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From Ballarat & District in the Great War

Pte Vincent (Vin) Michael DALTON #539,
8th Infantry Battallion
 
Life is complicated. There are many variables, inexplicable incidents, twists and turns that send us all down paths that completely change outcomes and expectations. All of us must negotiate these travails. Vin Dalton learned at a very early age that nothing in life is permanent.

In order to fully understand the impact that trauma played in the early life of Vin Dalton, it is necessary to peel back the years to the previous generations.
In every respect, Vin’s ancestry was pure Irish. The Dalton story in Australia began with two Irish convicts – James Dalton, from Clonmeen in Cork, and Bridget “Biddy” Connors from Kilkenny. Their son, Michael Dalton, was born at Westbury, in Tasmania’s central north, on 4 February 1859.

Michael’s first wife was Rose Anne Foy, the daughter of Irish free settlers; they were married at Deloraine on 2 April 1883. The couple’s first child, Agnes Florence, was born at Deloraine on 3 January 1884. A second daughter, Bridget, died when she was just a month old. Then, on 26 June 1886, Rose Dalton died giving birth to her third child. The baby also died.
Seeking a new beginning, Michael Dalton left for Victoria. He soon settled at Kingston, which was already a thriving agricultural area. The following account provides a marvellous description of Kingston as it was in the 1880’s.

‘…Having travelled this week between Kingston and Mount Prospect, by way of Hepburn’s mill, I give a short outline of the appearance of the district mentioned, which may interest some of your readers. Leaving Kingston, we come to Mr. John Parkin’s farmsteading, on which is erected a beautiful brick dwelling, very large and commodious. There are also all the outhouses requisite. The grounds around the bouse are well laid out and stocked with trees, all standing on a piece of nice rising ground, commanding a beautiful appearance.

Next we post to Birch’s Creek, over which' is being erected a stone bridge by the Shire of Creswick, at a cost of £1800. Mr Short, the contractor, has 30 men employed, and the work has to be finished by the end of June.

Near the flour mill and hotel are standing a great number of bullock and horse teams, loaded with firewood, on their way to the Spring Hill and Smeaton mines, which give the place a very thriving appearance.

Proceeding further, we past a great quantity of empty teams going to the forest for their loading whilst we meet scores of teams, all loaded, passing on to the mines, and to the left, above Hepburn’s lagoon, are the properties of Messrs Archibald and Robert Anderson, situated on a beautiful sloping land, with their homesteads commanding a fine view of all the country around; and their double and single ploughs, hard at work, preparing the ground to receive the seed. There is a large and luxuriant crop, of potatoes, not dug yet, but seemingly ready.

Away in the distance, towards Bullarook, stands the plant of the Rocky Lead, in which so much interests is centred at present. Judging from the number of local residents which attended the meeting this week, they are determined to have the gold if it is in their ground. Such men deserve success.

Passing on still further we meet with loaded teams. The ploughs are still hard at work, as are also the potato diggers, and there seems to be an excellent crop, judging from the number of bags standing full. Passing on still further we arrive at Blampied’s or the Mount Prospect hotel, the host of which is a Frenchman and a very affable and conversable man. He states that he is doing a good business. Having a never-failing supply of water his place seems to be the great house of call for the carters. He tells me he keeps a boy pumping water for two hours every morning into the water troughs for the accommodation of waggoners. He has been in this hotel upwards of 20 years, and has never seen that part of the district more prosperous. Of course there are many things more. I might mention, but such is a brief, outline of what I saw on my way in this, prosperous portion of the Creswickshire…’

In 1888, Michael Dalton married Ellen Heagney from Smeaton. Like her new husband, Ellen was of Irish extraction – her father was from County Clare and her mother was a Doyle from Tipperary. Her family lived at the area known as Hepburn’s Lagoon; she had been born within days of her father’s death on 21 December 1863.

Shortly after, her mother, Mary Ellen, remarried. Her second husband, Donncadh (Denis) “Dinny” Cleary (from Knockmagh in County Limerick) was to later become a central figure in the life of young Vin Dalton.
Michael and Ellen lived in a four-roomed cottage at Hepburn’s Mill, within a short distance of Kingston and near the ‘never-failing’ Bullarook Creek. Sadly, their first child, John James, died on 9 November 1889 when he was just four months old.

Life appeared to be moving into a happier stage for the couple with the birth of their second child, Vincent Michael Dalton, who was born on 22 August 1890. This was followed by the birth of their daughter, Mary Veronica, in November 1892.

On 26 April 1893, Michael left for work as usual, labouring on one of the local farms. Ellen had settled the baby down for a nap and went out to the stable to attend to some of her daily chores. The wind was gusting strongly, but it is not known if Ellen left the door ajar so she could hear if her baby cried or if it was blown open. The wind caught some cinders in the fireplace and blew them onto the paper and hessian lining. Before Ellen realised there was a problem, the house was well alight. She dashed into the house to try and reach her baby, but was driven back by the flames that cut off all access to the child. In her agonised desperation, Ellen was ‘burnt from head to foot.’ The house was utterly destroyed and the baby incinerated.

Ellen was carried to a neighbour’s house, where she was attended to by Doctor Charles Rutledge, from Allendale, and Doctor Samuel Pitcher, from Kingston. Her condition was precarious from the outset. She was removed to the home of Dinny Cleary at Kangaroo Hills, where her mother was able to continue her care. Sadly, the nature of severe burns was beyond medical aid, and Ellen Dalton died ‘in great agony’ at 10am on 4 May. Her body was buried with her babies in the Catholic Cemetery at Eganstown, where her grief-stricken husband had a beautiful headstone erected in their memory.

Throughout this whole episode there was no mention of Vin, who was just a little boy. It seems most likely he had been in the stable, playing at his mother’s feet when the fire broke out. Such a harrowing scene would have left indelible impressions on him.

Michael Dalton took the unusual step of having a photograph taken of him with his little son. It was soon to become the only reminder Vin would have of their connection. On 15 June 1895, his father was killed in a work accident. Not yet four-years-old, Vin was now an orphan.

It appears that little Vin (who was also sometimes known as Dinny) was cared for by his grandparents and the extended Cleary family. A photograph of a Cleary wedding, shows the boy figuring prominently at the front of the group, wearing a jaunty hat and standing with his dog. He seems to have been a happy, confident boy.

During this period, Dinny and Ellen Cleary lived at “Cora-Lynn” in Kingston and young Vin attended the local State School. Although the family was catholic, the closest denominational school was at Allendale and the decision was made to have the boy educated close to home.

Vin had a particularly close relationship to his aunt, Annie Cleary, who lived at Springbank, near Wallace after marrying farmer, Ned Hayden. Wallace was outside the gold-mining districts and attracted small-farm settlers, many of them of Irish-Catholic origin. As a result, the area boasted several substantial Roman Catholic churches, including St Michael’s at Springbank. During his early working life, Vin worked at Springbank as a labourer. The boy had matured into a handsome dark-haired young man, with distinctive brown eyes. Although he was only of average height and weight, at 5-feet 6-inches tall and 140-pounds, he had developed a significant degree of physical strength.

When Dinny Cleary died on 1 December 1912, Vin acted as one of the coffin-bearers to the grave at Eganstown. Ellen Cleary lived less than a year after her husband, dying on 14 September 1913. Once again, Vin was chosen as a coffin-bearer. This is perhaps one of the most symbolic and personal tasks that can be undertaken in a lifetime – it shows a deep connection to the deceased person. In essence it is a last act of respect.

After the death of his grandparents, Vin moved further afield. By 1914, he was living at Kangaroo Point (Dennicul Creek) near Ararat and working as a miner. Although, for the most part, gold-mining had given way to agricultural development, quartz and alluvial mines continued to produce profitable amounts. The emergence of the Cathcart Mine provided a boom period for the area – and work for young Vin Dalton.
It was destined to be a very brief period in Vin’s life, however. World events were about to send him and thousands of his countrymen to war.

Although he had no military training, Vin had no hesitation in offering his services at the outset. In fact, he was one of the earliest to do so, enlisting at Broadmeadows on 19 August 1914.

Physically, he had no problems passing the stringent requirements. In completing his attestation papers, Vin named his uncle, Michael Cleary, as his next-of-kin. His half-sister, Alice (by then Mrs John Kennedy) was added later.

Vin’s posting came through quickly and he joined E Company of the 8th Battalion on 25 August. His regimental number, 539, would forever identify him as an Original.

The First Contingent, brought together in the Eastern States, prepared to leave Melbourne on 19 October. Vin sailed with his unit onboard the troopship Benalla.
It was a voyage not without its historical moments.

‘…Monday, 9th November, 1914 is a day that will be remembered by all members of the 1st AEF, as it was on this day that the cruiser Sydney, of the Australian fleet, engaged and captured the German cruiser Emden, only a comparatively short distance from us…’
(Private Phillip Sherren, 8th Battalion)

After reaching Alexandria on 8 December, the 8th Battalion proceeded through to Mena Camp outside Cairo. The excitement of exploring an exotic land quickly waned and the men were soon looking for action. An opportunity came with an early possible encounter with the Turks in the Canal Zone.

'…On Thursday, 4th February, at about 2am, we were awakened and told to be ready to leave for Ismailia at 10 o'clock, so you can imagine the excitement. There were only two battalions wanted out of the whole contingent, and the General chose the 7th and 8th, so you see we are well advanced in our work.

At half-past four in the morning we were all trying on new tunics in the dark. Talk about a jumble, there were tunics everywhere. We had breakfast at 6 o'clock, and were all loaded up, including 150 rounds of ammunition, and ready to leave at 9 o'clock.
We had a 10-mile march to Cairo, where we entrained for Ismailia. The march was pretty solid, as we had such a load to carry. We arrived at Ismailia at 8.30pm, and unfortunately it was raining pretty heavily. As we left the station the first night we witnessed, and which made us realise that we were into the real thing, was a batch of Turkish prisoners, numbering 120, just brought in from the Canal. They had been captured by the Indians.

When we camped we found that the New Zealanders, who came down a few days before and who knew we were coming, had hot tea ready for us, and it was very acceptable, as we were feeling pretty tired. We had just about got to sleep in the rain when our artillery started and the bombardment lasted pretty well all night. In spite of it all I slept till 6am.

In the morning we found we were right amongst the Indian soldiers of all kinds. They are fine fellows, and oh the knives they carry! They don't trouble much about their rifles, they prefer their knives. The officers had a job to keep the Indians away from the Turkish prisoners.

At midnight orders came for two companies to get ready to reinforce a party of Indians a few miles up the Canal, and our company [A Company] and B Company were selected for the job. We were served with an extra 100 rounds of ammunition and extra rations and equipment. Word came that we were to move off at 5am, but later this order was cancelled. Our officer told us later in the day that we were very lucky in not having to go, that according to the report from the aviator we would have fallen into a trap and would probably have been wiped out.

Every morning at 7 o'clock and every afternoon at 2 o'clock two or three of our aeroplanes went out scouting, flying right over where the Turks were, so we knew every movement. We lay in readiness for four days, never taking off our clothes. On Monday we were relieved by two other companies, and on the same night they were called out to the trenches, but did not have to do any fighting as the Turks began to retreat, and they have been retreating ever since…' (Private Richard Herbert Trengrove, 8th Battalion)
Although the anticipated action fizzled to nothing, it was enough to re-focus those involved. But it was another long two months before the AIF was finally on the move. The 8th Battalion sailed from Alexandria on 5 April onboard the transport Clan MacGillivray. Although the men were supposedly unaware of their destination, camp gossip had been circulating for some time that they were set to have a crack at “Johnny Turk.”

Apparently, Vin Dalton, wrote several letters and post cards to a Miss Mary Scanlon, of Ballarat. But it was a letter to his aunt, Annie Hayden, (written on 24 July) that was to give an outstanding account of the early stages of the Gallipoli Campaign.

‘…We all got word that we were leaving Mena Camp, Cairo. As you may imagine, this news caused some little excitement. We had no idea as to where we were going, but there was some wild guessing. Every place under the sun — barring Australia— was hinted at as we marched into Cairo, where we arrived about 1 or 2 p.m. after leaving camp at 10 a.m.

We entrained to Alexandria about 1 a.m. next morning, and arrived at Alexandria wharf early the same morning. We went on board the transport boat that was awaiting us there. We stayed a day or so beside the wharf, and then anchored out in the bay where there were many transports full of troops also. We made a move, one boat following another, and passed several islands and at length we anchored off a small Greek island, named Lemnos. We went ashore and had a march through the town. It was a pretty place, and there were a lot of quaint old Dutch windmills and spinning wheels to be seen there. It is an old-fashioned place, and very much behind the times.

We left there on the 22nd or 23rd of April — I can't remember which — but we arrived at Gaba Tepe Peninsula on the morning of the 25th April — a day I will never forget as long as live. We were all excited and curious. Early on the 25th we made a start to land. We could hear rifle cracking on the ridges where some of our fellows were already fighting, and every few minutes a shell would land near one of our boats.
Our contingent were the last to leave the boats, and we left the transport on a destroyer. By this time they were bringing wounded men back, and we began to realise how serious the job was.

The destroyer ran us in as near to the shore as possible, and we then got into some small boats, and were rowed in nearer, and then we could not get right in, but had to jump into water up to our waists. Even then the boys were not as serious as you would expect, and one fell in and went under, and the rest had a good laugh at him. But the laugh didn't last long, for a shell landed in the middle of some of our boys, and we were ordered to take cover, and went in closer to the cliffs.

When we were all ready, off we went, and we had not gone far when one of our boys was hit by a sniper; and presently we were climbing the hills for all we were worth. Shells were bursting around us thick and fast, and our boys were going down thick and fast also. I felt a little nervous on the boats, but when I saw some of my mates hit I became desperate, and all I wanted was to 'get to holds' with a Turk. I didn't take any notice of bullets or shells. I was so mad at seeing my mates being cut down that I never thought about myself. I made up my mind that I was going to be hit, and I wanted to do all the damage I could before I was.

By this time we had all become mixed up; only two of my mates were with me, and we were mixed up with the 1st Brigade. The bushes were very thick, and we couldn't see any Turks, as they were running back as we advanced. The first lot I saw was about evening; I had no idea of the time. One of our boys noticed a party of about 50 sneaking up a gully on our left, trying to cut us off. We were ordered to prepare for a bayonet charge. We waited till they got close up, and then we poured a volley into them. They ran like fury and his taught them a lesson they wont forget. I was properly worked up by this time, and fit for anything.

Fighting went, on all day and we had a bad time, as we had no artillery to help us. Reinforcements arrived and we pushed the enemy back, and were ordered fighting continued till nightfall. Then we had our work cut out, as they charged us in masses. But our boys were seeing red by this, and gave them a chopping up that helped to square accounts for what we got earlier in the day.

Next day our artillery arrived, and when they fired the first shot a cheer went along the line, for we knew we had a good friend to back us up. Poor Earny Archibald [Pte Ernest Ormond Archibald 271] was shot a day or two after the landing. When M Baker told me I felt very downhearted, as we were good companions ever since we joined, and I knew I had lost an old friend.
I have met a number of Kingston boys since I have been here, including Lieut. Roy Hodgson, who was reported killed [wounded, but survived], also Captain J. Parkin. Well, to continue, we were well entrenched on Monday, 26th.

Fighting continued until 8th of May, when the second division were taken in destroyers to Cape Helles. It was here we had a charge that will never be beaten. I daresay you have read a good deal about it in the papers. I hope some day to return and describe to you my experience in that exciting charge. It was here I was hit on the ankle, the pain of which was so great that I thought I had lost my leg. I rolled over and held it for a time, but the machine guns were popping too near me, so I grabbed my shovel and hopped along to where we were entrenched. I received a couple of pellets on the arm and one on the hip also, but beyond a bruise they did me no damage. I couldn't work with my ankle for a week or so after, and was a while in hospital with it, but it is all right again. We left here on 14th May for Gaba Tepe, where we were before, and have been here ever since…’

Vin Dalton was to experience numerous bouts of illness whilst he was on active service – some self-inflicted (an ailment that proved both persistent and difficult to cure), others as a result of the conditions he and his comrades were forced to fight in. His first issue occurred on 11 July and he was out of action for a week, but he did not require evacuation away from ANZAC.

On 27 July, he was appointed to the rank of lance-corporal, but just a month later, on 25 August, he succumbed to a bout of diarrhoea. Dysentery was very common at Gallipoli and accounted for numerous hospitalisations. There was always the very real concern that the symptoms could be a precursor to the frequently deadly enteric fever. Vin was transferred to Mudros on 26 August, where he was admitted to the Hospital Ship Ionian. It took the Ionian three days to reach Malta, where Vin was admitted to the St George’s Hospital on 2 September. Located above St George’s Bay, the hospital proved to be both ‘exceedingly healthy, and pleasant for convalescence.’

Reports back in Australia initially had the family believing that Vin had been wounded and newspaper articles under ‘Wallace Soldier in the Fighting Line...Pte Vin Dalton Wounded...’ added to the concern.

On 13 September, Vin was transferred to the All Saints Hospital, to complete the last stage of his recovery before being passed fit to return to duty. Although there was no further information on his case, it appears that his illness was far more than a persistent case of diarrhoea as he was not discharged for nearly three more months. The same day, 2 December, he boarded the transport Nile to return to Egypt.

Vin spent the remainder of 1915 waiting for his unit to reach Egypt following the evacuation of Gallipoli. He finally rejoined the 8th Battalion at Tel-el-Kebir on 7 January 1916. Two days later he was sent to hospital. On 8 February he was diagnosed with mumps and admitted to the No4 Australian Stationary Hospital. From that point his records became littered with confusing entries, with some being deleted as errors. It is unclear what was the actual issue, or whether he was being correctly diagnosed. However, it became necessary to transfer him to England for further treatment. He sailed on 30 May, onboard the transport Huntsgreen, reaching Plymouth on 12 June. During August, he was a patient in the 1st Australian Dermatological Hospital at Bulford.

Finally, on 2 November, with Vin fit to return to active duty, he sailed for France from Folkestone onboard SS Onward. Early the next day he marched into the 1st Australian Divisional Base Depot at Étaples. When he reached his unit on 15 November, the 8th Battalion was resting at Ribemont following major fighting at Pozieres during July and August and a return to action forward of Bernafay Wood earlier in the month.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before Vin ran into trouble. The 8th Battalion had been withdrawn to Saint-Vaast-en-Chaussée (northwest of Amiens) within days of Vin rejoining them. On 27 November he was absent without leave from reveille until 8pm – a period of 13-hours. As a result, he was reduced to the rank of private and fined a day’s pay.

Then, on 23 December, following a tough period holding the line at Flers, Vin was charged with being drunk and using ‘insolent language’ to a non-commissioned officer. This time he was harshly dealt with – the charge was heard on Christmas Eve and he was awarded 28-days Field Punishment No2. However, he was then immediately admitted sick to the 5th Australian Field Ambulance, before being transferred to the 38th Casualty Clearing Station at Heilly. After being assessed, he was sent through to Rouen onboard Ambulance Train 23. On Christmas Day, Vin was admitted to the 1st Stationary Hospital. He was transferred to the 51st General (Specialist) Hospital in Étaples on Boxing Day.

Vin was out of the line for nearly five months. He rejoined the 8th Battalion at Biefvillers-lès-Bapaume on 18 May 1917.

Unfortunately, Vin’s health continued to cause problems and virtually wiped out his ability to perform effectively for the remainder of the year. When he was finally convalescent, he was employed as a general orderly at the 2nd Australian Casualty Clearing Station at Steenwerck.

Eventually, on 26 February 1918, Vin was fit enough to rejoin the 8th Battalion, which was then stationed behind the lines at Locre in Belgium. It proved to be an incident packed year for Vin Dalton. During March, he enjoyed an extended leave pass to England. The 8th Battalion was in the line in the Wytschaete Sector when he returned on 31 March.

The 8th Battalion continued to maintain parts of the line in Belgium and the far north of France during April, May and June. On 19 June, Vin was forced to attend a scabies station for treatment, but was able to return to duty less than a week later.

At the beginning of August, the 8th Battalion was still in the north near Strazeele. After spraining his ankle, Vin was admitted to the 87th (1st West Lancashire) Field Ambulance for treatment on 3 August. A few days rest was enough to see him discharged to duty; he was able to rejoin his unit near Harbonnières on 17 August.

Vin was with the battalion during the attack on Herleville Wood on 23 August that resulted in Lieutenant Donovan Joynt being awarded the Victoria Cross. The following day, the 8th Battalion continued to push the enemy towards the village of Foucaucourt, but came under a heavy barrage (fired at point blank range) and powerful machine-gun and trench mortar fire. Late in the day, Vin was hit by a bullet in the left forearm that fractured his ulna. He was admitted to the 41st Casualty Clearing Station at Vecquemont for triage and treatment.

On 25 August, he was admitted to the 2nd General Hospital at Wimereux and prepared for evacuation to England onboard the Hospital Ship Essequibo. He was admitted to the Northampton War Hospital in Duston on 27 August. The hospital was housed in the buildings of the old Berry Wood Asylum and admitted more than 25,000 patients during the course of the war.

For Vin Dalton, this was to prove a serendipitous event. Working at the hospital was a young nurse with the Voluntary Aid Detachment (VAD). Edith Lena Mary Mawby, a 24-year-old from the village of Flore, had, like so many young English women, chosen to take an active role in the war effort. Their meeting was to result in a major change for them both. During the two months Vin was in hospital, he and Edith became particularly close.

On 8 November, Vin was discharged to furlough and was ordered to report to the No1 Command Depot at Sutton Veny two weeks later. He had Edith had already made plans to marry, so it is easy to imagine the couple joining the celebrations when the Armistice was announced on 11 November. Their marriage, conducted by the Reverend Herbert J. L. Matson, took place at the Victoria Road Congregational Church in Northampton on 30 December 1918.

The Mawby family lived at 59 Palmerston Road in Northampton, and this also became Vin’s address. He was granted Special 1914 Leave (with pay), which began the day following the wedding.

At the end of his leave on 7 February 1919, when Vin reported a day late for duty, he was technically regarded as absent without leave. However, on this occasion, the lateness was excused.

For the next two and a half months, Vin was attached for duty with AIF Headquarters London at the AIF & War Chest Club in Horseferry Road. He was then granted leave (with pay and subsidies) to undertake non-military employment with the Pytchley Auto Car Company in Sheep Street, Northampton. The six-month term of the agreement was from 1 May until 1 November. However, the leave was cancelled on 7 October, due to a planned return to Australia, and Vin rejoined the remaining men of the 8th Battalion still in England.

On the 8 November 1919, Vin and Edith sailed from London onboard the Aberdeen Line Steamship Marathon. The voyage was made via Cape Town. Although the Marathon was due to reach Melbourne at 11am on Boxing Day, a slight delay meant the ship did not reach her moorings until 1pm. Port authorities then berthed the ship at No9 Victoria Dock, which was the least accessible of the piers available. Those waiting to greet the arrivals had to walk long distances to reach the Marathon.

Vin’s term of service in the AIF finally came to an end on 8 March 1920. Just three days later, on 11 March, at Nurse Murphy’s Private Hospital (8 Ascot Street, Ballarat), Edith was safely delivered of their first child, Ellen Elsie. By this time they were living in their first home at 128 Burnbank Street.

An ANZAC Day celebration was held at the Alfred Hall on 25 April 1920, with the large building ‘crowded to the doors.’ The main feature of the occasion was the presentation of the 1914-15 Stars by Senator Lieutenant-Colonel W. K. Bolton.

‘…There are war medals which almost every participant in the war who served on land or sea may receive by the mere fact of having served, but there is a special virtue in the possession of the 1914-15 Star, special recognition thus being given to those who entered into the conflict in its early stages and every soldier and nurse who served in Gallipoli, plus only a comparatively few of other theatres of war, has qualified for the ANZAC Star. It is, therefore, of a value second only to decorations for gallantry and distinguished service, and there are many soldiers and others who declare that every man who took part in the landing “deserved a VC.”…’

Vin Dalton was amongst the group of nearly 100 men presented with their medals.

In July 1920, Vin began working as a motorman for the Ballarat Tramways, under the control of the Electric Supply Company (ESCo). The company depot was then on the north side of Wendouree Parade.
The Dalton family continued to grow over the intervening years, with the births of Dorothy Edith (on 22 August 1921); their only son, Norman Francis (on 27 January 1924); Marjorie Joan (born in 1926); and finally, Glenyce Mary (who arrived on 14 August 1931).

By 1922, they had moved to 1342 Gregory Street, a beautiful, substantial house that would be their home for many long years. Conveniently, it was also immediately adjacent to the Tram Depot.

Late on 10 June 1925, Vin was driving his tramcar along Sturt Street when a horse-drawn vehicle ‘wandered across the tram track in front of the moving car.’ Vin applied the magnetic brake, but the tram still hit the vehicle with enough force to spin it ‘right round.’ The driver, Ernest Phillips, was charged with being drunk whilst in control of a horse and vehicle and fined £3 and was placed on a bond of a further £10.

Vin continued to work as a motorman until his hearing began to deteriorate, seemingly due to his war service. He was then employed as a fitter and turner in the depot workshop, specialising on the wheel lathe. His son, Norm, went on to have a notable and significant career with the State Electricity Commission of Victoria.

After retiring in the early 1950’s, Vin and Edith moved to 9 Valentine Avenue, an architect-designed house, near Xavier College in Kew. There they were able to enjoy watching their family grow with the subsequent arrival of numerous grandchildren.

On 30 December 1968 they celebrated their Golden Wedding Anniversary.

Edith’s death at Box Hill on 1 November 1972 was a sad occasion for the large Dalton family. They were forced to gather again less than a year later, after Vin’s death on 6 August 1973.

Vin and Edith Dalton are buried together in the Springvale Cemetery.

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