Virtual
War Memorial
Australia

From Ballarat & District in the Great War

Lt John (Jack) Harris,
24th Infantry Battalion, AIF
 
The citizen soldiers who made up the AIF were very different to their British counterparts – they came from all walks of life, every background imaginable. Education and social standing formed no barrier to advancement through the ranks and many an Australian officer came from relatively humble backgrounds. So it was for a young hairdresser from Creswick – Jack Harris.

The third youngest of ten children, John Harris was born at Creswick on 10 November 1891. His parents were Cornishman James Harris and Adelaide-born Margaret Dixon. The Harris family had a long connection to the villages of Hayle and Phillack in Cornwall. Margaret Dixon was of Anglo-Irish ancestry – her father came from Spitalfields, the historic market area in the East End of London, whilst her mother, Jane Leggatt, was born in County Westmeath, Ireland.

James Harris had come to Australia as a boy and his family settled in Creswick. He was to be involved in a significant moment in Australian history. When the New Australasian No2 mine flooded on 11 December 1882, James Harris was one of the engine-drivers. The disaster, which resulted in the deaths of 22 miners, is the still the worst mining accident in Australia.

By the mid-1890’s, James and Margaret Harris had moved their family into Ballarat in search of work. Young Jack’s first experience of formal schooling was at the Mount Pleasant State School. In January 1897, he was enrolled at the Urquhart Street State School to begin Grade I. They were then living at 33 Ripon Street south. However, midway through the second term, James moved his family back to Creswick. It was not to prove a happy home-coming – on 28 November 1898, Jack’s 19-year-old sister, Sarah, died suddenly from meningitis, then referred to as “brain fever.” For the little boy, this dramatic death was particularly significant. He would also experience the loss of his four grandparents (all who lived at Creswick) before his 21st birthday – Henry Dixon, who died just eleven days before young Sarah Harris, Jane Dixon on 26 June 1900, then John Harris on 17 October 1906 and finally Mary Harris on 26 June 1912. Of course, this is a natural progression, but it warrants notice purely because they were all an important part of the extended family of Jack Harris.

The family settled into a permanent home in Creswick, living in Albert Street. Jack went on to complete his education as a student at the Creswick State School. He also attended the St Andrew’s Presbyterian Church, where Sunday School classes formed a large part of a child’s weekly routine.

As a young adult, Jack quickly found both a career direction and community commitment. He began his own hairdressing business in Albert Street, Creswick, and became an active member of the Creswick Fire Brigade and the Havilah Lodge of Freemasons. Jack also spent several years with the local Senior Cadets, serving with the rank of lieutenant. The latter role ensured that he was easily recognised across the broader community, with many public events involving displays by the lads in the cadets.

Considerable thought and preparation went into Jack Harris joining the AIF, as he had to secure his business before leaving. He presented himself at the Creswick Town Hall on 11 March 1915, where the Medical Officer, local doctor, Thomas Wilson, carried out the necessary examination. Physically, Jack was a superb example of the type of men who comprised the AIF – he was a quarter of an inch over 6-feet tall, weighed just over 148-pounds and could expand his chest to 37-inches. In appearance, Jack’s complexion was fair and he had blue eyes with light brown hair. Dental health was one area that Australian’s were still struggling with and Jack was no exception – at the time he wore a partial plate of four teeth.

On 15 March, Jack signed his oath, swearing to ‘well and truly serve our sovereign Lord the King in the Australian Imperial Force.’ He reported to the Sturt Street Depot in Melbourne five days later.

His older brother, Herman – known to his family and friends as Mick – followed within days, enlisting in Melbourne on 25 March 1915. Both boys named their father as their legal next-of-kin.

Bob Harris, the youngest of siblings, took over Jack’s business in Creswick, advertising as “The New Tonsorial Artist,” offering hairdressing, with shaving a speciality – and ‘a clean towel every shave’ – maintaining his brother’s prices.

After transferring to the Broadmeadows Camp, Jack joined the newly-raised 24th Infantry Battalion, as private number 345 in B Company. However, it wasn’t long before his previous military training showed that he had an aptitude for leadership and, on 10 May, he was promoted to the rank of (voyage only) sergeant – the same day the unit embarked from Melbourne onboard HMAT Euripides.

Given that the 24th Battalion does not contain entries for the unit diary until August 1915, the first letter that Jack Harris wrote to his mother becomes somewhat more important. Indeed, the letters written home by our young soldiers gave the greatest insight and detail of their lived experiences.

‘…I suppose you have read in the paper by this that we arrived safely at Egypt on Saturday last, after a very good trip. After leaving [place name deleted by the censor, but either Colombo or Aden] the weather was very warm, especially coming through the Red Sea. We arrived at Port Suez without anything of note happening. It is a very pretty place, and a very pretty port. Coming through the canal it was very interesting, the best part of the voyage, in fact. I cannot describe it, only to say it is simply wonderful. It is guarded right along by Indians and Tommies, and we got a good reception from them.

There was a bit of a skirmish on the Suez the day before we came through, so you can see that Egypt is not too safe; in fact our camp is watched very closely; we are warned to give information to no one, as there are spies of all sorts here.

However, to get along with my trip. It took us 28 hours to get through the canal, as it is narrow and shipping is very slow. At Port Said, which is another fine port, we were not supposed to stay long, but an accident happened; one boat sunk another in the channel; so we were delayed about 14 hours. This gave us an opportunity to watch the customs of the natives who had swarmed around us. They are very dirty and also very lazy. Up till then everybody thought we were going to England, but after the boat left Port Said we could see that she was on the wrong course for England, so we came to the conclusion we were bound for Egypt.

We arrived at Alexandria last Friday, and disembarked on Saturday to entrain for Cairo. You can imagine how glad we were to feel the earth under our feet after being on the water for five weeks. Alexandria is a big city, but we saw very little of it, as we entrained at the pier. The trains are very funny, very small, and no doors on them. We passed through some very fine country from Alexandria to Cairo, a distance of 90 miles. It is all in small blocks and irrigated from the Nile. They grow almost everything. There is a native village about every two miles, and natives in galore. They are very much behind in farming, as they do everything by hand; everything generally is behind the times.

We branched, before reaching Cairo, to Heliopolis, four miles from Cairo. Heliopolis is a place as big as Ballarat. We are camped on the edge of the town, but can go to town every night, as it is in the camp boundary. A few of us went in on Saturday night. We had a grand time. It was new to us, of course, being among the natives. Every shop sells alcoholic drinks and ice cream, so you can guess the quantity of drink that is sold. My mate and I went into Cairo on Sunday night. Of course, they don’t observe Sunday here as a day of rest; in fact it is the busy day of the week.
Heliopolis and Cairo are connected by electric trams, so we went by tram. The fare is ½ piastre (1 penny farthing of our money). The trams are similar to those of Ballarat, but they have first and second class, like two trams one behind the other. When we got to Cairo it simply struck us all of a heap. It is bigger than Melbourne, and the most immoral city in the world. I thought I had seen a lot in some of the suburbs of Melbourne, but it is simply heaven to Cairo. It is a fine city; the buildings in the main part of the city are beautiful. I have seen nothing like them before, but in other parts of the city the buildings are old and the streets very narrow, hardly room for a trap to pass through. The inhabitants are mostly Egyptian, with a fair percentage of French.

By reading this page don’t think I am not looking after myself. I will be as good, if not better, when I return than when I left, suffice to say Cairo shocked me.
Our camp is in a very sandy place. We rise at 5, first parade at 6 till 9, second parade at 10.30 till 12, dinner at 1, spell till 4.30, third parade 4.30 to 7, tea at 7.45. We have water melons for every meal. You can hardly distinguish us from the natives when we have our heads inside a big water melon.

Talk about heat, you have no idea how hot it is here; it was 127 in the shade yesterday. One of my non coms was struck. I had to go into the hospital with him. Our QMS [Duncan McIntyre] was struck and died on the way to hospital; 82 altogether were sent to the hospital, including nine officers, so you can see we have a little to put up with. It is not so hot today, as there is a breeze blowing, it is only about 100. One good thing we have cool nights.

I have not seen the Pyramids yet, as they are on the other side of Cairo. We are going out on Sunday.
The first contingent was camped there, but the camp has been condemned since, so they shifted to Heliopolis. We go into town a lot. Talk about funny; it is nothing to see a mob of natives getting down the road for all they are worth with a crowd of Australians after them. They are very frightened of us. The boys hire donkeys and I assure you they get a pretty bad time. It is 1 piastre a ride, but needless to say the natives are not always paid. We don’t have any washing to do; the laundry man calls. We have it all done for a 1s a week each.

There are a lot of wounded Australians in the hospitals over here. It is very interesting to hear them talk about the Dardanelles. I think we will be leaving here in about a month’s time, so when you get this I suppose I will be doing my little bit along with my comrades…’

Jack’s rank of sergeant was confirmed on 23 June, but it was more than two more months before he left to join the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force at Gallipoli.
In writing to popular Creswick figure and then Premier of Victoria, Sir Alexander Peacock, Jack sought to provide a potential recruitment incentive…

‘…As I am about to leave for the Front I thought as you are taking so great an interest in the recruiting campaign you would like to have a few lines from one of the Creswick boys at present in Egypt, standing at arms ready to leave for the Front.

We have been in Egypt 10 weeks, and for the last three weeks we have been constantly hearing rumours about our leaving for the Front. However, we received orders last week to be ready to leave, and we are now fully equipped, and trained ready to go at a few hours’ notice.

I can assure you that a soldier’s life is the best to be had, and I venture to say that there is not one man in the 6th Brigade, who is sorry for enlisting. We are having the time of our lives. The first reinforcements of the 24th Battalion joined us this week, and I was pleased to see among them Bert Dean, of Creswick. I was also very pleased to know that Lady Peacock’s brother came up with them, and they are now both in my Platoon. The three of us were very pleased to meet, and now we are ready to go into the trenches together to uphold the good name of Creswick.

I read with much pleasure your patriotic speeches, which appear in the press from time to time. I read this morning your speech in the “Advertiser,” and I can assure you that your thoughts are the thoughts of the whole of the Australian troops now serving. We have realised since we have been here that the war is more serious than we first thought it was, and it makes us more anxious to get to the Front to do our little bit. I am sure that now the people of Australia have realised the seriousness of this struggle they will all do their part to bring it to a finish. Assure the boys from one who is in Egypt that once they enlist they will never regret it.

We have the No1 Australian General Hospital at Heliopolis. We visit the wounded every week, and to hear them talking of the Landing at the Dardanelles and the bravery of the troops makes us more than proud of the name of Australians and we are inclined to feel sorry that we were not there to take part in it. However, we hope to be in it very soon, and I trust that we can only uphold the good name they have won.

I will close now with our message to the chaps that are still in the balance: Be sure we will win, but we want more men. Kind regards and best wishes to yourself and Lady Peacock…’

Jack left for the Front on 30 August onboard HT Nile. The voyage to Lemnos took three days, with the Nile entering Mudros Harbour around 6am on 2 September. Just a few hours later a message was received informing them that the transport Southland had been torpedoed. Before the end of the day, news that Colonel Richard Linton, commander of the 6th Infantry Brigade (comprising the 21st, 22nd, 23rd and 24th Battalions) had been lost during the incident. The 54-year-old had died from shock and exposure in the freezing waters of the Aegean Sea.

Jack spent four days on Lemnos before leaving for Gallipoli at 4:30pm on 6 September. His unit made the short trip onboard the M-class destroyer HMS Partridge, arriving off ANZAC Cove five hours later. Some of his experiences on the Peninsula were detailed in a letter to his mother, dated 27 October 1915.

‘…A few lines from the Front in answer to the letters up to the 7th August. I might say that this mail was a record; I received no less than 16 letters, and the papers were hard to count. I must have got fully 25 papers, so you can guess how delighted I was. My dug-out is like a newspaper shop.

I am still keeping in the best of health, and can say the same about the rest of the Creswick boys. The climate here is very good, and there is not much sickness. Bert Dean is still with me, and many a joke he cracks about Creswick. T. Holden is also going strong. I think the three of us will be among the crowd of returned soldiers when the war is over. It is surprising to see the number of Ballarat and district boys that are here. I meet different ones from Ballarat every day.

I see by the papers that you had a great time on Australia Day [30 July]; all the papers were full of it. And the time that the returned wounded got. My word they must have been proud of themselves. They deserved all the praise and welcome that it is possible to give them. Australia is responding splendidly both with money and men and, as the Indians always say, ‘Australians are the best soldiers in the world.’ They think the world of us and they call us their white brothers, and nothing suits them better than a ticklish job to do with an Australian.

I am at present in the trenches, but before telling you about trench life I will try to describe the country we are fighting on. Of course, you know where we are, although I haven’t put it on top of the letters. The country here is very much like the gorges at Bacchus Marsh, but instead of gum trees it is covered with a sort of tea-tree scrub. The hills and valleys are very pretty and interesting, especially when we are seen crawling into our dugouts like a lot of rabbits. We are not far from the beach, so we have our se baths. To see the country here it makes us wonder how the first Australians landed at all. Too much praise cannot be given them for their landing, because they performed what was thought an impossibility by the Turks.

Trench work appeals to me as rather funny at times. We do 48 hours in and 48 hours out at rest in the gully. It reminds me very much of mining. The trenches are like big open drives and what is called a sap here is what a miner would call a drive. We work our shifts and have our meals in the trenches, so you see that any miners that are here are quite at home. The trenches are kept very clean: they are scraped and cleaned up after every meal, and everything generally is kept tidy. We have dugouts in the side of the trenches for sleeping in, and many a good hour’s sleep is put in, in the dugouts. The ground is hard, but so are we, and we need no rocking when we have a chance of an hour’s rest. When our 48 hours are up, we go into the gully for our 48 hours rest. The first 24 I think the most of us sleep, and the remainder we spend in looking up our old pals. We practice cooking, and you can imagine what some of it is like. We are all pretty good at bully beef stew and sops; anything above those we are liable to spoil. We get plenty to eat, and it is not necessary for us to cook for our own, but we all seem to like to try our hand, so there will be a few active service dishes served up when we return. I cannot say whether they will be liked or not, but I can assure you that you have seen no dishes like them before. As I told you in my last letter, we have fresh meat twice weekly, bacon every morning, rice nearly every day, bread three times a week, and bully beef, biscuits and jam in galore. I have come to the conclusion that we are far ahead of the Turks in regard to food.

I see Captain _________ every day. He is promoted to Major; you know who I mean – the area officer I used to be with in Creswick [Captain Leslie William Matthews]. We often have a chat about the old town, senior cadets, etc. Tell Mr Gurr that he often asks after him and the rest of his old pals. We haven’t had very many casualties as yet; we have lost a few of our company, but taking it on the whole we are having a pretty good time. Not so the Turks, as they are getting some ‘hurry-up’ from our warships. You ought to hear them booming at night. The navy is doing splendid work here and when they hit a Turk’s trench with one of their big shells there is not much of it left; when one of the shells lobs it is just like a volcano, so you can form an idea of what the Turks are getting. I receive all the letters all right; we get our mail fairly regular…’

As Jack stated, the 24th Battalion was on a rotational system in and out of the frontline trenches at Lone Pine. This area was especially dangerous and the men were quickly exhausted by the constant strain. His work was rewarded with promotion to company sergeant major on 8 December. Jack finally left Lone Pine on the night of 19-20 December, being amongst the last to be evacuated from ANZAC. Their movements silenced by a carpet of torn-up blankets, with the enemy being just 15-feet away in some places…

The various parties of the 24th Battalion sailed from Gallipoli onboard HMS Heroic and arrived back at Lemnos shortly after daybreak on 20 December. From then until 6 January 1916, the men enjoyed a well-earned rest. They returned to Egypt onboard HMT Minnewaska, reaching Alexandria on 10 January.
Early in February the 24th Battalion was deployed to Ismailia to take over a section of the Canal Defence Zone. The position that Jack Harris found himself in was called the “Sphinx” and was about 10-miles east of Ismailia. Their tasks comprised trench extension, with the whole battalion engaged in building 1780-yards of trenches, including machine-gun emplacements and barbed-wire entanglements along the whole front.

After being relieved by the New Zealand Rifles, the 24th moved to Moascar where, on 18 March they were inspected by His Royal Highness, Edward Prince of Wales, and addressed by General Sir William Birdwood. Two days later Jack was on his way to France. The 24th Battalion was spread across three transports for the voyage – HMT’s Lake Michigan, Magdelena, and City of Edinburgh. The weather was fine and clear, and the sea calm, with the convoy escorted by a torpedo destroyer.

Great vigilance was maintained during the crossing, with officers on the bridge scanning the water with glasses and gun crews in position for immediate action. The threat was very real – at 9:20am on 23 March a message was received that the transport Minneapolis had been torpedoed and was sinking, prompting an immediate increase in speed and change of course. Later in the day a message was received that submarines had been sighted 62-miles northeast of Valetta that morning; their course was changed once again. The ship’s guards remained watchful, but the remainder of the trip passed without incident and they reached Marseilles on 26 March.

Further advancement was in the pipeline for Jack Harris – on 1 April he was promoted to regimental sergeant major (warrant officer class I). His first experience of trenches on the Western Front came forward of Fleurbaix when they relieved the 23rd Battalion at 8:15pm on 15 April. This was a relatively gentle initiation; their first major offensive came at Pozières in July.

Having consistently proved his value in commanding troops, Jack Harris was commissioned in the Field on 12 August. They returned to Pozières ten days later and took up positions opposite Mouquet Farm. A ferocious enemy barrage caused heavy casualties. There was little letup in the coming days…

Jack suffered a slight shrapnel wound to his left arm late on 25 August, so it is not known if he witnessed a disturbing sight of the enemy ‘carrying cylinders on their backs – somewhat similar to the cylinder of a vermorel sprayer. One cylinder when struck exploded & blew the man to pieces – another when struck went up in a dense cloud of black smoke.’ They were the terrifying German Kleinflammenwerfer – a small, portable flame-thrower.

Jack was evacuated back to the 4th Australian Field Ambulance the next day, where his arm was cleaned and bandaged. He was then transferred to an Officer’s Rest House, but was able to rejoin his unit at Bonneville just four days later.

One of Jack’s sad tasks as an officer was to write letters to grieving families following the death of one of his men. However, the loss of his close friend, Archie Anderson, from North Creswick, prompted a far more personal tone.

‘…I am writing to you in the first instance to offer you my deepest sympathy in the loss you have sustained in the death of your second son and brother, Archie; secondly I consider it my duty, as I have been a friend of his and yours for a considerable number of years, and I happened to be near when it happened, so probably can give you a little more information than the Defence Department.

When Arch joined up the battalion we were the same bosom pals we were before we enlisted. He was always in the best of spirits, and had a keen sense of duty. As you will see, it was through his keenness that he met his end. It was in August: we were having a terrific bombardment in the trenches at Pozieres ridge. Arch, with many others, was sent out of the font line by the doctor suffering from shellshock. He was out all night, but insisted on being sent back to the line next day. The doctor said he could go back, but also said to him it would be better if he stayed out, as he was very much shaken up.

I saw him immediately after he came back, and had quite a long talk to him, and I told him he should have stayed out. His reply was, “I feel I want to be in if there is anything doing,” and he was as happy as “Larry” and in the best of spirits. I did not see him again until I was told there was a casualty in the trench. I went along and saw Arch lying in the trench, but he was unconscious and did not answer. I gave him a drink and had him taken out on a stretcher.

I did not hear any more until today, and I went along to see Jim (Arch’s brother) and he showed me the letter he got, stating Arch had died of wounds.

I cannot describe my feelings when I saw Arch lying unconscious. I could see that the end was pretty near and it seemed to me that my best pal was going. I have lost many a good friend during the Somme battles, but have not felt the loss of anyone like I have of Arch. He was a general favourite of the men, NCO’s, and officers of his Company, and was one of the best soldiers of the Battalion. He has served his God, King and country faithfully and well, and has gone to reap the reward he so richly deserves. On behalf of the Officers, NCO’s, and men of the 24th Battalion, I extend to you our sincerest sympathy, and we truest that the thought of Arch having fallen doing his duty will somewhat ease, if possible, the very heavy burden of our grief…’ Archie Anderson died of wounds on 25 August 1916.

Jack found further satisfaction in his continued advancement with the 24th Battalion – he was promoted to full lieutenant on 12 November 1916. He wrote to his mother shortly before he received the news…

‘…18 November, 1916 – As I have told you in previous letters we were eight weeks in Belgium holding the line of some past very severe fighting, namely, Ypres; although at present that part of the line is very quiet. Out of the eight weeks we were there we did only a week in the front line; the remainder we spent in a camp back from the firing line so we had plenty of time to visit the different towns that were within riding distance. The camp itself was one of the best we have had the pleasure of being in since we have been on service – plenty of room, nice big wooden huts, with every convenience, stoves, etc. there was a large hall, capable of holding 1000 troops. We had picture shows and concerts two or three times a week – some of the best concerts one could wish for and some of the best of talent. Three miles away there was a town where we very often went for dinner; clubs where we could spend a good night and meet officers from all the different English, French and Belgian regiments, and I can tell you I did spend many a good night there.

When we got orders to leave this camp the majority of us were very sorry, as most of us looked upon it almost as a kind of second home. At this time our transport officer was sent away ill, and yours truly was appointed in his place. I can assure you a very busy time followed, as a battalion transport section consists of 57 horses, 15 vehicles of all kinds, and 40 men – quite a lot to look after.

When we moved from Belgium the troops travelled by train and the transport by road. We had a splendid trip right through, doing 15 miles per day and spending 10 days on the journey. We had a look round many nice towns, the best being St Omer and Amiens. At St Omer we had a look through the historic church. At Amiens, among other places we visited was the Cathedral, which is second to the Cathedral at Rheims. It is a magnificent place every stone in the building being a monument.

We passed through many other towns too numerous to mention and eventually reached here. Being transport officer I am a mile behind the line, but under fire all the time. It is everything but pleasant here, as the cold is intense and we are up to our knees in mud and slush. The boys in the line are having a pretty rough time, as they are exposed to the severe weather together with the fire of the enemy. However, we are more than holding our own, and consoled by the fact that the Hun has more to put up with than we have, our shelling being more terrific.

I see “Mick” every week; he is still going strong. We are expecting to be out of this in a day or two, back for a rest in the billets, when I hope to get leave to England again. However, we don’t know our movements for five minutes, and can only draw our own conclusions.

Am sorry to hear that the Defence Department cabled to say I was wounded. You must have all received a shock. I did not cable myself, and had no idea the department would. I intended to break it gently by letter. Nevertheless, I spent a fortnight at Warloy, a town in France. I could have had a trip to England, but on account of just receiving my commission was anxious to get back to my battalion. I am just about right again: shall carry the mark for the rest of my days. My wrist is still a little numbed, and the doctor said it would be for a month or two.

The transport officer will be back next week, so I shall be going back to my platoon. I am pleased because I shall then get my other star and thus be a first lieutenant…’

Early in the New Year, Jack found himself back in the frontline at Needle Trench, Flers. Conditions were horrendous. Europe was shrouded in the coldest winter in living memory and the trench system of the Western Front, from the North Sea to the Swiss Alps, was frozen. The 24th Battalion adopted a rather unique form of camouflage when patrolling No Man’s Land – the men took to wearing white night shirts that had been purchased in Amiens – they blended perfectly with the snow-covered landscape.

The conditions invariably led to a high rate of illness. On 13 February, Jack was evacuated sick. He was initially admitted to the 6th Australian Field Ambulance before being transferred to the Divisional Rest Station and admitted to the 7th Australian Field Ambulance, where he was diagnosed with scabies. Over the next week, Jack found himself constantly on the move – the 14th Australian Field Ambulance, ANZAC Hospital, the 45th Casualty Clearing Station at Edgehill, then an ambulance train through to the No8 General Hospital at Rouen. The doctors then diagnosed a slight case of eczema. He was discharged to the Base Depot on 2 March 1917 and rejoined his unit at Bazentin Camp in the middle of the month.

The 24th Battalion was next deployed at the Second Battle of Bullecourt. Although the battle was successful, the cost, particularly for the 24th Battalion, was very high. The unit was only in the line on 3 May, but suffered a nearly 80-per cent casualty rate. Amongst those to fall that day was Lieutenant Jack Harris. Initially he was reported as Missing in Action and the Red Cross Wounded and Missing Bureau made extensive inquiries into the case. In order to fully comprehend the difficulties in obtaining accurate information it is pertinent to read the witness statements in their entirety. Not only do they provide details (with considerable variations) as to the wounds sustained by Jack Harris prior to his death, they reveal the impossible psychological challenge faced by men in the heat of battle.

Sergeant Norman Hearne Shepard 570 stated, ‘Capt [Gordon Loris] Maxfield was in command of D Coy and Lt Harris 2nd in command of D Coy of the 24th Battalion along with one company of the 22nd Battalion had the 3rd objective at Bullecourt on May 3rd 1917 to take; they reached it at a light railway line and held it for a time, but their flanks were in the air. Runners were sent out to tell them to retire. I was at the 2nd objective and helped to cover the runners; they reached the men at the 3rd objective and the party then started to come back. Only about 56 of the men returned and very few officers. I was talking to Mr Harris after my unit had taken our objective (the 2nd) at about 4am. He was waiting for the barrage to lift to go on to No 3 objective. I heard that he was wounded in the retirement – hit in the kidneys and had to be left behind. I also heard that Capt Maxfield was wounded when going forward and then hit again in the back by shell when retiring and killed outright. We held the 2nd objective, but not the 3rd…’

Private William Francis Schenk 5416, ‘…I saw Lt Harris lying unconscious in a shell hole near our objective which was a tram line. I passed him about 4 times in 1½ hours while he was still alive, but unconscious and in about another half hour I saw him again but he was dead. The bearers could not get up in time…’

Private Alfred Ernes Effer 2627, ‘…He was in D Coy XV Platoon. He was my Platoon Officer and I was told by some of the boys of the platoon that they saw him stagger into a shell hole in No Man’s Land at Bullecourt on 3rd May 1917 during the retreat in the morning; the Germans were counter-attacking. My informants thought he was mortally wounded, shot through the lungs. We lost the ground…’

Private William Henry Heatley 5603 – ‘…I saw Harris killed, hit by a shell when we were advancing, we had not reached the German wire. Capt Maxfield was in command at the time and he got killed about 2 hours afterwards. It happened on 3 May on the right of Bullecourt about 6am. Lt Harris had been away from the battalion for some time and had only joined up again two or three days before.

Private William EDNEY 3517 – ‘…Sgt Michael Smith MM of D Coy, who was acting CSM, and is now at 6th TB in England, told me he went out to Lt Harris on 3 May in No Man’s Land just past the embankment at Bullecourt and found him very badly wounded through the lung by bullet. He spoke to him but Mr Harris told him to let him remain where he was as he was done for. It was found impossible to get him in, the shelling being too heavy. In the battalion it is thought he could not have lived. He might have been taken POW – about 200 yards from German line…’

Private Harry James Gow 5344 – ‘…Lt Harris was wounded at Bullecourt on 3 May 1917 after we had reached our objective, the tram-track. I saw him drop with several MG bullets in his stomach. He was still alive when we had to retire. We left him covered up with a waterproof. He belonged to D Coy. The ground has been taken since. Later: he was a fairly tall man, dark complexion about 35 years of age. He stood up on the ridge and caught a full round from a German MG in the chest. He died some hours afterwards. I covered him with a waterproof because he was too far gone to move. I was an eye-witness and was with him when he died. He was buried near where he lay. He was well known and liked by all his comrades…’

James Edmont Ashley 3755 – ‘…He was killed at Bullecourt on May 3rd. We had a big hunt for him and at first could not find him. I am a SB. However, we did find him next morning; he was lying near the barbed wire. He was buried up there…’

Albert George Hector Stagoll 506 [from Buninyong] – ‘…Casualty was out in No Man’s Land about 3 May 1917 at Bullecourt and could not be rescued owing to the nature of his casualty. He was very well liked, the best man in the battalion according to the boys. He was extremely brave…’

Corporal Albert Oswald Trask 5678 – ‘…He was Battalion MG officer. Lt [Adrian] Ball of the 24th Bn, who was a great friend of Mr Harris, told me. He said he was too far out, and they could not recover the body…’

Sergeant Michael Francis SMITH 950 – ‘…Lt J. Harris was platoon officer of XV and led his men over on 3 May at Riencourt on the right of Bullecourt. We made our objective – an advance of about 1000 yards, but had to fall back about 500 yards. Mr Harris was hit before we retired. He was wounded in the kidneys and paralysed in both legs. He was a big heavy man and it was impossible to get him away. I was the last to see him alive I think. I was the only NCO left. His body was afterwards found and buried, but I cannot give particulars. Lt Ball of B Coy attached HQ is the man who can give all details…’

Captain William Gordon Scales (21st Bn late of 24th) – ‘…I saw Harris in front of Bullecourt after he had been very badly wounded. We were not supported and had to leave him. He was very near gone then, I am afraid he could not have been buried…’

Lieutenant Arthur Edward Whitear DCM – ‘…He was badly wounded on 3 May 1917 at Bullecourt, and when I left him, he was sinking fast, having received a shrapnel wound in the kidneys. In my opinion he could not possibly live longer than an hour without medical aid. He was stout, 5’ 11”, dark complexion…’
Even short statements revealed snippets of information. Alfred Bradley 146 – ‘…[He] was called Jack in D Coy…’ and Private Edward Nolan 2723, ‘…I was told by his batman Doherty, that he had seen Mr Harris killed by a shell at Bullecourt…’

Notification that their son was reported wounded and missing was the beginning of an indescribable period of hope and grief for James and Margaret Harris. A memo (dated 19 June 1917) confirmed that Jack Harris had been killed in action on 3 May 1917, and the family was informed soon after. A telegram from the Defence Department was received on Tuesday evening 26 June, and conveyed to Jack’s parents by Dr Thomas A. Wilson, who was then acting on behalf of the local Presbyterian church – the same doctor who had examined Jack Harris prior to enlistment.

In a statement on behalf of the Commanding Officer of the 24th Battalion, Lieutenant-Colonel William Walker Russell Watson, the adjutant recorded: ‘…Lt J. Harris was killed by enemy shellfire whilst leading his Platoon to the third objective in the attack on the Hindenburg Line near Bullecourt on 3/5/1917. The body of this Officer was not buried as he was in a position too advanced to permit the recovery of the body. Last known position of body was approximately U.2.3.a 60.05. (Hindenburg Line)…’

The episode was later covered in Official History of Australia in the War 1914 – 1918 by C. E. W. Bean. From the report on Second Bullecourt (page 468) – ‘…It is true that from the outbreak of the British barrage the German counter-battery fir upon the Anzac artillery stopped dead – the gun positions were almost free from fire for several days. But, with such overwork for guns and crews, short-shooting was inevitable.

Maxfield’s force, out on the tramway, was the first to feel it. His losses by enemy fire were already severe: of his own subalterns, Lieutenant Rhynehart [of Albury, NSW] had been killed trying to find some of the 22nd on his left; Lieutenant Harris had been mortally shot through the kidneys – he refused to be carried to the rear, knowing that his would involve needless waste of stretcher-bearers. Lieutenant Desmond, of the machine-guns, was killed by a shell from the supporting guns. Finally, Maxfield himself was badly wounded by a German shell, and, handing over command of his company to Sergeant Whitear [later Lt A. E. Whitear DCM] (24th), started to make his way back to the Hindenburg Line. He never reached it…’ [He was last seen alive in a shell-hole to which he was pinned down by German snipers]…’

On 1 July, St Andrew’s Church drew a crowded congregation to pay their respects at an in memoriam for Jack Harris. The Reverend Charles Robinson conducted the evening service, using John 15:13 “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends,” as the text of his sermon. Reverend Robinson tied this into the significant losses suffered by the township.

‘…Among them was one for whom that evening they mourned, the late Lieutenant Harris, a young man well known to them for his fine qualities, for the part he had commenced to play to help in social life in uplift his brothers. He had had a letter from him, and could see he took a great pleasure in his work, very hopeful regarding his return, but running through the letter was the note that while he hoped for the best he was prepared to give his life for his country. He had fine feelings, was one of Nature's gentlemen, was kind, courteous, and thoughtful towards others, a true mother's son. It was hardly necessary for him to speak of his courage, when it was so common among the Australian troops, who were modest as well as brave, and only signal acts of bravery were recognised. The way he and others had met machine guns in No Man's Land showed their courage, and yet all this was done in a cheerful spirit, and should teach us to do our part. Lieutenant Harris had given up his life in the midst of usefulness. Life is short; it was not measured by its length, but by the spirit we display…’
Amongst the mourners was Victorian Premier, Sir Alexander Peacock.

That Jack Harris had been a particularly popular member of the Creswick community had been evidenced by numerous mentions in letters home from other local soldiers. Writing from Egypt, Trooper Stanley George Woods (formerly of Allendale), who was serving with the 4th Light Horse, showed a soldier’s cynicism, ‘…was sorry to hear some time back about Lieut Jack Harris. It is only a gamble at any time…’

Of course, uppermost in Margaret Harris’ mind was the need for a photograph of her son’s grave – it was generally always the first thing requested. However, the difficulties of retrieving a body from No Man’s Land, which was immediately apparent to those in the frontline, was inconceivable to anyone back home. The Red Cross dealt with Margaret’s request, but they were aware from the outset that ‘you will see how impossible it would be to obtain this.’ They did consider an alternative for the grieving mother – ‘…If the burial party were able to note the map location of Mr Harris’ grave that is the most we can hope for. Any cross erected to mark the spot would certainly have been destroyed by shell fire, and as this locality is still in the firing line the Graves Registration Unit have not been able to take any photographs there…’

The first anniversary of Jack’s death brought a fresh wave of grief. His parents wrote most poignantly,
‘…Our Anzac Hero.

For 26 years of a perfect love, and for the joy and privilege of being his father and mother, my God we thank thee…’

From his brothers and sisters,
‘…Our Anzac Hero.
Too far away from our sight or speech,
But not too far for our thoughts to reach.
We pictured you safe returning, dear Jack,
And longed to clasp your hand;
But God has postponed our meeting, Jack
It will be in a better land…’

Private Archibald Smith Johnson, formerly of D Company 24th Battalion, added,
‘…A tribute to the memory of my dear friend and comrade, Lieutenant John Harris (Jack), 24th Battalion, who was killed in action at Bullecourt, France, on the 3rd May 1917.

Greater love hath no man than this,
That he lay down his life for his friends.
Duty nobly done…’

His ‘loving friends,’ Evelyn, Ann, Kate and David Lyall, of Creswick, also offered their own tribute to the memory of Jack Harris.

Margaret Harris never received a photograph of her son’s grave. She did receive two parcels of his personal effects – the first, a sealed valise, contained multiple items of military clothing along with notebooks, whistles, military books, shaving paraphernalia, his Testament, identity disc, a pair of spurs, a brooch and badges, and a Sam Browne belt. The war was over by the time the second package arrived – a black kit bag that contained further clothing and a New Testament, a dictionary, two stars and a tobacco tin.

James Harris, who had been in poor health for some time, due largely to his years of working in the mines, died on 4 August 1918. His wife then became reliant on the pension she had been granted by the Defence Department since her son’s death.

Early in September 1919, Margaret Harris travelled to Melbourne to meet her son, Private Mick Harris, and his “English” bride, Phyllis Assinder Jones – she was actually born at Llanfairfechan in Wales.
‘…On arriving at Creswick a large crowd assembled at the station, and gave the happy couple a “bumper reception.'' At the residence of Mrs T. Harris a large gathering had assembled where the house had been gaily decorated with flags, festoons, lanterns, wattle blossom and flowers, and Pte. and Mrs Harris were showered with confetti. About 60 sat down to a choice breakfast which had been prepared in their honour…’
Mick Harris had himself been involved in a unique incident. After he had sustained slight shrapnel wounds to his face on 3 October 1917, Mick was being treated at the 17th Casualty Clearing Station at Remy Siding near Lijssenthoek, Belgium. He was asked to donate two pints of blood to save the life of another soldier. Although experiments in blood transfusion had been around for centuries, it was still a relatively new procedure, but Mick did not hesitate. He was later transferred to England, where he was admitted to the 1st Birmingham War Hospital and found to be ‘weak and anaemic’ due to the transfusion. It was whilst in Birmingham that he met Phyllis Jones.

Some years later the name of Jack Harris was commemorated on the Australian Memorial at Villers-Bretonneux. His name also appears on the War Memorial in the centre of his hometown Creswick, which was erected ‘to perpetuate the memory of those Creswick soldiers who sacrificed their lives in the Great War.’