. The men are strolling round — looking up friends and inquiring for others. That is the worst of it, nobody knows who is killed or wounded except, in his own particuliar little part of the scrap — not always then. The country and fighting was so close and wild.

I joined my battalion on an island south-west of the Dardanelles, where the whole forces gradually assembled. I got a job as second in command of "B'' company. We got orders as to when and where we were to make the attack, and practised embarking and disembarking into and from torpedo boats. We were all living on transports. One night we sailed. Half the battalion got on board a battleship, the other half on two destroyers. These took us all in darkness, not a sound or light anywhere, and landed us from rowing boats on Gallipoli just before and at daybreak.

It was pretty light when out crowd landed, and we got rats. You know the sand hills round Bunbury how steep and complicated they are. Where we landed was like that, only the hills were higher and steeper, and firm instead of sandy, the sides were more or less bare; and the top covered with thick scrub about waist high. The destroyer steamed in to about 150 yards from the shore. There we tumbled into ships' rowing boats and pulled in under a deuce of a fire from rifles and machine guns. The boat on our left was caught by machine gun fire, and pretty well everyone of the forty in her were hit before she touched land. When the boat grounded we jumped into the sea, and rushed across the beach to the shelter of some boulders at the foot of the cliffs. There we formed up, fixed bayonets, and rushed up the hill - no easy job, as we were, officers and all, carrying our big packs, 200 rounds of ammuni-tion, and three days' food, and our clothes were heavy and wet with salt water.

Well, by using the ground, I managed to get my chaps on a spur half way up, with the loss of only one, and we stopped to help some people on our left, who had some rather exposed country to cross. They had just made one beautiful rush which cost them about ten men, and we were able to enfilade the Turks' trench beautifully at about 600 yards, and cleared them out. We bagged four or five out of a squad a bit nearer on our left, and then continued our climb. We got to the top about 8.30am, just in time to see some of the 12th Battalion bowled over. I saw Colonel Clarke, of Tasmania, and Major Elliott both hit, and the colonel was killed instantaneously.

About 7am or 8am we had driven the Turks out of all their trenches within three-quarters of a mile of the beach, and were able to take stock a bit. I found I had been landed a long way from the rest of the battalion, and was amongst a lot of the 8th, 9th and 10th - about 200 in all. Little Lalor was senior officer left. We were about half a mile to the left of the west of the brigade and as it was an important ridge, we decide to stay there as long as possible. As it turned out, it was well we did. We were all mixed up, as I told you. While Lalor's people dug themselves in a little, I and about 50 of the 11th went forward to cover them, and almost as soon as we got the position the fun started. From a little after 9 a. m. their counter attack commenced strongly. At 10.30a.m. we covering people had to get back, and from then it was plain hell.

Our troops were landing all the time. Perhaps one third were ashore with no guns. So Mr Turk naturally seizes the opportunity to throw every man he can raise with guns at us before we get any stronger, and our job was to stick to it at a big cost. Our casualties with Sunday, from 10.30 a.m. till 3 a.m. next morning, were more than over the next three days. We had to get out of our position and got a message from the rear (this was about 12 o'clock to hang on, reinforcements were coming, and at 1p.m. they began to arrive in dribs and drabs, strung out by their long climb up the hill — New Zealanders and the 1st and 2nd Battalions. ln that hour we were driven off a crest of our ridge twice, but went back again, and it was during the last time we were driven back that I got mine.

The men had retired, and I was just getting ready to follow when I saw five Turks, all to-gether, about 400 yards away. Those stood up and one had a look round with field glasses. I had a rifle, and let them have five rounds rapid — dropped one, and attracted quite a lot of fire to myself. Started to sprint back and got it in the leg. Stumbled, and sprinted like blazes till I got just past our own firing line, where I dropped in a heap. I bandaged myself up, and stayed there for a while, till l heard the scrap coming nearer and nearer, and thought it best to get away to the dressing station if I could do so. With the help of a pick handle and rifle I hobbled back to the edge of the rising, and the rest was to slide down for a quarter of a mile. The mile walk back to the beach took me three hours. There they took us on to a battleship— the London —dressed my wound and fed me. I was pretty weak from loss of blood, otherwise right as the bank. Wound does not hurt, and has not hurt from the time I got it, only I can't use the leg much, of course.

We are breaking our necks for news, and get a little from people who drift in who were wounded later. Guess I will be back again in a fort night or so…’

Upon reaching Alexandria five days after the Landing, Eric was admitted to the 15th General Hospital.
On 1 May, Lilly Tulloch received the following cablegram.

Regret reported husband severely wounded thigh in action Dardanelles twentysixth ultimo will wire report as to progress…’

It appeared initially that he had been very lucky – the bullet, although fired from close range, had not broken his femur and for the first few weeks everything appeared to be fine. However, when the side of his thigh developed a hard swelling, the doctors made a shocking diagnosis: sarcoma. A subsequent operation found nothing malignant and the diagnosis was changed to periostitis. Although the bone had not been broken, the trauma led to inflamma-tion of the periosteum that surrounds the femur.

Concerned for her husband’s well-being, Lilly made arrangements to travel through to Egypt. And when he was evacuated to England in July, she followed. Eric was then admit-ted to the No3 London General Hospital in Wandsworth.

In early August, because of continued discharge, surgeons re-opened the wound in Eric’s leg. At the end of the month, he was transferred to the 6th Australian Auxiliary Hospital in South Kensington.

Although Eric suffered no pain or tenderness in his leg, there was considerable thickening of the bone and noticeable swelling near the wound site that restricted movement in his knee. By the 22 October, the wound had finally healed and he was able to play golf, but he was still unfit for duty.

After a further two months there was still no discernible improvement and the decision was made to repatriate Eric back to Australia. He sailed onboard the Star of England, leaving from Portland on 12 December. Lilly had to wait until Christmas Eve to begin her own voy-age – she had secured a second-class passage onboard the SS Medina.

By February 1916, Eric was still struggling with the residual effects of the bullet wound. Several operations had left their mark; he was suffering from chronic periostitis and could only flex his knee to 45-degrees. There was also the mental frustration – he struggled with the irony that he had, for all his training, only lasted ten hours at the Front.

Eric continued to work on regaining his fitness with the intention of rejoining the AIF. It took nine months, but on 9 November 1916 he passed his second medical, only this time he was carrying the scars from Gallipoli.

For his return trip to England, Eric was charged with commanding the 22nd reinforcements for the 11th Battalion. They left Fremantle on 9 November onboard the troopship Argyllshire.

Although the Argyllshire could cruise at a creditable 14-knots, the voyage took nearly nine weeks and they finally docked at Devonport on 10 January 1917.
During February, Eric attended the course of instruction held at the Southern Command Bombing School based at Lyndhurst in Hampshire. He qualified as an instructor in bomb throwing and was then transferred to the 70th Battalion at Worgret Hill Camp outside Wareham. For the next six months, he helped train troops moving through the No 4 Command Depot on their way to the Front.

Keen to return to active duty, however, Eric pressured for a transfer back to the 11th Battalion. It was finally granted on 15 September, but he had to wait a further month before heading to France.

Travelling through the night, Eric landed at Le Havre early on 10 October. Five days later he and 93 other ranks joined the 11th Battalion at the Devonshire Camp. The 11th Battalion had just come out of the line at Broodseinde Ridge. They had fought through the Battle of Menin Road and nearly 100 men had fallen in just a few short weeks.

In March 1918, the 11th was holding the sector at Hollebeke. The whole area was redolent with the residue of gas shelling. After five days the gas had begun to affect Eric’s throat and he developed severe laryngitis, accompanied by a cough and sore eyes. He reported sick to the 1st Australian Field Ambulance and was transferred to the 11th Casualty Clearing Station at Godewaersvelde (known to the troops as “Gerty wears velvet”) where he was admitted on 14 March. The next day he was transported via Ambulance Train 12 to the 5th British Red Cross Hospital in Boulogne.

With no improvement in his condition, it was decided to evacuate Eric to England. He sailed on 25 March onboard the Hospital Ship St Denis and was admitted to the 3rd London General Hospital the same day.

After a month of rest, Eric was ready to face the Medical Board as he was eager for an early return to the Front. His voice was still a little hoarse, but he was feeling quite well and his breathing was unaffected – he had ridden 33-miles on a bicycle without issue. And most importantly, his chest was clear.

On 18 May, Eric sailed back to France. The 11th Battalion was in the Divisional Support Area of Hondghem when he resumed duty on 26 May.

Eric was wounded a third time at some point during June, but after having his right hand dressed, he remained on duty. At the end of July, accompanied by his batman, Eric was sent to the 2nd Army Rest Camp.
The 11th Battalion was at Vaire-sous-Corbie when Eric returned on 17 August. The men had had a long, hot, dusty trek from Harbonnières and were enjoying a well-earned rest on the canal bank.

At 2:30am on 23 August, the 11th Battalion moved out to take up battle positions near St Germaine’s Wood, near Chuignolles, left of the village of Proyart. They were to support the flank of the 9th Battalion who were to make a frontal attack on German positions at Froissy Beacon. Eric Tulloch was given command of the 11th Battalion operation.

Leading two companies, Eric was detailed to outflank and capture the position. The rugged terrain made the objective both difficult and dangerous, but Eric’s tactical ability proved that he was the best officer for such a task. In scenes reminiscent of his work at Gallipoli, Eric’s remarkable coolness and determination inspired his men to push forward.

‘…With brilliant dash and admirable courage repeatedly he led his men under galling ma-chine gun fire against enemy positions, out-flanking and overcoming the enemy’s resistance, till the objective was gained…’
Much of the success of the operation was attributed to Eric Tulloch’s performance under pressure. He was decorated with the Military Cross as a result.

Just over three weeks after the action at Froissy Beacon, Eric was again to the fore, leading his men at Villeret near Bellicourt on 16 September. Commanding D company, he was charged with attacking the left of the objective. They were slowed by a nest of German machine-guns at Carpeza Copse and further hampered by fog and smoke. Eric, accompanied by Company Sergeant Major Bertie Shipton and Private George Moore, rushed the post and engaged the enemy. Armed only with his service revolver and a few German stick bombs gathered from the trench, Eric once again showed utter disregard for his own personal safety. The fight lasted ten minutes, by which time they had captured the guns, and taken six prisoners.

Once again, Eric’s ‘brilliant dash’ and ‘wonderful courage’ was directly responsible for the success of the operation. And his presence in the front wave of the attack fired his men with equal zeal.
For a second time, Eric was recommended for the Military Cross.

During October, the battalion was advised of multiple decorations for bravery, these included the Military Cross awarded to Eric Tulloch. Due to this award, and the second recommendation, the latter was changed to a Bar to the Military Cross, which was awarded on 16 November.

At the end of September, Eric was placed on temporary detachment to the 12th Battalion. Then, on 8 October, he was promoted to the temporary rank of major.

Eric was with his men on the road to Épehy (the scene of monumental fighting during the Allies attack on the Hindenburg Line just weeks earlier) when the Armistice was announced. There was little formal mention of this in the unit diary, but Major Alfred Phillips (who was in temporary command of the battalion) noted, ‘village much knocked about and billets somewhat airy.’

On 1 December, after moving to Beugnies, the 11th Battalion (as part of the 1st Australian Division) lined the Avesnes-Maubeuge Road to salute King George V as he passed between the troops. Time was now given over to a variety of recreational activities, including foot-ball matches, boxing tournaments, educational classes and lectures. Eric left for England on Boxing Day for a well-earned leave pass. This followed the whole battalion personnel celebrating ‘their best Christmas since leaving Australia.’

Eric returned to England on 19 February 1919 for his investiture at Buckingham Palace.
Rather than returning to France, Eric was selected to join the special Sports Central Board in London. Preparations were underway for the Inter-Allied Sports to be held in Paris. A sub-committee consisting of Eric Tulloch, Lieutenant Ossie Wood, who had been heavily involved with the New South Wales Rowing Association, and Lieutenant Harry Ross-Soden, a member of the 1912 Stockholm Olympic rowing team, was formed to take charge of the rowing. Eric worked alongside former Wallaby and champion rower, Major Syd Middleton, to locate the right men to represent the Australian Army in the Henley Peace Regatta. This was a formidable task, tracing those oarsmen who had the necessary qualifications to justify the opportunity of competing against crews from the armies of the Allied Forces. Eric took his role very seriously and spent hours every day following up the work of Syd Middleton. They made an excellent team.

The AIF rowers entered crews in the eights (coached by Eric Tulloch), fours and pairs (coached by Harry Ross-Soden). There was also talk of the two teaming up in the pairs event, but this was scuppered by a clash with training at Henley.

As training progressed, a considerable amount of shuffling took place in order to find the best crew. By May, the top eight had begun to emerge. The crew was stroked by Captain H. Clive Disher, and boasted two Olympic rowers, Harry Ross-Soden and Harry Hauenstein, with Eric Tulloch rowing in the No6 seat.
When a Eric received a cable from home advising him that Lilly was dangerously ill, he immediately relinquished his rowing commitments and ‘hastened back to Australia by the first available steamer.’ He left England on 15 May onboard the RMS Orontes.
The voyage took a little over six weeks – no doubt these were six very long, anxious weeks for Eric Tulloch. However, on reaching Melbourne on 28 June, he was greatly relieved to find that Lilly was ‘very much improved.’

Following a series of heats between Allied crews and champion crews from club and university level, the final for the King’s Cup was rowed at Henley on 4 July 1919. The Australian eight emerged victorious over Oxford University, leading all the way and winning by a full length. Syd Middleton (freed from his broader commitments with the rugby tournament and athletics and boxing events) was able to take over the No 6 seat. Plagued by poor health, Harry Ross-Soder had been unable to compete. The winning crew was Archie Robb (bow), Fred House, Thomas McGill, Arthur Scott, Harry Hauenstein, Syd Middleton, George Mettam, Clive Disher (stroke) and Albert Smedley (cox).

The King’s Cup trophy is still presented to the winning men’s eight at the Australian Rowing Championships.
Settling back into civilian life was always going to be a time intensive process for Eric Tulloch. But he seemed to have clear paths to follow. After his appointment with the AIF was terminated on 29 August 1919, he looked to continue his involvement with the military, and on 16 September he was appointed as captain to the 5th Battalion with the 5th Infantry Regiment. On 1 December, he was promoted to the rank of honorary major, which was con-firmed four months later.

In March 1921, the Minister of Defence announced that Eric had been appointed to command the 22nd Battalion at Richmond. He was promoted to lieutenant-colonel on 2 July that same year.

An excellent position at the Victoria Brewery (part of the Carlton and United Breweries Pty Ltd) looked to cement Eric’s working future. The brewery had been turned over to the production of lager – including the famous Fosters Lager – and Eric was in his element.

Eric also rejoined his old club at Albert Park and resumed his otherwise interrupted rowing career with their senior fours crew. He also took over as rowing coach at Melbourne Grammar. In 1923, the school’s first eight took out the Head of the River; they were runners-up the following year.

During this initial period, Eric and Lilly lived at 68 Caroline Street in South Yarra. They did, however move more frequently than most, but always within an easy distance of Eric’s responsibilities. In 1922, they were at 24 Coleridge Street, St Kilda, and in 1924 they had moved to 9 Uvadale Grove in Kew.

Lilly’s health continued to cause concern and this, plus the lack of children, may have led to them choosing to reside in fashionable boarding houses instead. In 1925, they were living in rooms at 200 Clarendon Street in East Melbourne. The following year they had moved to Lauriston Hall at 92 Wellington Parade.

Lauriston Hall was a very pleasant place to live. It was a solid two-storey Victoria terrace that consisted of about 20 large rooms, with many smaller rooms. It had a handsome tiled vestibule, with a labyrinth of passages, both upstairs and downstairs. It was set back from the road and overlooked a beautiful garden with a gravelled drive leading to the front door.

Hoping to regain her health, Lilly had gone to Sydney for ‘a change of air,’ leaving Eric alone at Lauriston Hall.

Heading home on 8 May, Eric was in excellent spirits, despite the rain and the beginnings of a heavy cold – his crew at Grammar had just won their heat and were into the final of the Head of the River.

Waiting for him on his dresser was a telegram from his wife, "Wishing your school crew every success in the Head of the River boat races."

An impromptu dance party to celebrate the success of the crew rounded out the evening. Eric, however, retired quite early hoping to be at his best for the final the next day. The oth-er guests continued to enjoy themselves into the early hours of the morning. Mary Beveridge, who ran the boarding house, secured the premises and extinguished the lights at around 1:45am.

Not long after, the quiet of the house was ruptured by the sound of two gun shots. Those earliest on the scene discovered Eric Tulloch collapsed on the stairs.
Just prior to the shots, Eileen McIntyre had been awoken by the sounds of scuffling outside her room. She heard a male voice (she believed it was Eric Tulloch) say, “Now I’ve got you,” before the first shot rang out. Eric was then heard to call, “Help,” but was silenced by a second fatal shot that went through his heart. Both shots were fired at point-blank range.

It was believed that Eric had woken to discover a man in his room – the intruder was said to have already found Eric’s wallet; strangely other valuable items (including his watch and chain and a silver wristwatch), were left untouched. There was no sign of a struggle, although ‘blood marks upstairs’ were thought to have been from Eric delivering ‘a crashing blow in the nose.’

A ‘very small man’ was seen to be running from the building, apparently having left his new felt hat behind in the fracas. Several buttons were also found and believed to have been torn from the waistcoat of the intruder. The police also discovered the casing of an electric torch and the gun cartridges.

Detectives Thomas Lynch and Harold West were tasked with investigating the murder. They were convinced that the murderer was one of a dangerous gang of criminals, and that the burglar entered the house alone with the intention of ransacking the clothing of the occupants while they were in bed asleep. They did also cover other possibilities – that Eric had been killed by someone who had cause to be jealous of him, that he had been killed by a blackmailer, that he had disturbed someone searching his room for private papers or he was the victim of an organised hit.

The funeral was a surreal affair. It was held in the chapel of Melbourne Grammar on 10 May. Standing outside the chapel was the Grammar rowing crew, their faces etched with shock. Eric’s coffin, draped with the Union Jack and bearing his military cap and sword, was drawn to the Brighton Cemetery on a gun carriage. Members of the 22nd Battalion acted as coffin-bearers, whilst the pall-bearers were six lieutenant-colonels, including Theo Ulrich DSO, Duncan Beith DSO, Norman Harris DSO MC, and Aubrey Wiltshire CMG DSO MC.

It was cold and wet, but this did nothing to dissuade the mourners, who gathered in their thousands. The cortège itself stretched for over a mile.

A Coronial Inquiry was held on 29 June before police magistrate, Daniel Berriman. After hearing the available evidence, it took just two and a half hours for Berriman to find that “Eric William Tulloch died from bullet wounds of the heart and lungs, the bullets having been fired from a pistol by a man whose name is unknown, and who, I find, is guilty of the murder of Mr Tulloch.” He declared an open verdict.

The case had caught the public’s imagination and, although it was asserted that Eric had no enemies, speculation was rife with many believing that the murder had been elaborately set up to resemble a burglary. Even a reward of £500 yielded no results.
There certainly remains numerous unanswered questions.

Eric’s room was on the first floor at the very back of the house that had to be accessed via a blind passage. The intruder had to pass several rooms and navigate a maze of passages before reaching the targeted room.

There was no sign of a struggle or disturbance, and nothing was taken. Although it had been raining heavily, there was no sign of footprints entering the house.

Such a short time elapsed between when Mrs Beveridge secured the house and the fatal altercation. She maintained that she had locked the windows ‘back and front,’ yet the scullery window was found open and the back door unlocked, with the key in the door. The alleged burglar had immediately made for Eric Tulloch’s room. So, why did they target the room of perhaps the physically strongest man in the house?
Despite all the physical evidence – the hat, the buttons, the torch, shell casings, the blood – and the apparent sighting of a “hatless man” catching a yellow cab near the scene, the case went cold.

The most salacious story was published by the Truth newspaper, claiming that Eric Tulloch had been the victim of jealousy or revenge. It was said the murdered officer ‘was a ladies man’ and was involved with several women.

‘…Colonel Tulloch was a popular man with the ladles, and after the first examination, despite the prima facie evidence of burglary, certain detectives were convinced that if It were not a woman who had committed the murder, there was a woman at the bottom of it. Early In their inquiries, they learned that the Colonel was in the habit of taking women into his brewery in Victoria-street, East Melbourne, at late hours in the evening. These meetings were naturally not of a public character. There is, however, a weird family of spies abroad in Melbourne at night, and the movements of Colonel Tulloch and his lady friends was observed and noted, and, when the right time came, disclosed to the police…’

The article also inferred that he had fathered a son to one of these women, who, at the graveside, ‘gave way to uncontrollable grief,’ wailing, ‘“My God, my God, what will I do?”’ She was also supposed to have said that her husband had claimed ‘he would shoot Eric if he came between us.’ However, the newspaper declined to publish the names of either the woman or the man believed to have fired the deadly shots.

The police had interviewed a young married woman ‘with whom Colonel Tulloch was friendly,’ but she was unable to assist them and denied making any public statements.

That an unknown assailant could achieve what the might of the Turkish and German armies failed to do is perhaps the height of the darkest irony. And that no-one was every held accountable for Eric Tulloch’s murder is one of the saddest outcomes to any of the stories I have written.

He deserved so much better.

Lilly Tulloch did not remarry. She died at Ballarat on 13 July 1962 and was buried with her husband at Brighton Cemetery.