Virtual
War Memorial
Australia

From Ballarat & District in the Great War

When I sit down to write I am constantly aware that each story is made up of many threads – often, those threads are literally part of the very history of the area, and not just a recounting of a Great War experience. In choosing to write about the life of Oscar Hart, it is impossible not to make a feature of his mother, Eady Hart, who was one of Ballarat’s greatest unsung achievers.

Eady Booth was born in the English town of Horsley Fields on the outer edge of Wolverhampton on 28 December 1848. Her family were both creative and successful in a number of areas – her father, Isaac Booth, was a hatter, his brother, Abraham, was a noted chemist, whilst their father had been a governor of the Bank of England.

The family arrived in Victoria when Eady was still just a little girl and sought their fortune on the Ballarat goldfields.

When Eady was of age to earn a living, she became a dressmaker. Her marriage to Londoner, William Hart, celebrated at Wycliffe Church of England in Learmonth on 14 December 1876, produced eight children. Pte Oscar Sommerville “Olly” Hart (22nd Bn) was their firstborn – he arrived at Learmonth the year following their marriage.

The family moved into Ballarat after Olly’s birth, and William Hart began working at the Ballarat Gas Company. The marriage between Eady and William, however, was far from happy. Although they stayed together for over 20 years, William’s cruelty made life almost unbearable.

Little is known of Olly’s early years in regards to his formal education. He certainly learned a lot from his mother, who supplemented the family income not only by dressmaking, but by becoming an accomplished taxidermist. She taught Olly the skills required to preserve different animals, and, at the Australian Juvenile Industrial Exhibition of May 1891, he won a prize in the “Collection of natural and artificial productions in cabinets, cases, frames and albums” section for his case of stuffed birds.

Olly was 23 years-old when his parents finally separated; his youngest sister was just 8 years-old. Varying accounts say that their father either deserted the family or that he and Eady simply agreed to part ways. Whilst William paid a significant maintenance for a number of years, Eady continued to develop ways to increase her income. Along with her dressmaking and millinery, Eady took in foster-children – four girls and two boys; she came up with a rather ingenious sustaining and incredibly thrifty “porridge” out of potatoes. She discovered that by grinding up the stumps of native grass trees (“black boys” or “kangaroo tails”) she could concoct a handy firelighter, which the children sold all around the area.
Living in an abusive relationship is exhausting, and Eady appears to have blossomed both out of necessity and due to her inherent natural talents once she was a sole parent. Indeed, her large brood considered her ‘one in a million.’

She had reason to celebrate when, on 13 March 1901, Olly married Isabella Robertson, daughter of Mr L. Struan Robertson, of Glenburnie Park Estate near Kilmore.

The ceremony was conducted in the drawing room of Glenburnie by Reverend J. Steele, and was attended by a large number of guests from across the district. Isabella looked radiant in a trained gown of white lisse with touches of silk embroidery, lace, chiffon, and traditional orange blossom.

Amongst the many usual practical gifts – linen, butter dishes, clocks, cruet-stands, tea-sets, and vases – was a plethora of serviette rings. And a case of stuffed birds from the groom’s mother!

Isabella gave her new husband a gold pin, and Olly reciprocated with a gift of a gold brooch.

Before the end of the year, Olly and Isabella welcomed their first child, Florence, who was born at Brunswick.

Their family grew steadily with the births of Lewis William born 1903 at Prahran, Annie Leveniah in 1905, Albert Oscar at Rockbank on 20 December 1907, and finally, Isabella Frances, who was born in 1911.

Meanwhile, in Ballarat Olly’s mother was expanding her experiments into home-made dyes. Descriptions of the vividness and sheen in the colours that she extracted from Australian native plants and vegetable matter, made people realise that his vital, energetic little woman was onto something incredibly special. It was said that her colours were ‘like flowers in a garden.’ Her work was to lead to important changes in the dye industry.

The outbreak of war saw two of Eady’s sons enlist for active service – Olly’s younger brother, Horatio, was the first to join up at Ballarat on 29 October 1914. The effects he suffered at Gallipoli saw him return home in mid-1916.

Olly enlisted in Melbourne on 14 February 1916. After years of him being almost invisible in any social capacity, off the chart so-to-say, except for the birth of his children, this was a chance to really get to know Olly Hart.

He, Isabella and their children were living at 188 Cambridge Street in Collingwood. He’d been earning his living as a labourer, so the prospective “six-bob-a-day” was obviously a lucrative prospect.

When he attended the compulsory medical examination, Olly reduced his age by a year to place him under the early requirement of 38, and claimed to be 37 years and 9 months. The medical officer gave a full description of the man who stood in front of him, but record-keepers later partly obscured the page, which meant there was no view of his height or weight, just a chest measurement of 34 to 36-inches. They were certainly not noted for being a tall family – his mother was often referred to as ‘tiny’, and his brother, Horatio, was only 5-feet 3½-inches tall. His colouring at least was recorded – he had a medium complexion, grey eyes and black hair, and he was a member of the Church of England.

When he was asked the standard attesting questions, Olly replied “no” to whether he had ever been convicted by a Civil Power, if he had any previous military service (militia, reserves, terrritorials) or if he had been rejected previously. On completing the paperwork, he allotted three-fifths of his pay to Isabella and the children.

After a period of time in the Royal Park Camp, Olly finally embarked for England on 28 July. This particular batch of recruits – the 14th reinforcements to the 22nd Infantry Battalion - sailed onboard the troopship Themistocles. The voyage was comparatively quick for this period, and after just over six weeks, Olly disembarked at Plymouth on 11 September.

Intriguingly, it wasn’t long before he found himself the subject of a Court Martial, which was held on 19 October. Unfortunately, the file is held separately at the National Archives, so it is not known what he was “crimed” for, but it appears that he was found not guilty.

Just a month later Olly was on his way to France; he joined the 22nd Battalion in billets at Flesselles on 4 December. He was posted to B Company and became a member of VI Platoon.

Now, I have often written about the conditions experienced by our troops during the winter of 1916-17 – it always bears repeating, however, if only to allow us to imagine what it was like standing for days on end in water and mud, with temperatures hovering around 2-degrees Celsius. Everything was frozen – including the men – as they suffered through the coldest European winter on record. Few men survived unscathed, and Olly quickly developed a bad case of trench feet – a painful condition caused by constant emersion in water, which was exacerbated by the extreme cold that reduced circulation. He was sent to hospital on 22 January 1917 and passed through the various stages of treatment before he was finally admitted to the 9th General Hospital in Rouen on 19 February.

Olly was out of action for nearly three months before he rejoined his unit at Favreuil, just outside of Bapaume, on 20 April 1917.

'..I had just got back from my base at Étaples when I heard that I was just in time for a big stunt. They were out for practice then. We practice everything, and know pretty well everything about the German trenches before we go to take them.

We had to walk about four miles to get set, and be ready by 3.40am. It was very moonlight, and I think Fritz knew we were coming, because he sent up his flares and then opened up a barrage. That was at 3.30am, so we had to wait till our barrage opened up at 3.40am. He knocked over a lot of us before we got a start; but right to the quarter of a second all our guns spoke, and put up a wonderful barrage about 40 yards in front of us. It was a very pretty sight, but no good to be right amongst.

We waited a minute or two and then the barrage shifted up 60 yards or so, and we had to go up with it. I was swearing all the way because I had a roll of matting to put over the wire in case it was not cut, and it used to come unrolled, and with it and my pack, rifle, &c, I had a devil of a time. My mate, who was to help me with the matting, got lost, and I had to do the lot.

Finally, our guns opened up on the wire and cut it to pieces, and then shifted on to the first line of the Hindenburg trenches. I threw away the matting, which was not needed, and hopped into the trench. Our chaps were going down all round me, but I never got a scratch. We didn't see many Fritzes for a while. They were all dead; but about a quarter of an hour later they started bombing us, and we had great fun driving them out. A lot of them gave themselves up. They come up with their hands over their heads, calling 'Mercy, kamerad.' Some of them get frightened very quickly. You take no notice of them; they wouldn't harm a flea. In fact, they will bandage you up and sit very tight till they get a show to move off to our headquarters.

I put in about six hours bombing them and getting rid of some, and at length one of them caught me in the arm with a bomb, one piece just above the elbow and a couple below. Then the trouble was to get back. I thought the best plan was to chance the snipers and get out. I had to run from shell hole to shell hole, about 10 yards at a time, with bullets whistling all round. It took me three hours to reach the dressing station, and you were not safe then, as Fritz was sending a lot of stuff over there.

Anyhow I got out safe and sound, and caught the train next morning for Rouen, and later reached Southampton…'

The “stunt” Olly described was the Second Battle of Bullecourt, which began on 3 May 1917. It is interesting how he brushed off the fact that he had been wounded in action that day, and that he was not actually as ‘sound’ as he would have his sister, Eady Emily Harris, believe. He had suffered a severe shrapnel wound to his left arm, that eventually earned him a “Blighty” trip to England – he was evacuated from Boulogne on the hospital ship Essequibo on 12 May and admitted to the 1st Southern General Hospital in Birmingham two days later.

Several months of convalescence and time spent in various AIF camps, meant that Olly didn’t return to France until the end of 1917. He arrived at the 2nd Australian Intermediate Base Depot at Le Havre on 20 December, where he spent Christmas, and rejoined the 22nd Battalion on Boxing Day in the small Belgian community of Kortepyp.

Just two months later, on 28 February 1918, Olly was forced to report sick to hospital once again. This time it was the old arm wound that was causing him trouble. He was admitted to the New Zealand Stationary Hospital, where he remained for three weeks. Reading between the lines – which sometimes you are required to do in order to answer possible and probable causes or results – it seems likely that the ‘severe wound’ to Olly’s arm involved a fracture. So, although it was outwardly healed and he was passed fit, the cold winter would have caused the arm to become very painful. This seems to be the only answer given that, on the whole, the doctors were loathe to pass a soldier fit for duty if there was any likelihood of a wound re-opening.

The 22nd Battalion were in the frontline near La Bassée when Olly returned on 24 March 1918. The unit then took part in turning the tide of the German Spring Offensive and the remarkably successful Battle of Hamel on 4 July.

Then, on 18 August, the troops were pushing forward to attack Herleville Wood. Several members of B Company, including Olly Hart, got well forward into German positions, but could not get back when their section of the line was held up. Olly was captured and taken prisoner with a number of his comrades.

Back in Ballarat, Eady Hart received word that her eldest son was missing. Up to this point, the indomitable, creative little woman had poured her energies not only into developing her dyes, but also working for the war effort. Her vision of creating work for returning soldiers was stymied by a struggle with patenting her extraordinary process. Hearing that her son was missing in action must have been almost unbearable. Fortunately, Olly was soon able to get word through to his wife via a postcard, dated 10 September. “Captured 18/8/18 - I was wounded - Please inform my wife.” The news would have been quickly relayed to his anxious mother.

After being treated, Olly was held at the Hameln [Hamelin] Reserve Lazarette Kablitz, at Braunschweig [Brunswick]. Lance-Corporal Les Vanselow made a special mention that Olly had been ‘kindly treated at that place…[his] friends may like to know this…’

Vanselow also provided information as to Olly’s physical well-being. ‘…[He] had been wounded in the shoulder, but could move his arm slightly when I left. He had been wounded in the leg, but that was getting better. I think he will soon be discharged…’

Olly was later able to provide a more detailed account of what occurred on 18 August…

'…We advanced against the enemy positions, 400 yards ahead, at about 4:30 on the morning of 18/8/1918. We reached the enemy lines and there I was wounded in the right shoulder and left leg and was put completely out of action.

I lost consciousness and when I recovered realised that I was being pulled by a German into the enemy trenches. I was taken to Tincourt where my wounds were dressed and I was subjected to an operation, being given an anaesthetic. I was at Tincourt for ten days and was then sent to Brunswick. I was in hospital here until October 18, 1918. My next transfer was to the hospital at Hameln, where I remained till 29/12/18, the date of my final release. I was sent into Holland and eventually crossed from Rotterdam to Hull by the SS Huntsden, arriving 12/1/19. I never received any Red Cross parcels while a prisoner. Lieutenant Westaway, my Coy Commander, was killed during the engagement; and Lieutenant Armstrong and another Officer became prisoners…’

After arriving in England on 12 January 1919, Olly was sent to Ripon in Yorkshire. As soon as he was able to put pen to paper without German censorship, he wrote home to his mother.

'…It was a great relief to be free once more, after being locked up behind barbed wire.
I had to attend another hospital to see a specialist there about my leg and arm. The first few times I was wheeled in a Bath chair, but later I walked, aided by a stick.

The people used to look at me and say I was 'krank' (bad). The 'Jerry' in the hospital used to say to me, 'Germany no food?' - and he was right, for they had none at all. I fell away to under 9 stone while there. The doctor was a little brick. He could dress your wounds and one would never feel it. He was as gentle as a child - a most decent sort - altogether too good to be a German. But, oh! the tucker! About one ounce of bread, with nothing on it, in the morning for breakfast, with a cup of black, unsweetened, unmilked 'coffee;' at 9am half a slice of bread; for dinner cabbage - with a little horseflesh; for tea a slice of bread with some of the 'soup' left over from dinner. My! it was rough!

When my wounds healed up they sent me to Ramelor Camp, where I got some Red Cross parcels. They were just 'all-right.' I never ate so much in all my life, and never had I felt so hungry. No one but he who has been a prisoner in Hunland knows what good the Red Cross has done; I cannot speak too highly of it…'

On 23 March 1919, Olly boarded the transport Czar to begin the journey to Australia. After a stopover in Egypt, he was transferred to the Hospital Ship Dongala at Alexandria to complete the voyage. He landed in Melbourne on 16 May.

Olly required ongoing care for the wounds he received at Herleville Wood, and was finally discharged as medically unfit on 30 May 1921, but was able to return to working as a labourer.

In Ballarat, his mother was about to embark on what initially appeared to be an exciting chapter in her life as an inventor. She had finally succeeded in perfecting and patenting her Hart’s Royal Dyes, and, after being approached by a group of businessmen she was convinced to float a company known as Hart’s Australian Dyes. With local support, Eady then mortgaged her house in Kline Street, and built a large factory in Canadian Gully. She went on to achieve technical success and even won awards, including a gold medal, at the London British Empire Exhibition of 1924. The company, however, failed and Eady was ruined. She died penniless on 28 February 1931, survived by her eight children, and six foster-children.

Immediately following her death, it was announced that she had bequeathed the certificates and medals to the Ballarat Fine Art Gallery. It was also mentioned that, as a young woman, she had known a lay preacher by the name of Andrew Scott – the infamous bushranger, Captain Moonlight. Somehow, this transitory meeting was of more importance to the newspapers than her own amazing achievements

For Olly, the death of his mother followed closely the death of his youngest daughter, Isabella Frances, who had died at Kew on 30 June 1928. His own health had never fully recovered from his experiences during the war. In order to gain some relief, it seems that Olly spent much of his time living at Rye working as a fisherman.

The Second World War had been raging for nearly four years when Olly died suddenly on 18 June 1943. It was accepted by the army that he had died from war related causes. He was survived by his wife Isabella, their children, Florence, William, Ann and Albert, his seven grandchildren – two of whom were serving in the 2nd AIF), and four great-grandchildren. Oscar Sommerville Hart was just 67 years old.