On the night of 5–6 October 1918, the exhausted yet jubilant men of the 6th Australian Brigade were relieved by the 30th American Division. The following day, after a route march from Nauroy to Roisel, the men took the train to the Somme villages of La Chaussée-Tirancourt and Yzeux to the west of Amiens. The war diary of the 24th Battalion records, ‘Hard as the fight was and despite the sad memory of departed comrades, all ranks brightened at the thought of the Corps rest. At last we were to spell and its prospect of complete peace and quietness in back areas after seven months’ continuous work is very satisfying.’1
A similar response was echoed across the wearied and depleted AIF, as the villages and billeting areas swelled with the retiring battalions. Yet, while rest and the rebuilding of battalions were immediate priorities, tight training regimes continued, as did sports competitions, entertainment and local leave to Amiens and nearby villages. Though victory was close, the war continued.
While the five Australian infantry divisions were pulled out of the line and sent for rest, for other Australian units the war went on. The flying squadrons, No.’s 2, 3 and 4, had taken an active part in the offensive from 8 August, operating as far north as Ypres and down to the Somme in support of Australian divisions. During the attack on the Hindenburg Outpost Line, No. 3 Squadron assisted by dropping smoke bombs to provide a continuous line of smoke before the advancing Australians. The squadron also undertook reconnaissance and observation missions, and the men regularly became involved in air-to-air combat with German aircraft, often while protecting photographic flights. The aerial photographs supplied by this squadron played an important role in Monash’s planning for the Hindenburg Line assault, in particular the work of the pilots Lawrence Wackett and Max Shelley in photographing the Beaurevoir Line in the face of heavy anti-aircraft fire.
As the Germans fell back, they started to move their troops by trains, which became targets. Stations packed with waiting troops and railway yards, particularly around the main railway hubs near Lille, were also attacked. One raid approached Lille along a shallow line of descent, where ‘they were greeted by more bursts of “frightfulness” in the shape of machine gun fire and “flaming onions”2 in large quantities’.3 On 18 October, a raid on Lille found the city deserted, with the residents out on the streets waving to the low-flying airmen.
As the German retreat continued, the Australian No. 4 Squadron swapped their Sopwith Camels for the new Sopwith Snipe, a single-seat biplane fighter that came into service just a few weeks before the end of the war. Although it wasn’t particularly fast, its manoeuvrability better matched the German fighters. No. 4 Squadron was tasked with high-altitude patrols, while No. 2 Squadron remained in the role of bombing and strafing retreating German troops.
While the flying squadrons continued to bomb and harass the retreating Germans, another group of Australians was fighting a different war. The 1st Australian Tunnelling Company, which had fired the mines at Hill 60 and the Caterpillar at the opening of the Battle of Messines on 7 June 1917, now found themselves with dangerous roles as the enemy fell back towards Germany. The tunnellers had been tasked with clearing booby traps and large delayed mines left behind by the Germans. This was hazardous work as these mines had fuses which were liable to go off at any time.
The tunnellers had an equally difficult task assisting the Royal Engineers. On 1 November, Captain Oliver Woodward was ordered to attach his section of tunnellers to the Royal Engineers of the British 1st Division. They were to bridge a lock on the Canal de la Sambre à l’Oise, fifteen miles north-east of Montbrehain, on 4 November. The prefabricated bridge would allow the passage of the heavy twenty-nine-tonne Mark V tanks. The problem was that Woodward and his men would need to construct it under fire.
On 2 November, Woodward reported to the Royal Engineers and visited the Tank Corps depot at St Benin to measure the width of the tanks and their tracks, and to check on their weight. Late the following day, one of his men, Corporal Albert Davey, a thirty-three-year-old miner from Ballarat West, confided that he’d had a premonition this was his last action. He asked Captain Woodward that, if anything should happen to him, his personal belongings be posted to his wife in Victoria.
The original bridge had been sixty yards from the lock, but this had been blown up by the Germans. The enemy, realising that the only possible crossing point was across the lock gates, had fortified the area, placing two machine guns in the pump house. To allow the engineering work to be done, British troops needed to first secure the area by taking the machine guns and eliminating any resistance, something the Americans had failed to do when they’d captured the area.
On 3 November, Woodward and his tunnellers moved forward, the deep and sticky mud making progress slow, and arrived about half a mile from the lock at 8 pm. The horse-drawn wagons carrying the heavy steel girders were shelled, but the teams made it through, dropping off five tonnes of steelwork and girders. Next, Woodward’s men needed to manhandle this material forward to a position 400 yards from the lock and wait there until the lock area was secure.
With the night, a cold drizzle set in. The water trickled down the men’s backs and the blackness of the night added to their tension and discomfort. They laid their fingers upon the freezing steel and, with one efficient lift, had the first 800-pound girder balanced on the shoulders of ten men. Slowly and carefully, the line moved forward. The men felt with their feet for rough or broken ground, knowing that if one of them tripped, he would unbalance the rest and the heavy girder could crush them. Even the burst of a shell fifty yards away, its shards whizzing past them, did not halt their progress. Then a machine gun opened fire, its tracer searching out the silent attackers in the darkness.
Slowly the tunnellers edged forward, their shoulders aching under the weight. A slow step, a rebalance, a glance up at the dim horizon and head down as the cold rain beat into their faces. Finally, the men arrived at a sunken road, their assembly point, where they eased the weight off their shoulders and lay down to await the attack. As sunken roads were likely artillery targets, Woodward moved his men out into a nearby field, where they dug shallow shell scrapes and awaited orders to move. When they returned to the sunken road the following day, it was full of English dead who had been caught in the barrage.
Half a mile away, a German 77-millimetre field gun slowly traversed the open ground on the far side of the canal, near the sunken road the tunnellers had so recently vacated. The Germans slid a shell into the breach and pulled the firing cord. The shell arced across the lake, across the canal and crashed to earth among Woodward’s men. Earth and mud flew around them, and the rank smell of cordite filled the air. A low moan came from the smoking earth as two wounded men rolled around in agony, while nearby lay the prone and lifeless body of Corporal Davey.
Woodward and his men saw out the night. At 4 am, the German guns fell silent and, as the mist dissipated, Woodward did a quick count of his men and started preparations for zero hour. At 5.45 am, the British artillery barrage crashed upon the Germans on the eastern side of the canal. Then the German artillery opened fire, with shells falling mainly on the sunken road, but some fell among the Australian tunnellers as the British troops advanced and the Royal Engineers edged forward. Leading the attack was Scottish Major George Findlay, MC and Bar, of the British 409th Field Company, who charged across the lock gates in his assault on the pump house. Bullets whistled off the concrete and steel as Findlay charged on, flinging bombs and putting the Germans to flight. For his actions, he was awarded the Victoria Cross.
By 7.30 am, it was considered safe enough for the Australians to begin their bridging of the canal. While the machine guns had been silenced, German artillery, well aware that bridging was underway, heavily shelled the area as the Australians struggled forward with the unwieldy girder sections. Woodward, along with his sergeant, raced across the grassy verge, leapt across the canal gates and began dislodging the coping stones to allow a snug fit for the girders. Quickly the first girder was eased across the gap and lowered into place, but a small calibre shell fell among the men, sending three spinning backwards. By the time the second girder was slid into place, the German bombardment had lifted and their shells were falling one hundred yards forward, where the British infantry was moving out into the open fields.
With the two girders across, the men laid the timber planking. In just two and a half hours, the bridge was ready and the first tanks began their crossing of the lock. This work was undertaken under heavy shellfire, an amazing feat, but five Australians were killed and another five wounded. Here, just a week before the end of the war, they had, in the vernacular of the time, ‘gone west’, so unfortunate and so desperately unlucky.
Captain Woodward and his men returned to the nearby village of Rejet-de-Beaulieu, where the Australians were buried, the tunnellers with bowed heads saying a last goodbye to five brave mates who had worked so hard, survived so long and had contributed so much, and were now lost to their families back at home. Lying in the weak sun, Woodward notes, ‘there was an atmosphere of sadness, more pronounced than usual. I feel that this was entirely due to the fixed belief that we had taken part in the last staged battle of the War, and this thought carried our minds to our comrades who, as it were, had just been given one glimpse of the long expected Armistice, only to lose their lives before it materialised. It was a matter of a few hours, but it was not to be.’4
The work of the Australian tunnellers on this occasion was greatly appreciated by General Edward Strickland, the commander of the British 1st Infantry Division, when he wrote, ‘The cool gallantry with which they placed the bridges in position under heavy fire after long and arduous hours of labour was magnificent. They have very worthily upheld the very high traditions of the Royal Engineers.’5
For this action, Oliver Woodward was awarded a second bar to his Military Cross, one of only four awarded to Australians during the Great War.6 This action was the last fought by Woodward’s tunnellers, and the last action fought by Australians in the Great War.
While Captain Woodward and his men were bridging the canal, the Australian flying squadrons also had a busy day on 4 November. The Australians took to the air in support of the last British attack at Landrecies to the east of Cambrai, engaging in aerial dogfights, low-level attacks on the German airfield at Chapelleá-Wattines in Belgium and the strafing of troops and transports, and firing on targets of opportunity. However, at the end of the day, the returning Australian aircraft were attacked by an elite German squadron and four Australians were lost. One of these men was Arthur Pallister who had survived four years of war, had five ‘kills’ and would have been leaving for Australia the following day. These men were likely the last Australians to die in the war, just three days before the Armistice.
By now, German aircraft were finding it hard to respond to Allied air attacks as keeping up operational airfields, fuel, ammunition and servicing was very difficult. On 9 November, they were pursued. They flew low along the road, where for two miles they mercilessly shot up the lines of trucks and horse-drawn wagons, causing great loss of life and the destruction of houses and vehicles. In this attack, Frank Smith, a flight commander with No. 2 Squadron, was shot down and his plane crashed behind German lines. He was pursued by German troops, but hid in a haystack and avoided capture. Soon after, a Belgian farmer, while not prepared to hide him, did provide him with some old clothes which allowed him to pose as a Belgian peasant. Smith even spent a day in an estaminet in Enghien, watching German troops retreat eastwards. A few days after the Armistice, he turned up at his squadron mess to the surprise of his mates. Smith was likely the last Australian casualty of the war.
On the eve of the Armistice on 10 November, No. 2 and No. 4 Squadrons were still busy. As the official history states:
The morning raid between 8.30 and 10.30 found five trains in the blackened Enghien station and the town and roads crowded with troops and transports. The bombs of the S.E.5’s damaged a railway bridge, destroyed an anti-aircraft battery, and hit the train and railway station in many places. Leaving the station in a cloud of smoke, the attackers dived upon the road transport, which was still very heavy, and spread panic along the route with their machine guns.7
This was the last offensive action by aircraft of the Australian Flying Corps. Their casualties had been proportional to an AIF infantry battalion, with 179 pilots killed, wounded or taken prisoner, a casualty rate of forty-four per cent, compared to the AIF’s 1st Division with fifty per cent.8
The news from the German home front was grim. The people, destitute and angry, were starving due to the British blockade. The country was torn with civil strife and political upheaval, which led to expressions of grief and antagonism within the army. Nonetheless, many German people had little idea that a surrender was upon them, their nation humiliated and vanquished. They now faced harsh and uncompromising peace conditions, similar to those the Germans had imposed on Russia in 1917.
Germany did not have to look far to see the disintegration of its allies and friends. The Bulgarians had signed an armistice with the Allies in late September. The armies of the Austro– Hungarian Empire were short of supplies, ammunition and transport, confronting desertion on a massive scale. Soldiers, hungry and disenchanted, returned to their towns, villages and farms, desperate to be with their starving families and leave the awful war behind. Such was also the case for the Czech, Croatian and Bosnian armies, who had fought a far-flung war well away from the Western Front and were finished off by the Italians at the Battle of Vittoria Veneto at the end of October. The Austro–Hungarian army sought a separate peace with the Allies, which was signed on 3 November, further reducing Germany’s strength.
Similar difficulties faced Germany’s other major ally, the Ottoman Empire. The breakthrough by the British in Palestine, helped significantly by the Australian Light Horse, and the taking of Damascus, Beersheba and Gaza throughout October, plus the Turkish retreat into Syria and Macedonia, had left few options for the Ottoman rulers. The remaining Turkish army was seriously short of men, weapons, supplies and, most importantly, a sufficient level of morale to sustain any defence. In early October, the ruling government had resigned and the new government, keen to distance itself from its predecessor, sought a treaty with the United States, even though they had never declared war against America. On 30 October, a four-man Turkish delegation signed the Armistice of Mudros, ending the Turkish Ottoman involvement in the war.
US President Woodrow Wilson had earlier offered Germany a peace plan of Fourteen Points, and on 5 November sent word that the Allied governments were now prepared, on the basis of this plan, to negotiate a lasting peace. Germany quickly realised this was not to be a negotiated peace, but a total and unconditional surrender.
The German army was in full retreat, discarding weapons and equipment and racing to make the German border. On 14 October, the British and French armies had driven the Germans from their strategic railhead at Lille, and on 17 October, Rawlinson’s Fourth Army drove them across the River Selle. In this advance, the artillery of the 3rd, 4th and 5th Australian Divisions fought with the British 6th Division (IX Corps), but the Australian infantry, though again called forward by Rawlinson, remained in their rest areas. With Monash on leave, General Hobbs was warned that Australian troops might again be needed, but on the insistence of the Prime Minister Billy Hughes, he told Rawlinson that Australian troops would not be available for three weeks. Meanwhile, the discontent with the reorganisation and disbandment of seven battalions had ‘quietly accepted their eclipse’.9
The British were unable to keep resupplying the rapidly advancing front, and it was only cavalry units that could maintain contact with the enemy. The British advance was also slowed by delayed-action mines left by the Germans during their retreat, and the dangerous work of clearing these became the task of the Royal Engineers, including the Australian Tunnelling Companies. While the 3rd and 4th Division artillery was withdrawn on 5 November, the 5th Division artillery was delayed in its move to the front by these mines.
Nonetheless, the military situation facing Germany quickly became hopeless, and the Kaiser and chancellor had been informed of the German position in late September. Ludendorff had recommended an immediate ceasefire and the acceptance of Wilson’s Fourteen Points, but in late October, completely changed his mind and pressed for the resumption of the war. However, the German army was neither prepared nor equipped to do so, particularly given the troops’ low morale and the deep concern for their people at home. Ludendorff was dismissed, and soon after left Germany for neutral Sweden.
On 9 November, Kaiser Wilhelm, unable to retain either his imperial crown or the Prussian crown, and being told the German army would not fight to keep his throne, was forced to abdicate. He had been deeply shocked by the rapid changes in Germany’s war situation and the civilian uprisings. The following day, Wilhelm left with his family and a Prussian guard by train for a new home in Holland, which had remained neutral during the war. Here he would remain for the rest of his life, and the Dutch government refused extradition after Article 227 of the Treaty of Versailles directed the Kaiser to be prosecuted for his part in the war. His cousin, King George V, even declared him the greatest criminal in history, while British Prime Minister David Lloyd George strongly supported the widespread view to ‘hang the Kaiser’.
Turmoil continued within Germany. The mutiny of soldiers from the German High Seas Fleet in early November led to the executions of seven men, triggering further demonstrations and riots. With the Allies pressing at the gate and driving the last remnants of the German army eastwards, the German Republic was declared and the Social Democrat Friedrich Ebert, a saddle-maker and union activist, became the new chancellor. With the military leaders and the Kaiser gone, nothing to bargain with and an inexperienced leader at the helm, Germany had little hope of a negotiated peace or a softening of the peace terms already on offer. On 8 November, a German delegation led by Matthias Erzberger, a Catholic peace advocate, met with General Ferdinand Foch and French representatives in the Forest of Compiègne. In a railway carriage in the forest, Foch handed the Germans the terms of the surrender and gave them seventy-two hours to consider. Except for an extension of time for the German withdrawal from France, Foch was unwilling to allow any concessions or negotiation. At 5 am on 11 November 1918, it was agreed that the ceasefire and Armistice would take effect at 11 am, Paris time, on that day. The war would be finally over.
The immediate conditions laid upon Germany were severe. The Germans were required to sign an unconditional surrender, and all means of continuing or making war against the Allied powers were to be removed. They were to release all Allied prisoners, but German POWs were not to be released and returned, in order to prevent Germany quickly rebuilding an army. The remnants of the German army were to withdraw within fourteen days from all captured territory and, within a further sixteen days, were to be six miles (ten kilometres) beyond the Rhine into Germany. To eliminate any chance of resuming war, Germany was to hand over 5000 artillery pieces, 25,000 machine guns, 3000 trench mortars, 1700 aircraft, 5000 locomotives and 150,000 rolling stock, while the German High Seas Fleet was stripped of ten battleships, six battlecruisers, eight light cruisers and fifty destroyers. Many of these were scuttled on 21 June 1919 in Scapa Flow.
At 11 am on 11 November, all fighting ceased. The Americans and British continued fighting to the last minute, however, and it is believed that around 10,000 men became casualties, of whom 2700 men died on the last day of the war. According to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, the last British soldier to die was Private George Edwin Ellison of the 5th Irish Lancers, who was killed at 9.30 am, just ninety minutes before the ceasefire. The last Frenchman to die, killed at 10.50 am, was a runner, Augustin Trébuchon, delivering news of the Armistice to his battalion. The last Canadian was Private George Lawrence Price of the 2nd Canadian Division, who was killed at Mons at 10.58 am. He is recognised as the last Empire soldier to have died. The last American was Private Henry Gunter, killed at 10.59 am, who is recognised officially to be the last Allied man killed in the Great War. His divisional record stated, ‘Almost as he fell, the gunfire died away and an appalling silence prevailed.’10
The last German killed was a young officer called Tomas. As he approached a group of American soldiers to tell them the war was over, he was shot. It was just after 11 am.
Finally, the war was over.