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Australia

From Ballarat & District in the Great War

The spirit of adventure was in Reuben Mitchell’s blood. There can be little doubt that war opened up the world for all true adventurers and this remarkable young man from Ballarat was to perform on the world stage in ways few could have imagined.

The discovery of gold was to transform Victoria in the 1850’s, and men came from all over the world hoping to strike it rich. Richard Septimus Mitchell was prime for adventure: he left his young wife and infant sons behind in England and sailed for Australia, arriving in the colony in 1852. He travelled to Ballarat in the back of a two-horse dray driven by James Oddie, the man who would later be seen as one of the founding fathers of the city.

Richard Mitchell had been a coal miner in County Durham, skills that transferred well to his work on the goldfields. Oddie dropped him at Canadian Hill, where large gold finds were being made. From the outset, Mitchell prospered. He was able to quickly amass a significant fortune, with profits coming from ‘a number of mining ventures.’ Showing considerable shrewdness, Mitchell invested in several important properties. Eventually, he was able to send for his family, who joined him in 1862.

The elder of Richard Mitchell’s sons, Thomas, was to benefit considerably from his father’s new-found fortune. After completing his education at Grenville College, he joined his father in managing the property portfolio.

In May 1881, Thomas married Ballarat-born Alice Holman, the 18-year-old daughter of Cornish immigrants. Reuben Joseph Edwin Mitchell, who was born at Ballarat on 28 July 1894, was the couple’s sixth child. The early deaths of two infants, resulted in Reuben being the youngest of four. This remained the case for some thirteen years, when Alice belatedly gave birth to a seventh and final child, Phyllis Margaret, in 1907.

By the time of Reuben’s birth, the Mitchell family had risen to a position of prominence within the community. Richard Mitchell was by then the owner of the Mitchell’s Building that housed Snow’s Department Store (the current Myer building). In 1868, he had also purchased the Theatre Royal for the princely sum of £5,500. At that time, it was the largest theatre in inland Australia (situated in the block above the Town Hall covering the present shop fronts from Owen Williams to the Arcade). However, despite sell-out performances of Richard III and Othello in 1869, there was an on-going campaign to ‘stigmatise’ the theatre by conservative elements of the community, who painted this magnificent attraction as the veritable den of iniquity. This eventually caused the demise of what was then one of the city’s most iconic buildings. Richard Mitchell then transformed the theatre into a hub of small businesses – notably hairdressers, booksellers and clothing establishments. However, a fire in December 1899, all but destroyed the structure of the old theatre and also caused major damage to the adjoining businesses, including Snow’s.

For young Reuben, this particular drama must have caused a considerable stir in his boyhood imagination – I, for one, remember vividly when the Sunicrust Bakery (which was then in Eureka Street next to the State School) burned down, so I have no doubt Reuben would have had even more intense memories given the significance to his family.

As a boy, Reuben began his education at the Macarthur Street State School, which was an easy walk from the family home, “Blythwood,” in Creswick Road. (For those with an eye to details, Richard Mitchell’s hometown was Blyth on the Northumberland coast). During those early years he was accompanied to school by his older siblings, Dora, Dick and Peggie.
The death of Richard Mitchell on 21 March 1906, brought to a close the life of one of Ballarat’s early pioneers. He had been in poor health for a number of years and eventually died from ‘a general break up of the system.’ His legacy was considerable – in monetary terms alone, his estate was worth over £53,000. He had also established a reputation for being an authority on mining ventilation and had found great delight in cultivating ‘the finest and most extensive collection of medicinal plants in Australia.’ For his young grandson, this was a significant loss. Reuben was just short of his 12th birthday; but plans were already being contemplated for the next stage of his life.

In order to extend Reuben’s education, he had been moved from Macarthur Street to the Burnbank School, a private institution run by sisters, Louisa and Charlotte Gilbert. A range of subjects were offered, including mapping, history, science, algebra, and French. Music was also an important component of the school and the annual prize night, featuring the students, was a popular event. In December 1906, Reuben performed a cantata with Horace Taylor, Violet McDonald and Vere Clemson, which was ‘beautifully rendered’ and each of the students was presented with a silver mounted pencil.

Reuben was then enrolled at Vedette College, a private school that had been established by E. P. Date in Lydiard Street. By the time Reuben began his classes, Vedette was under the headship of J. E. Tracey Date (son of the original owner) and had moved to Seymour Crescent.

As his primary influence, Reuben’s father had offered great stability. Although he did not ‘take part in public life,’ preferring to devote himself to gardening, angling and shooting, he continued to manage his late father’s estate. He was also a life governor of the Ballarat Orphanage and the Ballarat Hospital.

But for Reuben, his adventurous spirit drew him to a career that would take him around the world. At the age of 15 he joined the Royal Navy as a part of the East Indies Squadron serving predominantly in the China Sea. His first ship was HMS Psyche, where he began as a “Boy 2nd Class” earning the munificent sum of 10-shillings a week.

In 1911, he was transferred to HMS Challenger. During December that year, the Challenger took part in a gun-laying test at Norfolk Bay off Hobart. The crew set a world record for 12-pounder (6-inch) guns, firing six rounds in 25-seconds and scoring six hits.

After completing his cadetship, Reuben joined the Gosport Naval College in England, to concentrate on submarine work and he performed remarkably well. He passed the gunnery torpedo course, with three certificates endorsed “very good,” and obtained 298 marks out of a possible 300.

The rapid build-up of the German Navy and the anticipation of war were factors that ultimately led to the formation of the Royal Australian Navy in 1911. Reuben transferred to the RAN and joined the London Depot as an able-seaman on 1 January 1913. His official number was recorded as 7476. He had been assessed the previous month and was described as being of very good character and superior ability – a standard he maintained for his entire naval career. Reuben by that time had matured to 5-foot 8¾-inches in height; but he was still just a fresh-faced teenager, his dark brown hair neatly cropped into the regulation short back and sides. A portrait taken at the time he was onboard the Challenger vaguely hints at a pair of rather bright blue eyes.

On 28 February 1914, Reuben was transferred to the submarines branch after the commissioning of two E-Class submarines, the AE1 and AE2, at Portsmouth. He joined the crew of the AE2 under the command of the enigmatic Lieutenant-Commander Dacre Stoker. Coincidentally, onboard the AE1 was another Ballarat man, Jack Messenger. The two vessels sailed for Australia on 2 March.

Following the outbreak of war, the two submarines were ordered north to join the Australian Naval and Military Expeditionary Force (ANMEF) tasked with taking control of the German colonies in New Guinea. During operations in St George’s Sound on 14 September, the AE1 disappeared with all hands. It was a salutary reminder of the very real dangers faced by submariners. This was a catastrophic loss for the RAN and the families of the 35 men onboard; and consequently, Jack Messenger also became Ballarat’s first casualty of the Great War.

Following operations off Fiji, countering the threat posed by the German cruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, the AE2 returned to Sydney. Their next voyage was as part of the convoy that formed the Second Contingent, which left King George’s Sound on 31 December bound for Egypt.

'…We are in such an out of the way place, that it is only occasionally a mail is taken to port from the fleet.
We received orders to proceed here from Port Said, and I think that something is going to happen here in the course of a few days. You will probably read of it in the papers long before this letter reaches you.

You will remember a great feat being accomplished by a British submarine some months ago; that is the nearest I can venture to set you know of our whereabouts.

We patrol one day in every three, taking turns with a French and a British submarine. When patrolling we are quite close to the enemy's forts, and could easily be seen from them, but they do not attempt to fire on us.

It was bitterly cold for the first couple of weeks we were up here, but with the aid of comforters, woollen gloves, mittens, and Balaclava caps supplied by generous people in England, to whom we are very grateful, we managed to keep our watch's alright.
The weather is getting quite mild now, though all the hills round about are losing their snow caps, which a week ago looked as though they would never be shifted.

When things are settled a little here I think we will go to the North Sea, that is, of course, if we survive it all, of which I have little doubt. The greatest risk we run are mines, which have made the enemy's ports impregnable, and it would be suicide to attempt to get into them, though at times I wish the skipper would try and wriggle into a harbour and take pot luck of bumping one, or otherwise…'

When Reuben wrote this letter to his family in Ballarat the AE2 was patrolling in the Mediterranean Sea and the 'great feat' he referred to was that of British submarine B11, which chanced the mines in the Dardanelles Straights and sank the Turkish battleship Messudieh.

Although the AE2 was ultimately charged with an attempt to force a passage through the Dardanelles Straits into the Sea of Marmara on 25 April 1915, Reuben Mitchell was not onboard. As chance would have it, illness resulted in him being dropped at Malta.

Information provided by Reuben indicated that he still played his part in the Landing at Gallipoli, running cutters to the beach with troops. ‘…All the boats were subjected to fierce gunfire from the Turks, and the casualties among the boat crews, as well as the soldiers, were very heavy…’

Meanwhile, the AE2 had successfully become the first Allied ship to breach the Dardanelle Straits and for several days played havoc amongst the enemy shipping. However, a catastrophic loss of trim (the system that enables the submarine to dive and resurface) forced the crew to scuttle the ship off the Turkish coast on 30 April. All onboard were immediately taken prisoner. For the Mitchell family, there was real concern that Reuben had also been captured. Unconfirmed reports of the AE2’s fate reached Ballarat on 12 May. Coincidentally, a letter from Reuben arrived the following day in which he indicated the submarine’s mission. Somewhat fatalistically, he concluded that ‘they all recognised the difficulty of the problem that confronted them, but they cheerfully accepted the task, and were looking forward with interest to their co-operation with the Allied fleet. All the Australians on the submarine hoped, he said, was that if the worst came to the worst, they would be shot rather than fall into the hands of the Turks.’

These words must have been extraordinarily difficult for his parents to read.

Eventually, Reuben was able to allay their fears via a very welcome letter.

'…I left the submarine [AE2] ten days before she left Malta, and came up here in a merchant ship, only to hear of her fate when I arrived. It was the first trip I have missed in her since she was commissioned, so I suppose I may consider myself lucky. I would have told you all about it in my last letter, but it had not been announced officially. I don't know what will be done with the remainder of us now. There are about half a dozen of us here…'

A further letter dated 25 April, and written at Malta, reached Ballarat at the end of June.
‘…The weather is getting lovely here now, and very much more favourable for our little game. I suppose you have heard the loss of our sister ship, which had only just arrived here. God help those who have been captured. Personally, I should prefer to go 'sky high.' Fancy over 3000 firemen at the Ballarat 'demo.' Half of them ought to be at the front. There are certainly a lot here already, but lots more are required, and I might state there is any amount of Turks waiting for the Wallabies up yonder, and there will be wholesale slaughter up there when they get at it. And what will it be if there are not enough of our people there? The 'stay-at-homes' will be alright, won't they? I don't know what to think of the war. Sometimes I think it will be over shortly, and again I think it will last a long time. Don't care personally, but it is a monotonous job at times. It won't be long before things are completed here in our favour, and I'm quite confident we shall never even appear to be on the losing side. Anyhow, when the war is over, I don't want to go back to England again for new boats, let us have the old 'bus' out again straight away and get settled out there again. . . . . . . . . It is terrible to hear of such prices for chaff and grain in Victoria, but when we get the wheat through here prices might go down a bit. It is very important that we get the ships of grain through from the Black Sea."

With the two submarines commissioned in the Royal Australian Navy now lost, Reuben was transferred for duty on British submarines. His first appointment was onboard the submarine depot ship HMS Adamant. He then spent some time on a British munition ship, travelling between the English Channel and the Dardanelles. For a period of time, he was ‘lent’
to the Italian navy, where he served onboard a battleship.

Given the lack of details included in naval service records, we are fortunate that Reuben provided his own remarkable insight into life onboard a submarine during wartime. By May 1916, he was serving onboard a British sub ‘of the newest type.’ They were often the target of enemy aircraft, and twice narrowly missed being bombed, ‘the bombs failing to take effect.’

'…In a little duel with a submarine we decided that the result was a draw. We launched a few hundred pounds of guncotton at them, and they sent a couple of 'tin-fish' back; but we did not get our mark, and they didn't get theirs. We can therefore cry quits.

I don't know if we shall go ______ when we get back. I don't want to, for all day dives are killing.
I have gone without seeing the light of day for a month at a stretch, coming up to the surface after dark right alongside the enemy's chief naval port, and diving again before daylight.

Below we jog along slowly, all the time waiting for something to come out, and occasionally we hear a 'clank, clank' on the side of the boat as a trawler goes right over us. It is just as well they go right over, as they sweep with explosive sweeps for us. If they hook us, they press the key and the figure works. Simple, isn't it? …'
As Reuben alluded, conditions onboard the submarines were particularly difficult. Air was often foul and during long missions water could run short – they also lived with constant anxiety of being detected by the enemy, struck by depth charges, hitting mines or getting caught up in anti-submarine nets. It was not a task for the faint-hearted.

After various postings, Reuben was assigned to the British submarine E14 operating out of the base at Corfu. In January 1918, they were transferred to operations in the Dardanelles hunting for the German battlecruisers SMS Goeben and Breslau (by then commissioned in the Ottoman Navy and renamed Yavuz Sultan Selim and Midilli). The Goeben had been damaged by mines in an earlier engagement and, on 28 January, the E14 was sent to destroy her. However, the E14 failed to find the target, which had been refloated and moved. In the act of firing at a merchant ship, the submarine was badly damaged by the premature explosion of one of the torpedoes. Reuben believed that the damage had in fact been caused by a depth charge from a Turkish gunboat as they were returning through the Narrows. After sinking to a depth of 125-feet, they continued to make their way outwards.

Reuben’s later account makes for gruelling reading,
‘…HM Submarine E14, Lieutenant Commander [Geoffrey Saxton] White, RN, left a naval base on the evening of 27 January with an escort as far as the entrance to the Dardanelles. At 3 am 28 January, we forced our way through the first line of nets without resistance. All went well until about 6 am, when we ran aground and were caught in the nets, which we could not clear, so we surfaced, and the Captain went out and cleared the obstacle. We believed it to be the nets, but the Captain did not say. Before going out, the Captain left orders for the Lieutenant to dive at once should he whistle or sing out, and to ‘look after himself as there were 31 men inside; never to mind him.’ While the Captain was on the surface, he found the gates of the Narrows, and that we were at Chanak. He did not hear a shout or anything and came inside the boat and went astern into deep water, and got away without being seen. These were the last nets we felt.

Now the search for the Goeben started and I believe we went on for two miles past Nagara Point and found the Goeben had gone. We found out during our capture that she was taken away six hours before, this we got from a Turkish naval man, who helped get her off. When the Captain found that she had gone, he went back for home, but at Chanak, there was a large German liner which we believed had ammunition for the Goeben.

We fired one torpedo at her and a heavy explosion took place. Our boat came to the surface and a heavy fire came from all the forts. Many pieces of shrapnel hit the boat, then a large shell hit the conning tower and did a bit of damage. The captain was pleased at the moment with the behaviour of the crew, not a man moving from his station. Several shells were then heard to pass overhead, but luckily they did not drop a depth charge.

After a time, the boat got out of control, and as we had only three bottles of air left, the Captain thought it would be best to surface. At once we could hear heavy fire and we could hear pieces hit the hull of our boat. As a result of a hit in the centre of the boat, it could not dive again. We ran the gauntlet for half an hour under murderous fire from all round, only a few hitting the hull of the boat. Our wireless operator was badly wounded in the mouth and the left hand, and fell unconscious. The Captain, seeing it was hopeless ran the boat towards shore. His last words were, ‘We are in the hands of God, my men. Do your best to get ashore’.

A few seconds later, I saw his body mangled by shellfire, roll into the water and was taken under. The same shell killed the Navigator, and left me by myself, and other shells killed nearly all the hands.

Had the Turks stopped firing as soon as they saw us sinking, with a few wounded on deck, many more might have been saved. It must have been half an hour before they put out for us. Amid the cries of the wounded men in the water, several voices were heard saying ‘Goodbye, goodbye all’. Their hands went up and they disappeared for the last time.

It was hell; when I look back at that fatal half hour, it haunts me. As no boat seemed to be coming out to pick us up, we made for Kum Kale, and were picked up only a few yards from the shore. Soon after the Turks got hold of us, all our clothing was taken from us, and we had to walk through Kum Kale naked. It broke our hearts when we saw only nine had been saved out of 32 officers and men. The three wounded were in a very bad state and unconscious when I saw them last.

On arrival at a small hut, a short pair of trousers, all patchwork, was given to us to put on, which we found to be full of lice. No underclothing was given to us. A small fire was made in a room, and we were very glad to get it as we were very cold; and shortly a filthy-looking Turk brought us some hot tea without milk or sugar. That is all he gave us to bring us round again.
In the evening, we were sent to Chanak and handed over the Germans, and here we remained for two days. Here we were sent to a small room for the night, feeling very tired and hungry, as the crew had nothing while submerged in the Dardanelles and it was midnight when a Turk came with some black barley and maize bread and a dish of beans boiled in olive oil which we could not manage to eat. This was our daily meal; two meals a day and one maize loaf and a bucket of water. During our time at Chanak many visits were paid by newspaper reporters and Germans of high rank.

Sleep was out of the question that night. Many questions were asked of us concerning England. They were under the impression that England was in a very bad state, as the submarine menace was hitting us hard. On the following day, we were sent to Constantinople, and when we arrived were taken on board a German liner, used as German Headquarters. Here we went before a court of German and Turkish officers, one at a time, and many jokes were passed.
At 5.30, we were taken over to the Turks and were taken through Istanbul thinking we were going to a British camp, but found ourselves behind prison bars, for what reason I do not know. We were housed in filthy compartments, among some of the biggest criminal prisoners in Turkey, sitting in a room with huge chains and handcuffs on.

The place was full of lice and bugs. We remained there for two days and then went to another room with 150 of the same kind of criminals, some dying of cholera and dysentery. When we arrived we asked for bread which was not brought to us until 36 hours after. A man named Firuze Hanzandian, an Armenian subject, bought four loaves of bread with one Turkish pound and then gave them to us. He got a flogging for it and was not allowed to talk to us. He said, ‘I am not a rich man, but I am a man.’

Time went on and we were getting very bad; no clothing to cover us up at night, and nothing to lie on but the cold bare floor. We complained of the filthy rooms in which we had to eat and sleep, suffering the same punishment as the criminal offenders who were guilty. After this, another room was allotted to us, which was quite as bad, the smell and stench being abominable. Owing to this, fever and dysentery broke out, which eventually became so bad that two men lay weak on the floor. A doctor was asked for; he came 24 hours after, and the two men were sent to hospital.

During our time in prison, no bedding or any covering was given to us. Drinking water had to be obtained from the urinals.

We eventually saw two British officers and told them of the conditions we were living under as prisoners of war. Pressure having been brought to bear, we were sent to British camp at Samatyra and that consisted of a school room with 150 English (servicemen), some with arms and legs off, waiting to be exchanged. We had no fires unless we could buy our own fuel; no books or anything to read, and hardly any food, only two meals a day and one loaf of bread. I remained in the camp two days and was sent to hospital with typhus fever and dysentery. Weak as I was, I had five miles to walk, arriving almost dead and hungry. A Turk was turned out of one bed and I was told to get in it. I refused and was handled roughly, and given another bed, which was just as bad. The bed and clothing was covered in lice and not many hours after I was covered with vermin.

The following morning I was sent to the typhus ward, and there I found one of my comrades. I was put in the next bed but one, after turning a Turk out, and getting into his clothing. I was in this ward for about two weeks, and left it like a bag of bones and my body almost black with lice. On three occasions the Dutch Embassy gave two ½ lb tins of milk and a third one to go between three Englishmen. My meals were mostly baked wheat or spinach, and that was what I pulled around on.

At times the Embassy used to bring us a little food, about three parcels for all the English, and you got a little tea, sugar, butter, jam, just enough for one piece of bread. What food you received from the hospital was no good. At last we asked to be discharged and weak as we were, we were sent to a working camp…’
[Source: Occasional Paper 55: Reuben Mitchell DSM, RAN – Survivor of HMS E14 - Naval Historical Society of Australia (navyhistory.org.au) ]

There was also the considerable trauma experienced by Reuben’s family. Two weeks after the E14 was lost, Thomas and Alice Mitchell received the following communication.

'…I regret to have, by direction of the Naval Board, to inform you that your son, Able-Seaman Reuben Mitchell, was aboard submarine E14 at the time of her loss a few days ago at the Dardanelles. Seven men are reported to have been saved, and to be prisoners of war, but the names have not yet reached us. Immediately they are known I will communicate with you.

It is with much regret that I have to communicate this information, but do so in the hope that possibly your son is one of the seven prisoners. Every possible step will be taken to obtain news as soon as possible…'
Fortunately, news that Reuben was amongst the survivors came through just a day later. The message was brief, but the relief was immediate. ‘…Reuben Mitchell was saved, and is now a prisoner of war at Constantinople and is well…’

When Reuben was able to write to his parents, it was necessary for him to conceal the reality he was experiencing.

‘...No doubt you have already been informed that I am a prisoner of war in Turkey. So far we have been treated splendidly, and I am surprised at the kindness shown to us. I am in the very best of health and spirits, and only sorry that there were not more survivors from the old boat.

We expect to settle in camp somewhere tomorrow, so may see Kinder and Wheat [crewmates on submarine AE2].

I lost all my belongings, but that is nothing.
I am writing again soon…'

This small contact from the young man himself brought a degree of relief to his family for erroneous information abounded during the war. Families were often cast into mourning only to learn that the information was incorrect; or others wavered in agonising limbo until the passage of time without contact eroded all hope.

As can be seen by the account written by Reuben, conditions and treatment under his Turkish captors were harsh. Reuben struggled with the privations of captivity, which were often psychologically damaging. Fred and Elizabeth Brenchley, in their excellent account of the AE2, Stoker’s Submarine, recounted an incident that occurred whilst Reuben was being held in solitary confinement at Samatyra.

‘…The battered submariner one day heard a familiar tune being whistled – Waltzing Matilda – followed by a broad Australian accent. Calling out he discovered it was…Captain Thomas H. Piper. This small incident proved such a psychological boost to Mitchell that he never forgot it…’

Reuben sent a photograph of himself with the four other survivors to his mother (she received it in Nov 1918) – a hand-painted sign sits in front of the men, ‘Survivors of Submarine E14 sunk Dardanelles Jan 28th 1918 Prisoners of War Eski-Hissar Turkey.’ Reuben was the only one sporting a moustache. Sadly, his father, Thomas, had died on 15 August after a long illness and he was never to see his brave young son again.

During his time as a POW, Reuben caught up with two of his friends from the AE2, Alex Nichols and John Wheat. The trio were released a week after the signing of the Armistice and travelled to Taranto in Italy before continuing overland to Paris, ‘…where the returning party was given a great reception…’ Reuben then spent time recuperating in London, where he received the news that he was to be decorated with the Distinguished Service Medal. Many believed that his bravery in the face of great personal danger deserved the highest honour of the Victoria Cross: ‘Although the enemy had the exact range and he was clearly visible he stuck to his post, and took charge of the boat until she sank. When in the water, he then rescued the wireless operator who was unconscious from head wounds.’

Unfortunately, despite an account from Petty Officer Robert Perkins, there was no-one senior enough to make the necessary recommendation. Strangely, this did not prevent the awarding of a posthumous VC to the submarine’s captain.

On Friday 28 February 1919, a very large crowd gathered at the Ballarat Railway Station to greet sixteen returned men that included Reuben Mitchell – there was ‘tremendous cheering’ as the train pulled into the platform and again as the men stepped down from the train. A number of Ballarat’s leading citizens were there with their cars to drive the men to their homes, but the crowd was so dense they had difficulty moving off. It was a scene to be played out around Australia.

It was quickly realised that Reuben had experienced an extraordinary war and a reporter from The Star newspaper was despatched to conduct an interview. Reuben then provided the first account of his experience onboard the E14. He was then on leave until May, when he had the option of a discharge, which he indicated that he intended to take ‘as he has had enough of the sea for a time.’

In February, Reuben received word that he was to be invested with the Italian Order of Merit for his services in the Italian war zone. He had been presented with his DSM privately by Rear Admiral Sir Percy Grant after declining a public investiture by the Governor-General.

‘…Rear Admiral Grant, after pinning the medal to his tunic, patted him on the back, saying, “Brave lads like to get their rewards privately”…’

Later in the year, Reuben married Ballarat girl, Hazel Ernestine Wills. He contacted Thomas Piper, his whistling saviour from the POW camps, and asked him to be his best man.

After years of thrilling adventures, Reuben Mitchell chose a very quiet alternative to the navy, but still maintained his contact with the sea. It was announced in February 1920 that he had been appointed as the assistant lighthouse keeper at Cape Schanck.

Reuben and Hazel also saw the arrival of their three children in quick succession: June Patricia was born on 2 May 1920 at St Helens in Lewisham Road, Windsor, then Peter Graham on 1 July 1923 and finally, Dennis Jephson, on 6 September 1924, both born in Malvern.
For many years they lived in Gardiner Parade, Glen Iris, and Reuben worked as an electrician. In 1935, Reuben joined the Royal Australian Fleet Reserve, serving at both the Cerberus and Penguin depots over the course of the next five years.

In the early 1940’s, Reuben and Hazel relocated their family to Port Kembla in New South Wales. By 1949 they had returned to Melbourne and a beautiful Edwardian home called Brantwood at 94 Tooronga Road in East Malvern. In those later years, Reuben worked as a salesman. Both he and Hazel were able to enjoy their growing family with the subsequent births of six grandchildren.

After his death at Heidelberg on 16 August 1954, Reuben was cremated at the Springvale Necropolis.
Reuben Mitchell’s feats of bravery and endurance onboard the E14 are still being discussed over one hundred years later. There have even been calls for his Distinguished Service Medal to be reviewed and upgraded to the Victoria Cross. Certainly, his exploits were deserving of the highest honour and ultimately led to him being described as ‘one of the bravest submariners of World War I.’