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From Ballarat & District in the Great War

2nd Lt George Henry HUGHES
 
I love a colourful character. Certainly, George Hughes was that and more. Part rogue, larrikin and artful dodger, he danced a fine line between legitimate and downright illegal during the years that led up to the Great War. But like most scallywags, it seems he had a very likeable personality – and he was very good at what he did.

George Henry Hughes was born at Daylesford on 16 June 1874. He was the second of six children, his parents being Frederick Albert Hughes and Jane Mary Monckton. His father, who grew up in the fashionable West End London area of Marylebone, had been one of the earliest gold prospectors in Queensland and the Northern Territory. He loved to relate stories around the campfire of his adventures, including being at Ballarat during the Eureka riots. Jane Monckton came from a very different background – she was a dressmaker from Portumna, an Irish market town in the south-east of County Galway. Their children would be raised as Roman Catholic, according to Jane’s own upbringing.

Following the birth of their third child, Frederick William, in 1876, they moved to Gordon, where Fred took over the license of the Unicorn Hotel. The pub was then in the main street next to St Patrick’s Catholic Church and Fred Hughes proved to be a very popular publican.

As St Patrick’s School was not opened until 1890, George and his siblings received their education at the Gordon State School.

Sadly, Jane Hughes was suffering from chronic liver disease. In June 1890, it was reported that she was ‘lying dangerously ill, and little hope is held out for her ultimate recovery.’ Indeed, her condition was beyond medical treatment of the time and her body was racked by high levels of albumen and jaundice. Utterly exhausted, she died on 23 June 1890 and was buried in the Gordon Cemetery. She was just 42.

In 1895 George arrived in Kalgoorlie with his father, brother Fred, and his younger sisters, Nell and Mabel. The men then “swagged” the goldfields in search of their fortune.

George was working on the Perseverance Mine when he met Mary Jane Ivers. “Polly” and George were married at the Roman Catholic Church in Kalgoorlie on 21 November 1898. There was to be just one child of the marriage, with family stating the boy’s name was John George Hughes and that he was born at Kalgoorlie in 1900. However, no corresponding records exist.

In 1900, George purchased the Commercial Hotel, a 16-room property and one of the many pubs in Burt Street. He continued to work as an assayer and was also managing a jeweller’s shop in Hamilton Street. It was at this time that George was first charged with ‘carrying on a business as a gold buyer.’ The case was dismissed.

An altercation with Hugh Inglefinger resulted in George and Fred Hughes both being charged with assault in January 1901. Once again, George escaped a conviction when the case was dismissed.

Just a month later, George and his father were remanded on charges of being unlawfully in possession of telluride ore. He was fined £2 and costs and further 20-shillings (and costs) on the second charge of having purchase concentrates without a license. The case against Fred Hughes was dismissed.
A similar case held in June 1901, was brought against his brother, Fred, who was said to have been in possession of 14-ounces of smelted gold ‘reasonably supposed to have been stolen or unlawfully obtained.’
On giving evidence, George Hughes succeeded in lightening the mood with a quick quip.

‘…There was a flash of subtle humour in the suspected gold-stealing case at the Boulder Court late yesterday afternoon. It was the solitary interruption to a long-drawn-out forensic encounter between the two ablest advocates in criminal work on the Fields, but a witness gave one. George Hughes, a brother of the accused, was called for the defence. Mr Keenan (Messrs. Keenan and Randell), who conducted the prosecution for the Chamber of Mines, although nominally it was a police case, taunted the witness over his connection with the Trafalgar tailings conviction. "And without at goldbuyer's license you paid £30 for tailings which brought afterwards £180 by auction?" was a query answered in the affirmative. Mr. Keenan: You were at the sale? Yes, and I bid up to £70. Then you were looking for another good thing in gold buying?—Yes; but it was the Chamber of Mines paid for it. This retort convulsed the body of the court, which was crowded, and even Mr W. H. Jones, who defended the accused smiled benignly at the cross fire of his witness, who in a few minutes retired from the box…’

George once again found himself the centre of a sensational incident when on a visit to Melbourne in January 1902. The case was based around the theft of some 14 sovereigns at the Tasmanian Club Hotel allegedly by barmaid, Florrie Murphy.

It is perhaps best left to the Melbourne correspondent for the Sydney Truth newspaper to embroider the tale…

‘…To say that you hail from Boulder City is at once a signal for all the sharks in Melbourne to gather round you. To walk in to an hotel of doubtful repute, dressed in silk shirts bejewelled at the collar with a fine diamond stud, heavy silk boat and pants, and sporting a splendid diamond ring on one's finger, makes the prey more precious. But when a man thus adorned "shouts" champagne for all and sundry, then it becomes a question of who is the cleverest to skin the lamb. This is what happened to George Hughes, a young gentleman from the golden Boulder City. Dressed in silk garments and displaying valuable jewellery, he entered the Tasmanian Hotel, in Swanston-street, Melbourne. This hotel has a reputation of employing painted barmaids, who play a piano and utter excruciating shrieks and howls, which they are pleased to call "harmony."

Among the barmaids was Miss Florrie Murphy. George Hughes, on entering, called at once for a large bottle of Heidsick. Champagne is not the usual beverage at this hotel. Beer is the liquor mostly consumed, and a few Johnnies, who come to hear the "harmony," indulge in whiskies, and reckon themselves above the common bar-drinking herd. Miss Florrie at once became enamoured of Mr Hughes. She told him so, and Mrs Russell, the licensee, remarked that she had very good taste, and, were she a young woman, she would make love to him herself.

"Another bottle, please," remarked Mr Hughes, and, drawing out a handful of sovereigns, He paid for the wine with one, and gave Miss Florrie another for "a pair of gloves." "Isn't he a love? Mrs Russell," she exclaimed in ecstasy, and to show that she meant what she said she kissed his lips with a smack which could be heard in the street.

It is astonishing how soon the news spreads that a "mug" is at a certain hotel. In very little time there was quite a crowd in the parlour, and Miss Florrie Murphy was playing and uttering wailing sounds of love songs, and charming the Boulder man. Champagne corks were flying, and Mr Hughes was declared by the company to be a great man.

Then some light-fingered gentry took leave to appraise the value of the Boulder gentleman's watch and chain. They weighed it in their hands, and named various amounts as approximate. Miss Murphy knew them, and in loving, dulcet tones told her darling George that he looked tired and ought to have a rest. He agreed, and she took him up to a room and said: — "There, darling, go to sleep."

Somehow Mr. Hughes could not sleep. Miss Murphy shortly afterwards softly opened his door, and seeing the man's eyes wide open she remarked: "Not asleep, George, love? Ah ! what a shame you cannot sleep. I'll see yon again," and she planted a loving kiss on his lips.

The Boulder man, though he had taken a good deal of liquor," could stand it. He was what is known on the West Australian goldfields as a "hard case, on whose chivvy you could strike matches," and he wondered what was the meaning of it all. Just as Miss Murphy was going out she espied the pants of Mr Hughes hanging over a chair. He couldn't sleep. " Ah! George," she remarked, sadly, "what a shame you cannot sleep, although you have undressed, and even taken your pants off." "Can't help it, old girl," was the hard case's answer.

Then Miss Florrie went downstairs and returned immediately afterwards with a bottle of champagne, which had not been ordered. She opened it, and gave Hughes a glass, and, of course partook of one herself. Next, she proceeded to pay for the unordered champagne out of Mr Hughes' pants' pockets. "Stop that!" cried the Boulder man, as he jumped out of bed, sans trousers. He rushed to the door because Miss Murphy also made for it. He was first, and locked the apartment. "Now," he said, "old girl, you think you can take me down for my gilt, don't you? You have made a mistake," and he shook his pants, and never a sound of a jingle of coins could be beard.

Miss Murphy was equal to the occasion. She screamed, and the whole household and the loafers about the place were there. The door was broken in, Mr Hughes was biffed, and with great difficulty he get on his clothes and escaped, minus thirty sovereigns.

As he got out of the door, he met a constable and gave Miss Murphy in charge, and she was locked up. The next morning the case was brought before the City Bench and remanded…’

On testifying in court, the amount of money that George actually had with him varied considerably – he first claimed 30 sovereigns, but changed it to 20. It was claimed that he only had about ‘£9 or £10’ and spent most of it shouting champagne. She was acquitted.

Back in Boulder, George was soon up to his old tricks and in May, he was brought before the Boulder Police Court on a charge of being unlawfully in possession of gold bearing ore and 20-ounces of gold once again ‘supposed to have been stolen or unlawfully obtained.’
Then, on Thursday 11 September 1902, there was a far more serious incident. George and Polly were at the Commercial Hotel, when young Fred Hughes appeared in an agitated state and somewhat the worse for consumption of alcohol. He threatened to shoot ‘all the rabbits,’ before turning to his brother – ‘After that I will shoot you all.’ Naturally, this caused considerable alarm. The police were called and when Detective Egglestone arrived, Fred loaded a Winchester rifle and fired two shots at his sister-in-law, then a third at the policeman. He missed Polly, but hit Egglestone in the chest. Madly excited, Fred then aimed the rifle at his own head – George rushed forward and tried to wrestle the rifle away, but was unable to prevent the Fred pulling the trigger. The bullet hit him in the face, tearing the flesh from his cheek and shattering his jaw.

Fortunately, Egglestone recovered, but, on 28 November 1902, Fred, was sentenced to 2-years gaol for the shooting, causing grievous bodily harm.

In December 1904, at Polly’s suggestion, George left for New Zealand to “suss out” the possibility of a new venture. Before leaving, he sold all his property in Boulder, with the exception of the hotel, which was in his wife's name. Apparently, Polly was left with the proceeds of the sales – a not inconsiderable sum as one of the properties sold for £1500.

During his time away, George maintained a steady correspondence of weekly letters. But an urgent letter from his father, brought him back to Boulder in June 1905. He arrived early in the morning, went straight to the hotel, where he found his wife in bed with the barman, Stephen Scott.

Now, Scott was no match for George Hughes, who was quite the amateur boxer. One punch knocked Scott senseless and he was unable to leave ‘for an hour or so.’ George admitted to speaking to his wife, but could not recall what was said. Polly and Scott fled to the police station claiming that George was going to murder them.

From that time on, George “smashed” Stephen Scott every time he saw him. Eventually, Scott went to the police and had him charged with using threatening language. On 11 July 1905, the case was heard in the Boulder Court. George Hughes was ordered to enter into a bond of £50 and two sureties of £25 to keep the peace for six months. If he defaulted, George faced 3-months’ imprisonment.

According to George, Polly then sold the hotel and left Boulder with Stephen Scott – leaving her husband ‘without a penny.’ He then took a position at the electric light station working for a daily wage of 11-shillings and 8-pence. Prior to leaving for New Zealand he claimed that he and Polly had ‘not had a cross word.’

When George petitioned for a divorce in March 1907, all the ugly details of the case were played out in court, including his own father’s witness testimony – he had observed multiple instances that caused concern and even spoke to Scott, who ‘put it off, and took it as a joke.’ The judge granted a decree nisi with costs against Scott, who was named as the co-respondent and gave custody of the child to George. Neither Polly or her paramour were in court.
Despite being given custody of his son, it appears that the boy remained with his mother.

Later the same year, on 19 October, George married widow, Jane Melissa Hunt (formerly Veale). A brief announcement was printed in the Kalgoorlie Sun.
Jane’s first husband, Thomas Hunt, had died on 11 April 1904 from a fractured skull, following an altercation with another man. They had one surviving child, also called Thomas, who was born in 1896. George was to become a much-needed father figure to the boy.

Major developments were soon underway, when, in 1908, George Hughes purchased, in partnership with his father and brother, the Golden Zone Mine, north of Lamington Heights, for the princely sum of 3500 pounds. He also purchased the Hannans North lease, and a new 10-head battery was erected in 1909. Showing no signs of curbing his ways, George was again charged with the illegal possession of gold in January 1908.

Such was George’s social position as a “mining magnate,” his every move seemed to be watched. As one of the “trousered toffs” at the Boulder Cup on 13 September 1908, he came in for special mention…
‘…George Hughes was decorously, not to say daintily, decked in a black bowler tile cutely angled, his lounge clobber of Golden Zone ore-coloured checks loosely folding themselves in harmonious softness about his Herculean frame…’ He certainly was a handsome man – dark complexioned with brown eyes and black hair – and he clearly loved good clothing. At 5-feet 8-inches, George was only of average height, but his ‘Herculean frame’ gave an air of power.

The birth of twins, George and Melissa, at Boulder on 10 March 1909, should have been cause for celebration. But the baby boy was sickly and died just five days later. Little Melissa then died on 16 April 1910. It was a very sad funeral procession from their home at 33 King Street in Boulder to the Kalgoorlie Cemetery.

Later in the year, Jane was safely delivered of a second daughter, Marjorie May, who became the apple of her father’s eye.

In June 1910, Fred Hughes divested himself of his connection to the management of the Golden Zone Mine in order to concentrate on a newly acquired farming property at Moora.

During August 1910, George reported that the office at the mine had been broken into and a quantity of ore and cash were stolen from the safe. Apparently, the offenders had access to the combination lock for the safe. Then, in January 1911, the battery manager’s six-roomed house burned to the ground when thieves attempted to steal eight unscaled battery plates. The manager, Richard Veale, was also George’s brother-in-law.

Not to be dissuaded and seeking to broaden his holdings, in May 1911, George Hughes purchased the Boulder Star newspaper. He also became a partner in the Red Castle Brewery in Perth.

At the Tattersall’s Horse Bazaar in February 1912, George paid the top price of 105-guineas for a filly by Fidelis out of Little Mary. The youngster would race as Gentle Mary. It was not his only venture into horseracing – in August the following year he purchased privately the 5-year-old black gelding, Kerrisdale. It was believed he paid 450 guineas for the horse, which had been ‘disappointing’ after earlier success. Race writers thought the horse would ‘come good again very shortly’ and would ‘pay his way handsomely for the astute connections.’ Another of his gallopers was the well-performed Boy.

Well-known in boxing circles (he often acted as time-keeper), George had built quite a reputation as a sportsman. In February 1914, he challenged Jack Cosson to a race over 50-yards for the sculling championship of the district to be held at the local baths. This was not the first such contest a previous race ended when George’s boat sank after a hole had been bored through the boat by someone who had a wager on the outcome!

Rumours had been rife around the metropolitan tracks that George had been “warned off” all courses controlled by the Western Australian Turf Club. In November 1914, a newspaper report added further fuel to the fire, suggesting that it was a life ban. When his horses were excluded from the race meetings at Boulder, George sold them on to new owners. The issue was over ‘some argument that has been proceeding for some time’ between him and the racing authorities.

After years of sailing close to the wind, the law finally had enough of George Hughes. The police surveilled the lease and, in April 1915, charges of gold buying were brought against George, his manager, Richard Veale and an employee, Ivan Bozin, after they were arrested on Easter Monday morning. The evidence, collected from the safe, consisted of several brown paper parcels of ore, a tobacco tin containing amalgam and three ‘buttons’ of gold – each the size of the bowl of a wine glass. There was also £200 in cash. George claimed that all the gold was his. However, the charges were upheld and he was sentenced to the maximum of six-months in gaol with hard labour.
In a tragic coincidence, the day that George was arrested, his father died at his home in Perth.

George had his legal representative lodge an appeal against his conviction in August. It was heard by the Full Court in Perth before Chief Justice Burnside and Mr Justice Northmore. There was no new evidence and the conviction was upheld.

Of course, where George Hughes was concerned, there was always extra drama and intrigue to be found. Complaints of preferential treatment soon surfaced and were even tabled in parliament. “Doing time” it seems was quite different for George – he was allowed to occupy a room with his own bed instead of a cell at the Kalgoorlie Gaol, and was ‘practically living as a boarder instead of a prisoner.’ His wife and friends were allowed easy access, with food and beer available – and not a hint of hard labour. It was obvious he was enjoying freedom ‘quite unknown to other prisoners.’ One of those seeking to be heard was Richard Veale’s wife, Agnes, who struggled with the perceived disparity.

It seems that George sought to put the whole sorry episode behind him by joining the AIF. Shortly after being released from gaol he presented himself at the recruitment depot in Boulder. His medical examination was carried out on 7 January 1916, although his formal enlistment was conducted at the Blackboy Hill Camp outside Perth two weeks later. The examining medical officer noted the usual details and found that George met all the physical requirements – his chest measurement was 38 to 41-inches and he weighed 175-pounds, but he was showing a degree of myopia in both eyes.

In completing his attestation, George freely admitted to the conviction for gold buying. He also stated that he had no previous military training. To maintain his wife and daughter during his proposed absence, George organised an allotment of three-fifths of his pay.

On 23 January, the Boulder Town Hall was packed to capacity to farewell 50 men from the town who had enlisted. After the formalities were completed, they marched to the local railway station led by the Mines Band. The celebration did not please everyone, however…

‘…CIV1C FAREWELL TO SOLDIERS
To the Editor.
Sir.-I am somewhat surprised at the way some of the lads that are enlisting are treated. Every man that offers his services to his country is as much entitled to a civic send-off from, our worthy mayors. as Fred Atterton, Gavin Walsh. Charlie Mettam George Hughes and others that left on the 23rd. Every lad is come mother's boy, and I say be fair to one and all. Give all a send-off or none. I hope my few simple words will be taken notice of by our city fathers.
-1 am, etc.,
A MOTHER OF TWO SOLDIERS,
MY ONLY SONS…’

Having been passed fit, George joined other recruits as a private in the 46th Depot Battalion at Blackboy Hill on 24 January.

When his posting came through, George was assigned to the newly-raised 44th Infantry Battalion with the regimental number 459. His commanding officer was Lieutenant-Colonel William Mansbridge and his battalion was to become known as “Old Bill’s Thousand.”

Despite his lack of a military background, it soon became apparent that George’s other attributes – not the least his confidence – would make him a good leader. On 27 March he was promoted to the rank of sergeant in C Company.

During his last leave home, George was able to spend a day at the Boulder races – putting to rest the rumours of him being ‘warned off for life.’ According to those present, he looked ‘extremely happy and well,’ and appeared to be ‘a great favourite with his comrades in khaki’ – especially when he lined them all up for a drink! He left before the last race to catch the express train back to Perth.

When the 44th Battalion sailed from Fremantle on 6 June, they received a record public sendoff. They travelled onboard the troopship Suevic, the last of the Jubilee-class ocean liners, then on requisition from the White Star Line.

They reached Durban in South Africa on 21 June, and immediately set off on a 6-mile route march through the city. The next stop was at Cape Town – and another 6-mile march – before heading to St Vincent in the Cape Verde Islands on 27 June.

Illness onboard ship caused some concern with two men dying from pleurisy and pneumonia during the voyage. George Hughes also became sick and was admitted to the ship’s hospital on 17 July. When the Suevic docked at Plymouth four days later, he was immediately transferred to the Devonport Hospital, where he remained for three weeks. He rejoined his unit at Tidworth on 12 August.

As part of the new 3rd Division, the 44th was held back in England for further training. George Hughes was singled out for advancement and, on 12 September, he left the 11th Training Battalion for the Officer’s School of Instruction. He returned to his unit at Larkhill on 21 October to await orders.

After four long months in England, George was finally on his way to France – the 44th Battalion sailed from Southampton on 25 November. They reached Le Havre at 6:30am the following day and immediately marched to the Rest Camp at Sanvic. George and his men spent the remainder of the month and most of December in billets at Steenwerck.

At 10am on 22 December, the 3rd Division was inspected by General Sir Douglas Haig, who complimented the men on their ‘soldierly appearance and bearing.’ It seems that in a few short months on the Western Front, the Australians had begun to earn a degree of respect from Haig.

The 44th moved to Armentières the following day. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were spent providing working parties in the trenches. George moved into the frontline, east of Armentières, for the first time on 30 December.

A letter that George wrote to John William Fimister and Charles Cutbush, gave a real insight into his bright, chatty personality and hinted at the miserable conditions being experienced by the Australian troops.
‘…To my two good friends, Dear Jack and 'Cutty'— Now, in this good old dug-out, we are spelling for four days, and we are glad of it. Coming out of the trenches with my men I ran into George Musty, and didn't we ‘box on,’ with Kalgoorlie. I don't think we missed one there. We had a pot at the 'Cri.,' and went out to Bill Bennit's, and 'boxed on' to a finish.

This Christmas was the coldest I have ever felt, for now we are in the middle of winter, and you will never know, and no one can describe how these good boys held on to it with this weather. If I get back, and anyone can pull me away from Kalgoorlie, with all its dust, I quit, and say I am a rank jib.

Charlie Mettam is still with me, and getting his third stripe, and I am recommended for commission.

I lost some good mates in some of our goes, but I have not seen the white feather shown by one of our
lads yet. Some were funny at our christening a few months ago. Well, now this is one of them: We get our issue of rations per platoon. Well, on the relief of us in the frontline, one of the relieving party
asked how Fritz had treated us for the twenty-four hours. Reply: 'Oh! just a few minneys, and not
much shrapnel.' Reply again: 'He could not have got his issue yesterday.' Our tucker is termed at
times, 'Iron rations,' and when we are leathering Fritz they say, 'Iron rations' for him.

I have no time to learn French at this job, but some of our fellows pick it up quick.

This battalion has a splendid name with this division. I did not think one-quarter would get two months through this snow, slush and water, and sleep in it, but they will 'box on.' Now, in three months' time, we will have spring, and you will hear of the British army on the road to Berlin. They cannot now get beaten, but the longer it lasts, the better for us. We can win at any point, and everyone of us here knows it. With Australians it's great; it's 'When are you going over?' and they are anxious to get over. If you were here, you would feel proud to be an Australian. We are all on an even footing fighting Fritz, fighting as pals, dirty and slushy; feeding together, sleeping together — but mates! It's just fine!

As I pass some Kalgoorlie or Boulder boy, he sings out that good old 'Hello! Kalgoorlie!' (or Boulder).
There is no issue of rum for the Third Division, but they do all in their power to help us alone and
mind, it's hard under the circumstances. You remember our Colonel Mansbridge? Well, he is still 'boxing on,' as game as ever; and his health is holding out. He is a great favourite of all.

At times a tot of rum at 2 or 3 a.m. — you could not put a price on it. I think there is more nourishment in a tot of rum than in fifteen tins of dog, or words to that effect. 'Cutty,' if you see Bill Bennit, ask him to take my hand at bridge there. I'll have a rum!
These spots here are snow white as far as the eye can see.

How are Albert Borwick and Jack McGuiness? He could do some biz here if he was here, as our screw is two bob a day; but we still bet. When I nick off from here, one of my first thoughts will be Kalgoorlie!— the best place on the planet for good fellows, and a good time always.

Good luck and best wishes from the burrow. If this last ten or twelve years I'll be a rabbit…’

George was right – on 17 January 1917, it was confirmed that he had been commissioned in the Field as a second-lieutenant. His early experience as an officer were conveyed through the pages of Perth’s Sunday Times.
‘…Sergeant George Hughes, well known on the goldfields, is now Mister Hughes, having been promoted to commissioned rank. A good yarn is told of him. Another officer was giving George his first steps in "No Man's Land" when he perceived one of our patrols stealthily returning. This he thought a fine opportunity to pull Hughes' leg. "S-s-t," he whispered; "look at that, and that, and that." "I spot 'em," said Hughes. "Watch one and see if he moves." Hughes watched with both eyes. "He's, moving," he
whispered. "Well,'' asked his mate, "what are you going to do?" "Do?" queried George, "why, box on with the business. There's only six of 'em!"…’

As game as they come, from all accounts George Hughes was very well-liked by the men under his command.

The 44th Battalion’s first major engagement on the Western Front came at Messines in June 1917. They were held in reserve during the first day of the battle (7 June), following the detonation of 19 ammonal mines under German positions along the Messines Ridge. At 1am on 8 June the 44th moved out to take a portion of the “Green Line” between the River Douve and Hun’s Walk, with the frontage of the planned attack covering 1100 yards.

The men performed well and the attack was very successful. George’s company was on the left as they captured their objective at about 4am with only slight casualties. However, holding the ground was far more difficult – especially when their own artillery began to shell the area and the enemy called down a simultaneous barrage. Before the battalion was relieved the casualties had mounted to around 300. Amongst those killed was the seemingly indestructable George Hughes. Whilst witness statements varied, the general consensus was that he and his batman, Private Thomas Leyland, an Englishman from Wigan, had been killed instantly by the blast of a shell. Private Edgar Alexander Hamilton, who was wounded by the same shell, later stated that George had been hit in the head. Ballarat’s Second-Lieutenant Ted Hocking (who had also moved to Boulder) was said to have been virtually in the same spot when he was also killed.

It was believed George was buried where he fell. Some of the men reported that he had been buried by members of the 44th Battalion band, and that either a Captain Chaplain Mills, of the 11th Brigade, or Chaplain Wood had been in attendance. There were mentions of a cross or markers bearing names written in indelible pencil, but there was little certainty attached to these claims.

News of George’s death reached Boulder on 25 June. An immediate response from those who had known him best gave a clear indication of his popularity. Jane Hughes kept her ‘sorrowing’ tribute simple: Duty, nobly done.

When probate was issued by the Supreme Court on 29 December 1917, the estate of George Hughes, which was overseen by the West Australian Trustee Executor and Agency Company, was valued at over £10, 000. Joseph Ford, of Gundowring in Victoria, wrote to Base Records asking how the late soldier’s estate had been left. He was the brother-in-law of Dolly Ivers and was enquiring on behalf of her son. Unfortunately, nothing further could be discovered as to what became of her or the boy.

Two parcels of effects were eventually returned to Jane Hughes – amongst his possession were three pipes, a matchbox cover, text book, note books, a Field Service pocket manual, a nail file, his diary a flag, along with private papers, photos and letters. There were also sundry items of clothing, including a Sam Browne belt. Significantly, he carried a scapular and religious medallion and religious book. Jane also received his form of Commission.

Jane Hughes did not remarry. She and Marjorie moved to Perth and they lived together until Jane’s death on Christmas Day 1957.

Although extensive searching of the battlefields was conducted following the war, George Hughes body was never recovered. His name was later commemorated on the Menin Gate in the Belgian city of Ypres.