CHAPTER FOUR

‘Utmost Energy and Concentrated Perseverance’:

Solicitor and militiaman,

husband and father

1903–AUGUST 1914

AFTER THREE YEARS spent away from formal study soldiering on the veldt, it would have been understandable if Harold Elliott found it difficult to readjust to university life. But there was no sign that this lengthy interruption hampered him in the slightest. If anything, he returned to his studies with an even more purposeful approach than before. Three years earlier he had decided to complete a full arts course before tackling any law subjects, only to enlist in the VIB a few weeks later. In 1903 he enrolled again in third-year arts, and recorded satisfactory passes in all his subjects at the November examinations.

He had not sat for the separate honours examinations in arts, but when he turned to law in 1904 he decided to strive for honours. The professor of law, Harrison Moore, was youthful-looking, slightly built, prim, and puritanical. He delivered precisely worded lectures in a Londoner’s accent while obsessively twisting a pellet of wool between his fingers, ‘pulling it to pieces as if separating the strands of an argument and rewinding it into a ball’. Although Moore felt his primary objective was to produce competent professional lawyers, he was intent on presenting the law in a broad historical and political context in order to avoid churning out blinkered practitioners whose main focus was on remuneration. His tuition won widespread acclaim. Harold Elliott responded to it superbly, tackling jurisprudence, law of property, law of contract, and constitutional history and law with outstanding results. He attained honours in all four subjects — first-class honours and the exhibition in property and contract, a second and a shared exhibition in the other two.

His was not the supremely brilliant talent that achieves success in sudden flight; there was no royal road to triumph prepared for him by nature; only by utilising the utmost energy and concentrated perseverance was he to win such prizes in the scholarship of law.

By the time he returned from South Africa Elliott was appreciably older and more self-reliant than the average college student, and it was not surprising that he spent part of his second university phase in private accommodation at ‘Endersleigh’, 201 Drummond Street, Carlton, rather than in Ormond. An impressive three-storey residence near Grattan Street, conveniently close to the university, Endersleigh was part of Holcombe Terrace, a stylish edifice in two-tone patterned brick and decorative iron lace. Alexander and Mary Campbell, both immigrants from Scotland, had recently acquired Endersleigh. Alexander Campbell farmed for many years in Tasmania before moving to Victoria, where he earned a living in various ways, including as a boarding-house proprietor (in Warrnambool) and as a storekeeper. Elliott came to know the Campbells and their four children very well.

His absorption in military pursuits continued unabated. On 1 March 1904, when the first Defence Act passed by the federal parliament created an Australian Militia, he joined one of the new militia units, the 5th Australian Infantry Regiment (AIR). Much of his spare time was devoted to regimental activities not far from Endersleigh at the Grattan Street drill hall, where young military enthusiasts savouring every anecdotal Boer War snippet they could scrounge were thrilled to find they had a lieutenant in their regiment who had been decorated for daring bravery in that conflict.

In 1905, the final year of his law course, Elliott returned to Ormond, where his younger brother George would also be residing while studying first-year medicine. Harold’s glittering prizes at the end of 1904 had included an Ormond residential scholarship for the following year (worth £60), which enabled him to return to college without relying on his father for financial assistance of possibly distasteful dimensions for an independently inclined 26-year-old. An added attraction was the appointment of an inaugural law tutor at Ormond, H.C. Winneke.

George had an even more illustrious record at Ballarat College than Harold. As well as emulating him in being dux of the school, George had displayed outstanding talent as a footballer and runner, and was awarded a prestigious prize for being the most popular and admired student in the whole college. However, once George was at Ormond, neither Harold’s example nor his exhortations succeeded in keeping George on the straight and narrow. George did not possess the resolute determination that his elder brother had in such abundance. Whereas Harold was a teetotaller, George was fond of a convivial ale. George’s enjoyment of various distractions, which included playing in the popular Victorian Football League (VFL) — he managed to get a game in the Fitzroy team that went on to win the premiership that year — proved detrimental to his studies, and he failed to pass any of his subjects at the end of the year.

Harold, in stark contrast, completed his law course brilliantly. He had his distractions, too — his involvement with the 5th AIR in particular — but did not allow them to interfere with his main objective. In Ormond he shunned the tediously repetitive debates, still dominating Students’ Club meetings year after year, about the desirability of having the Bulletin in the common room. His solitary participation in Students’ Club affairs was his stint on the gymnasium committee, although he was also a member of a separate committee involved in the organisation of the university’s Annual Sports Meeting in May. He entered two events himself, the shot-put and the hammer-throw; that he was victorious in both was testimony to his physical strength, and also indicates that he spent long hours sweating in the gym as well as supervising its use by others. But he remained supremely dedicated to his work. If high-spirited Ormond roisterers were indulging in such rowdy boisterousness that he was having trouble concentrating in his study, he was not averse to descending the stairs rapidly and threatening the offenders in no uncertain terms with drastic retribution if they did not pipe down. They invariably did. At the same time he generously allowed other students to use his notes, which were renowned for thoroughness and reliability (but not readability — his vigorous scrawl was not easy to decipher).

His involvement in the activities of the Law Students’ Society included being a participant in an evening debate at a city cafe on the following topic:

B applies to A to allow B to use, gratuitously, a wooden shed belonging to A, for the purpose of potting plants. A knows that the roof of the shed is in an unsafe and dangerous condition; B does not know it. A consents to B’s using the shed. A does not think of the condition of the roof and does not tell B anything about it. Whilst properly using it for the above-mentioned purpose B is killed by the roof falling upon him. Has B’s personal representative any cause of action against A?

In the debate Harold was given the task of arguing for the affirmative. Such occasions were pleasant social gatherings as well as useful scholarly exercises, but the key to success still lay primarily in one’s ability to sustain the all-important solitary slog. It is true that a law degree could not be attained without intellectual prowess and a reasonably cool head at examination time (when the whole year’s assessment was based on a few hours’ answers). But even more crucial was the capacity to cope with the sheer grind. Students needed substantial persistence and determination to master the intricacies of tomes such as Pollock’s Law of Torts, Snell’s Principles of Equity, and Personal Property by Joshua Williams.

Elliott’s results clearly demonstrated that he had all these attributes. Prospective honours students in final-year law were required to pass all their fourth-year subjects at the end of that year before presenting themselves at the Final Honour Examination in March of the following year. In November 1905 Elliott duly obtained passes in all his final-year subjects, then devoted much of the ensuing summer to revision while many of his friends and contemporaries were maximising their time at the beach. This gruelling conclusion to his tertiary studies involved further examinations in two subjects from third-year law as well as in three fourth-year ones. He had to outline and explain the doctrine of equitable estoppel; he had to evaluate the applicability in criminal cases of the maxim ‘Qui facit per alium facit per se’; he had to elucidate ‘the advantages and objections to inserting an attornment clause in a mortgage’; and much, much more. His results were very gratifying. He was awarded second-class honours, and shared (with George Crowther of Trinity) the coveted Supreme Court Prize for the top student in final-year law.

Aspiring solicitors with a law degree had to complete their articles before becoming eligible to practise. In view of his superb academic results Elliott was clearly a well-credentialled acquisition for any legal practitioner. After being engaged by the well-established establishment firm of Moule, Hamilton and Kiddle, he commenced his articles at their city office located at 55 Market Street. The senior partner, F.A. Moule, had already begun what would become a near half-century term on the council of Melbourne Grammar School, where he and his brothers had been among the earliest pupils. The youngest brother, W.H. Moule, had obtained a law degree, practised at the Bar, played Test cricket for Australia, and spent two terms in the Victorian parliament as MLA for Brighton before becoming a County Court judge in the year that Harold Elliott began his articles.

F.A. Moule’s career had been less dashing. Having qualified as a lawyer himself via the more prosaic non-university route, he apparently preferred to employ solicitors who had done likewise. According to a lawyer who used to work at the firm, no law graduate became a partner there until F.A. Moule’s nephew did in 1931. That did not mean he was averse to hiring young graduates with brilliant records — on the customarily exploitative terms for employees doing their articles. However, once the year’s articles were up, the firm tended to dispense with these graduates. Retaining them as fully fledged lawyers would result in increased expenditure. This was something that ‘sweet’ F.A., as the tough martinet was known in some quarters, was not prepared to tolerate.

While completing his articles Harold resided at Endersleigh with the Campbells again. George boarded there, too, and made a better fist of first-year medicine in this different environment. Alexander and Mary Campbell had two sons, Neil and John, and two daughters, Kate and Belle. Neil was an accountant in Melbourne. John managed a pastoral station near Geraldton, Western Australia. Kate and Belle had contrasting personalities. Kate, six years older than Belle (and three years older than Harold), was a petite, gentle, sweet-natured woman with an air of unworldly diffidence; she helped her mother with the household chores at Endersleigh. Belle, whose full name was Isabella Rachel, had a more assertive and practical disposition. She was building a career as one of the band of competent women who formed the backbone of the successful Gilpin’s retail chain stores.

Both sisters were attracted to Harold. In fact, he had been engaged once already. Dora Adamson, whose family lived near Lake Wendouree and knew the Elliotts well, had a vivacious, outgoing personality. When Harold moved on from Ballarat to university he began making visits from Ormond to see Dora, now residing in Essendon, and a close friendship developed. The engagement was broken off by Elliott, for reasons that remain unclear; he apparently felt let down in some way. Once he committed himself to Kate Campbell, however (after some flirtatious dalliance with Belle as well as Kate), that relationship proved lasting. Belle accepted the situation loyally, and remained on good terms with both Kate and her future brother-in-law.

In August 1907, having completed his articles, Harold was formally admitted to practise as a lawyer. Moule, Hamilton and Kiddle apparently dispensed with his services when they became obliged to pay him more than a pittance. So, to further his legal career, Harold sought the assistance of Professor Moore. He received a glowing testimonial:

I have pleasure in stating that Mr H.E. Elliott who was a student in the University classes in Law in 1904 and 1905 did excellent work throughout the course, and apart altogether from the distinguished position he won in his Examinations, established a high reputation for ability and strength of character.

For a time Harold was based at the Victorian country town of Stawell, where he practised as a solicitor with Arthur Wettenhall. The Wettenhalls were well known in and beyond the Grampians region for the quality of the merino sheep bred at their extensive properties; Arthur’s younger brother Roly had resided at Ormond while Harold and George were there.

Harold then moved back to Melbourne. He bought a house, and entered into partnership with Glen Roberts, a 44-year-old solicitor who had been practising since 1892. Harold’s impressive academic results and his conspicuous capacity and integrity made him a compelling proposition for a more seasoned solicitor on the lookout for a partner. The new firm of Roberts and Elliott was initially situated at the office address Roberts had been using for years in Collins Street near Elizabeth Street.

The house Harold acquired was in the north-eastern suburb of Northcote, which had become familiar territory. Kate had been living at 73 Darebin Street, Northcote since her family’s move there from Endersleigh. Harold seems to have briefly resided there himself before acquiring ‘Dalriada’, a brick dwelling on a sizeable block situated a quarter of a mile east of the Campbells’ house in the same street. He obtained loan finance for the purchase from his father (who held mortgages over a number of properties), and was as scrupulous about interest payments as if he had a formal contract with a bank.

Harold married Kate on 27 December 1909. It was a decidedly family affair. They were married at Dalriada under Presbyterian auspices with George and Belle the primary witnesses. The marriage certificate correctly recorded the bridegroom’s age as 31, but Kate’s was understated by a year and given as 33, perhaps to narrow the age difference (when Harold’s parents married 42 years earlier their equivalent document was similarly inaccurate). There was, sadly, one notable absentee: Kate’s elder brother Neil had died two months earlier after a four-year battle with tuberculosis.

George, who had returned to Ormond in 1907, was making slow progress towards his degree. He was too fond of sporting and social diversions to emulate his elder brother’s dedicated approach to study. Now a well-known footballer, he was prominent in the University VFL team; a dashing defender, he captained University and represented Victoria at interstate level. To working-class football fanatics the University team was a curious phenomenon, represented by players of ‘superior intelligence’ who ‘wore pyjamas and brushed their teeth’. University had an unfair advantage, they complained, because its medicos like George could teach their team-mates where to bump opponents most effectively. Harold was very interested in football, and proud of his brother’s achievements; he just wished George could display more self-discipline around exam-time. Coincidentally, there was another VFL captain with the same surname: Fred Elliott, one of Carlton’s finest ever players and the first footballer to play 200 League games, was famous throughout Victoria as ‘Pompey’ Elliott.

In 1911 Harold became a parent and lost one of his own in the space of a few months. In March Kate gave birth to a daughter; her parents honoured their younger sisters by naming her Violet Isabel. Harold was thrilled to become a father. He was an affectionate, involved parent from the moment he first glimpsed Violet: she ‘caught hold of his fingers tight’, gazed at him intently ‘with sparkly bright little dark eyes’, and he was instantly smitten. He enjoyed the frequent remarks others made about the strong facial resemblance between his little daughter and himself; he helped Kate weigh the baby each week to check she was growing satisfactorily; and when Kate sometimes felt daunted by the responsibilities of motherhood, Harold was supportive and tried hard to bolster her confidence. Thomas Elliott was a grandfather for only four months. Stooped and bent, he had been ailing with heart and blood pressure trouble. He died at Ballarat in July; Harold, Rod, and George carried his coffin at the funeral.

Next April Harold made a much more pleasurable return to Ballarat for his youngest sister Violet’s wedding. He knew her husband, Dr John Avery, well: he was a Queenslander who had won an Ormond scholarship to study medicine, a course unavailable in his home state. Avery had met his future wife when he accompanied Harold and George to Elsinore during the shorter vacations of the academic year when it was not practical to return all the way to Queensland. He had supplemented his earnest proposal of marriage by taking Violet out in a boat on Lake Wendouree and threatening to sink it unless she said yes. They settled in Brisbane, accompanied eventually by her mother and elder sister Flory, who was unusually tall, frequently irascible, and did not marry. Harold had only one sibling, George, based permanently in Victoria after his sisters left the state. His other brother Rod had for some years been farming at Tocumwal in southern New South Wales. Rod was a jovial prankster who enjoyed the occasional visits to ‘Toke’ of his relatives (including Harold) as much as they liked his lively humour and practical jokes.

Kate had attended the Avery wedding in an advanced state of pregnancy, and in June 1912 gave birth to a son. He was named Neil Campbell in memory of the uncle he never knew. Once again Harold felt anguished about Kate’s childbirth agony, but he was thrilled to have a son. Besotted with his children, he played merrily with them; they responded warmly to his heartiness, boyishness, and fondness for ‘tishes’ (kisses). At the dinner table Violet would sometimes sit on her father’s knee; when Kate was wary at one stage about Violet eating meat he would playfully sneak her some of his while Kate was not looking.

All this time, while Harold Elliott was becoming a solicitor, husband, and father, he maintained his purposeful involvement in Australia’s peacetime defence forces. It was a commitment that dominated his leisure hours. For almost a decade after graduating from university, he later claimed, he ‘never had a holiday that was not spent in some military encampment or school of instruction’. There was no keener participant in militia activities, whether it was parade drill or tuition sessions, bush camps or training exercises. He was active in both the Naval and Military Club and the South African Soldiers’ Association. Indeed, his closest friends outside his family tended to be fellow militia enthusiasts, notably James Stephen and Harry Duigan (both fellow lawyers), Bob Smith, Walter McNicoll, and Henry (Gordon) Bennett. Elliott continued to read voraciously about all aspects of soldiering past and present, and assimilated useful insights about command techniques from a wide range of sources:

I used to read a great deal of poetry … and Kipling has always been first favourite amongst my authors. I owe him a great deal in many ways. He is a great student of human nature and the light he throws upon it has often consciously or unconsciously aided me whilst endeavouring to learn how best to handle men.

His ability and dedication were very evident, especially in his characteristically thorough preparation for promotional examinations. After joining the 5th AIR as a second lieutenant in 1904, he became a lieutenant in 1905, a captain in 1909, and a major in 1911; for eight months he served as the regiment’s adjutant. Confidential commanders’ assessments authenticated the Victorian commandant’s verdict that he was ‘an excellent officer’. In 1907 Lieutenant Elliott was given the ultimate accolade of ‘excellent’ in three categories by the 5th AIR’s colonel, who did not use that adjective anywhere in his assessments of the fourteen other subalterns in the regiment.

While he was gaining promotion he followed intently the evolving national debate about defence policy. Concern about Australia’s defence preparedness was galvanised by Japan’s arrestingly comprehensive defeat of Russia in 1905, and there were other unsettling international developments. Alarm spread throughout the British Empire after it was dramatically alleged in London that Germany was positioning itself to challenge British naval supremacy. Tensions also rose disturbingly during the Agadir Crisis and other scares. A 1909 editorial in the Melbourne Age told its readers they lived in ‘a world that is going mad in preparation for a major war’. Agitation for comprehensive military training in Australia gathered more and more adherents, and a compulsory training scheme was introduced with Harold Elliott’s wholehearted approval. One of the reasons that he devoted himself to militia activities with such passionate seriousness was because of his concern about Australia’s vulnerability to Japan and Germany.

The advent of compulsory military training led to an overhaul of the militia structure as well as a large increase in its numerical strength. Major Harold Elliott, with other 5th AIR officers, joined a newly created battalion, the 60th Infantry, based in North Carlton. A year later, when another batch of cadets was drafted into the militia and further formations came into existence, he was promoted to command one of these new units, the 58th Infantry Battalion (Essendon Rifles). The nucleus of the 58th was a single Essendon-based company previously belonging to the 60th. Henceforth all eight companies of the 58th were to obtain their recruits from the Essendon area, including the nearby suburbs of Moonee Ponds, Ascot Vale, and Newmarket.

Right from the outset Lieutenant-Colonel Elliott forged the closest possible links between his battalion and the local community. He arranged for a formal ceremonial inauguration of the unit at Essendon on 19 July, and a special church parade the following day. His impetus led to the formation of a citizens’ committee to support the battalion’s activities, particularly in sport, military competitions, and fund-raising. Elliott used sport wherever possible to help the local community identify with the battalion. For the unit’s colours he chose the red and black of the popular Essendon VFL team.

Colonel Elliott outlined his views on discipline for officers and NCOs of the 58th in a lively and informative treatise full of historical allusions. In particular, it was sprinkled with insights derived from his Boer War experiences. He adopted an anecdotal approach: ‘I strongly hold that a single example or illustration teaches us more than a whole book of abstract theory’. Among the anecdotes recounted in Elliott’s fluent, compelling style was a predicament that vexed Tivey in South Africa, when a VIB trooper became lost and some of his comrades refused orders to move on unless a search party was detached to look for him:

A squadron of Australians hot, dusty and dry are pushing fast along a road in that ‘scorched and scornful land’, their waggons toiling along in the rear deep in dust with a few men told off as escort. One of these men — call him Trooper X — sees a buck at a little distance, he will he thinks slip off the waggon and secure a choice supper. Corporal Z in charge of the escort thinks it no harm, he lets him go, he will he imagines rejoin in a few minutes. At any rate he will get in to-night as he only has to follow the track. The man goes off — he is not a very good hunter — the buck sees him and makes off a good way, then starts to feed. The trooper follows. He thinks he will get behind a clump of bushes and stalk him. He cautiously approaches, reaches the bushes and finds the buck gone. He searches awhile and then gives it up. By this time he is a good way from the road and the waggons have gone, even the dust from them is not in sight. However he will by taking a short cut diagonally to the track soon catch up. He hurries on. He strikes a patch of prickly bush, it does not seem of any great extent so he resolves to go round it on the side further from the roads, he goes on and on, so does the bush … Darkness comes on … He sits down to rest for awhile and loses all sense of direction. He is lost and already feels the pangs of thirst and hunger. Let us return now to his comrades. Camp is reached. After waiting some time Corporal Z reports that Trooper X is missing. But it is dark, nothing can be done until morning. Morning dawns. The officers discuss the matter over their hurried meal. The Captain anxiously scans his instructions. He has been ordered to reach and hold a certain drift or ford by a certain time. He sees already by a glance at his map that he has not covered as much as he should have done in the time. He must push on or his mission will be fruitless.

Elliott’s skilful presentation of these episodes — with flair and realism, using the present tense for added immediacy — was most effective in enabling the 58th officers and NCOs to imagine themselves confronted by similar problems in equivalent situations. He gave them his conclusions with characteristic directness. Corporal Z should never have acquiesced in the trooper’s departure in the first place, and the missing trooper (who in fact survived his ordeal after being found by the search party in a distressed state) ‘in the circumstances would have thoroughly deserved his fate’ if he had been ‘left to die and rot’. Moreover,

Had that squadron been properly trained they would without doubt have left Bill X to the vultures and his bones would be bleaching in the scrub to this day. However cruel that may sound to you it is war, and you must educate yourself to face it … it is war and it is discipline, and war and discipline are not humane … it is not the slightest manner of use disguising it and sugar coating your discipline in time of peace, for the sugar will, I assure you, suddenly disappear and melt away in the field, and you will be left with the pill in all its naked bitterness to swallow … The least hesitation or delay in obedience (more especially in modern times) for a few minutes may well mean the difference between the losing and the winning of a battle, and on you lies the onus of seeing that it does not occur. If your men and NCOs are properly trained such an incident could not occur. If Corporal Z had known his job Trooper Bill X would have been brought back to the waggon quick and lively, before he had gone 20 yards, and brought up before the Captain to be dealt with for falling out without permission.

Colonel Elliott cautioned his officers and NCOs to be very wary of the understandable urge to be popular with the men under them. While ‘within bounds this desire is laudable enough’, pursuing it indiscriminately could lead to a breakdown in discipline and, therefore, to disaster. Moreover, even the strictest discipline, provided it was administered impartially in a fair and just manner, could in fact increase the popularity of the commander concerned. He cited the retreat of the British army to Corunna in 1809, referring to Napier’s multi-volume history of the Peninsula War and quoting lavishly from The Recollections of Rifleman Harris, a private in the brigade commanded by General Craufurd that comprised the rearguard during the retreat. Elliott used graphic excerpts from the Harris book to emphasise that Craufurd’s adherence to the fiercest discipline in the most appalling conditions was instrumental in the brigade’s exceptional feats of endurance. Craufurd’s men, Elliott stressed, retained a profound affection, even worship, for their commander despite his strong-willed severity. Elliott was impressed by the way Craufurd combined strict impartial discipline with considerate attentiveness to his men, and also admired his willingness to use forceful methods to ensure they were appropriately looked after.

Elliott was trenchantly critical of Australian officers who had displayed less than wholehearted commitment to their training exercises. A certain company commander who did not fully comply with an order

at a Bivouac we had some years ago … because he considered that his men were tired … was guilty in my opinion of a gross breach of discipline. If his men were so tired that they could not do duty properly, it was his bounden duty to go to his Colonel and tell him straight out that his men were too tired. If the Colonel disagreed and sent them out his duty was done and he was absolutely bound to see that [the order was completely obeyed]. The responsibility for that would be on the Colonel’s shoulders … As it was it made the whole thing a farce. Neither the subalterns, NCOs or men derived the slightest use from what they did. The officer concerned has not to this day the slightest idea that anyone knows of this, but I was the Adjutant of that Regiment and it is the Adjutant’s duty to find out these things and I know that that officer though in many respects a good officer is not to be depended on as absolutely straightforward and honest.

On another occasion ‘the half battalion I was in’ received an order

to occupy a certain hill. The Major in command took us a little way towards the foot of the hill till he got behind a hedge, halted, looked at it hard (it was very steep), looked at us and back towards the C.O. Then he led us into a grassy hollow under some shady trees and told us to have a sleep. ‘Tis too damned hot, men, to trouble about the hill at all’, said he. This is the sort of thing that ruins discipline. How can an officer expect his men to obey him when he sets an example like that?

He did not want to see that kind of attitude in the 58th:

Always act on manoeuvres as if you were actually on service. That is what they are held for. The Government are paying you good money to act as if you were at war, and if you don’t so act you are getting money on false pretences.

Despite his criticisms of some unspecified officers, Elliott was optimistic about the overall potential of Australian soldiers. In general they had plenty of initiative, which was not necessarily detrimental to discipline. According to Elliott, the correct definition of initiative was

the independence based on intelligence which prompts an inferior to promote the ends of his leaders when the latter are no longer present. The enforcement of discipline does not mean or imply the destruction of initiative.

Furthermore, Australian soldiers were relatively bright:

Their average intelligence is far higher than that of the average Tommy Atkins of the British Army, they are quick to appreciate the necessity for the strict obedience of orders under certain circumstances. For example on a night march in Africa in attempting a surprise on the enemy, we never had the least trouble in preventing men smoking or striking matches in the line of march. They saw readily enough that all our exertions would be in vain if one of us put the whole show away by striking a match.

But it was a different story altogether in the British units serving alongside them. Elliott had heard taunts flung at native-born Australians like himself that ‘you’ll never be the men your fathers were’, but he was confident these sneers would prove mistaken: ‘I honestly believe that with discipline there will be no troops in the world comparable with our own’.

The intensity of his commitment to military preparedness was also demonstrated in a stirring pep talk he delivered at an officers’ training school shortly before he became commander of the Essendon Rifles. A director of this particular school, Elliott exhorted the trainees to apply themselves devotedly to their military work:

That way, and that way alone, I would impress upon you, lies the safety of Australia — our children’s heritage. Without that effort Australia’s rising sun, the badge of its armies, may well be quenched in blood. The cheerful homesteads around us, through which we have wandered in our pleasant play, at war may well be laid desolate; their owners ruined; their cattle ruthlessly slaughtered, to bring us the sooner to our knees; our great cities laid in ashes, unless we cravenly yield them at the first summons; our wives, our mothers and our sisters rendered at the best homeless and desolate; at the worst, dishonoured or slain before our eyes. These things are the result of sloth and unpreparedness.

It was not just prospective army officers who were receptive to such a message in 1913; plenty of Australians who had nothing to do with soldiering agreed wholeheartedly with these sentiments.

He also urged the trainees to bear in mind that any neglect in their training might have harrowing consequences in a real fight:

Will you be thinking of this good man and that good man lying dead, wounded or missing, and thinking: Did I do right or not in taking this or that action? Will I have to account for these men’s lives, or not? If you have well and truly and zealously applied yourselves to the task of mastering the science and art of war, your conscience at least will be easy, however heavy your heart; but if you have neglected your opportunities and looked upon your connection with the Battalion as merely a sort of amusement, or as a means of attaining some sort of social distinction (poor as it is), then you will be as Judas was, for like him you will have betrayed a sacred trust.

With his forthright approach and passionate seriousness, Elliott was making a name for himself. Tallish and heavily built with the powerful chest and shoulders of a noted shot-putter, he was clean-shaven with a big reddish face, brown eyes, and dark hair (though Kate was beginning to notice grey shoots emerging). He was regarded in militia circles as a commander of impressive intellect and strong opinions, a hefty fire-eater ever-ready to be fiercely critical of anyone not doing what he thought they should be doing. Though quietly spoken normally, Elliott when steamed up had a roar that could be heard a long way away. And it was not just the rank and file at the receiving end — if his officers did not meet his exacting standards he did not spare them, either.

Yet that did not diminish the admiration many of his men had for his forceful personality and vigorous methods. There was a straightforward openness about him that they appreciated (except when on the receiving end of one of his withering outbursts). Utterly and artlessly sincere, he was not adept at concealing his feelings, especially concerning what he saw as ‘matters of conscience’: in fact, he regarded speaking frankly on such issues as fundamental to his self-respect. This was despite the shyness that still troubled him, if less acutely. He now managed on most occasions, and in most company, a direct, uncomplicated, and attractive geniality, without ever impressing as a smooth or accomplished mixer.

Admiration for Elliott in the militia was not, however, universal. Shortly before he transferred from the 60th Infantry to take up command of the Essendon Rifles he was involved in a bizarre dispute with a brash 25-year-old lieutenant, Tom White, who commanded D Company in the 60th. There had been antipathy between the pair for years — stemming, according to White, from an exchange during their days in the 5th AIR, when Elliott had taken a dim view of the way that White, then a junior subaltern, had disagreed with him in a discussion about machine-gun tactics. Be that as it may, Elliott considered that White had an insubordinate manner and could be occasionally cavalier about obeying orders he disagreed with. White felt Elliott was headstrong and unduly dictatorial.

The bitter dispute between them arose in April 1913 when White refused to comply with Elliott’s request to postpone two D Company social gatherings, a ball and a smoke night, which White had planned to hold in June. With D Company about to become the nucleus of the newly created battalion he had been promoted to command, Elliott told White that he wanted to organise a major function of his own for D Company at that time. But White replied that the dates had been fixed, with deposits paid to secure the Essendon Town Hall as the venue for both the ball and the smoke night. Accordingly, he doubted whether the arrangements could be altered. Elliott’s fervent desire to make a success of his new command burned deep within him, and he was furious to find that his plans to start off on the right foot were being thwarted by someone he disliked. He told White that permission was necessary to hold the functions. White replied that the battalion commander had given his blessing verbally. Elliott (who was second in command of the 60th) countered that written authorisation was required, and he would make sure White did not get it. The perplexed commander of the 60th, Lieutenant-Colonel F.A. Foxall, who had at times found Elliott a difficult subordinate, wished the problem would go away. He tried to engineer a compromise solution, without success.

The squabble soon degenerated into farce. On 8 May Elliott discovered that D Company had decided to have a smoke night the following evening instead of their two proposed functions in June. He reacted by turning up during business hours at the office where White worked and placing him under arrest for insubordination. (Men under Elliott’s command were used to his unusual habit of declaring them to be under arrest for minor disciplinary breaches and then releasing them afterwards.) After finding out the identities of the organising committee who were responsible, along with White, for the decision to hold this substitute function, Elliott visited them in their respective places of employment and arrested them, too. One of them was a teller in a bank, where the sight of Elliott marching in to cross-examine him and then gravely place him under arrest was, to say the least, a diverting spectacle for waiting customers.

Foxall, who was, in White’s opinion, intimidated by Elliott’s insistence that proceeding with the smoke night represented a serious disciplinary offence, persuaded White on 9 May to call at Elliott’s office with a compromise proposal. But Elliott would not have a bar of it. When he learned that the function had not yet been cancelled, he ordered White — in a bellow that startled the staff of Roberts and Elliott — to accompany him immediately to Foxall’s office. As they walked down Collins Street together, White did not mince words in telling Elliott exactly what he thought of his domineering conduct. With Elliott by now ‘almost apoplectic’, Foxall decided regretfully that the smoke night would have to be cancelled, even though the caterers were already at the Town Hall getting the function room ready. Elliott made sure this decision was implemented by turning up at the Town Hall himself, impounding the food, and ordering the bewildered town clerk not to allow anyone inside. After the men arrived, unaware of the late cancellation, White presided over an informal alternative gathering in the street outside the hall.

The following day an account of this extraordinary affair was published in the Melbourne Herald. Elliott wrote to the newspaper threatening a libel suit, although he had dubious grounds (and ultimately did not sue). White was approached by solicitors acting for the Herald, and agreed to assist them by providing a detailed written statement. By then a military court of inquiry into the affair, requested by White, had commenced under the jurisdiction of three 60th officers, Major W.R. McNicoll and Lieutenants H.T.C. Layh and R.H. Henderson. White received well-intentioned advice from several officers that it was in his best long-term interests to back down and express regret for the imbroglio, but he was no longer prepared to make conciliatory gestures. After the inquiry had taken testimony from witnesses, he stubbornly refused to accept that the written record of evidence was completely accurate. The alleged omissions were insignificant, but the inquiry had to go through the evidence all over again. Foxall was livid.

Although White was ultimately cleared of Elliott’s charge of insubordination, his unappeased resentment prompted him to pursue redress. Initially he sought an additional inquiry into the circumstances of his arrest by Elliott. When this request was denied (on the compelling ground that the issue had already been dealt with), White then alleged that Foxall had inappropriately reprimanded him. Eventually, however, he decided to let the whole matter rest.

It had not reflected well on either of the protagonists. Elliott had certainly confirmed that he was an absolute stickler for discipline, but had made himself look ridiculous in the process. Since it was his deeply felt yearning to make a successful start as a battalion commander that had produced his over-reaction in the first place, it was ironical that his conduct could only diminish his reputation in a local community where it was so important to him to make a good initial impression. His performance at the Essendon Town Hall, where he startled onlookers by arriving suddenly and then charging around the supper room, fanatically packing away the food that the caterers had laid out on the tables, was hardly auspicious.

Still, first impressions are not always lasting ones. Before long it was evident to anyone who took an interest in the Essendon Rifles that its inaugural commander had abundant zeal and capacity. He was a hard taskmaster who frequently roared at his men (and sometimes at his officers), but his demanding methods instilled effectiveness. That he quickly managed to overcome any misgivings entertained by influential Essendon residents was demonstrated by the remarkable success of a military fete held in March 1914 at Queen’s Park, Moonee Ponds. The fete was conceived in order to raise funds for the district’s cadets and militiamen so they could acquire various facilities such as band instruments, gymnastic equipment, and camp requisites. The Victorian Governor opened it, and among other notables present were the Premier, W.A. Watt, and the Essendon mayor, J.F. Henderson, who was actively involved in the organisation of the big occasion. Queen’s Park had ‘never looked better’, large crowds turned up to have a look at the wide range of stalls and the military displays, and battalion funds were boosted by almost £400.

In mid-1914 Harold Elliott’s family life was a source of solace as well as satisfaction and delight. A devoted parent, he observed the activities and development of his ‘wee bairnies’ with abiding fascination. He had a lot of fun playing with them: ‘gallopy gallopy’ (‘rides’ on his knee) and hide-and-seek were particular favourites. Although an affectionate and attentive father, he had a very busy life; while he was at work, or out on militia business either in the evening or at weekends, there were inevitably times when Kate found two demanding toddlers quite a handful. In these circumstances her sister Belle generously assisted Kate with the children and the housework. Equipped with a more practical disposition than Kate, she was soon playing a significant role in both the children’s upbringing and the domestic routine at Dalriada. Violet dubbed her ‘Baaby’, to Neil she was ‘Dear’, and both names stuck.

Harold and Kate were a contrasting couple. He was tall and thickset; she was petite and slender. His rushed, vigorous scrawl was hard to decipher; hers was neat and clear. He tended to bolt his food, keen to complete his meal and get on with whatever else he had to do; she would urge him to slow down. She was not overly decisive; he had more than enough decisiveness for both of them. Tidiness was a priority for her, but never an attribute of his; she maintained a spotless house, and spruced him up for the office and the parade ground. For Harold, home represented a haven from the pressures of a competitive outside world; for Kate, it was the very essence of her existence. His volatile temperament prevented him from reacting placidly to disappointment or controversy; she tried to keep smiling and stay cheerful at all times. When he exploded one Saturday at the football — his sense of protectiveness while watching George, a fearless player, was probably at the heart of it — Kate was embarrassed; afterwards he was sheepish and apologetic, she was forgiving.

Being a man of his time, Elliott regarded the domestic front as principally a female domain, and tended to defer to women on household matters. The dominating assertiveness familiar to the Essendon Rifles was much less evident at Dalriada. When it did occasionally surface, Kate (and sometimes Belle) was capable of meeting fire with fire. Domestic discord, however, was happily rare. Those who knew Harold and Kate or saw them together had no doubt they were a devoted couple. Kate, like others, admired Harold’s unswerving adherence to values then widely esteemed — honour and duty, hard work and manliness, thrift and temperance. Harold called her ‘Kit’, ‘Katie’ or (in a fond tribute to the sweet-natured graciousness he adored) ‘my sunshine lady’. He was her ‘Dida’.

Kate accepted the priority her husband gave to military pursuits. (If she had not, of course, the marriage could hardly have prospered.) She understood that if Australia became involved in armed conflict he would feel impelled to participate. It was an eventuality she dreaded; she knew her man too well. At an impersonal level she acknowledged, like most Australians, that it was appropriate for Australia to support Britain in the almighty struggle that was, according to knowledgeable people in disconcerting numbers, sooner or later likely to be generated by the combustible elements in Europe. But the threat war would pose to her family circle made her feel vulnerable. Kate tried, though, not to dwell on her private fears. She supported Harold heartily, empathising with him as well as she could in his triumphs and his troubles — as he did for her — and restricted herself to gentle rebukes for his propensity to resort to the milder ‘b’ profanities (bloody, bastard, and bugger) in his forceful exhortations to the men of the Essendon Rifles.

The other big part of Harold’s life, his legal work, was also going well. The firm of Roberts and Elliott was progressing satisfactorily. Its office was now situated at 84 William Street, near Collins Street, in the recently completed Queensland Building. This was an impressive structure of Barrabool stone (like Ormond College) built to house the state headquarters of the Queensland Insurance Company. Harold was pleased with the way his relationship with his partner had developed; their respective families were very friendly as well. Although Glen and Katie Roberts lived with their three sons in the decidedly middle-class world of Burke Road, Camberwell, six miles away from the less well-to-do environs of Northcote, the Roberts and the Elliotts often socialised together. Katie Roberts had an attractive and insightful personality, and her eldest son, 20-year-old Eric, had a special admiration for Harold.

Elliott’s legal work, military commitments, and parental responsibilities left him limited leisure time for other activities. He liked chess, still enjoyed riding and shooting, and remained interested in football and athletics, but his chief recreation was reading. Military titles featured prominently, of course, but did not dominate: along with Kipling, his favourite writers included Jane Austen and Jeannie Gunn (author of We of the Never Never), and he also acquired texts on Indian and Greek mythology. Elliott was not musical, and not one for late nights. A non-smoking teetotaller, he was very partial to his cup of tea (especially the way Kate brewed it). He and Kate liked gardens, and relaxing in pleasant outdoor settings. One of her cousins, Ina Stewart, often accompanied them on enjoyable outings (by tram or train) to places like Studley Park, or further afield to Healesville or the Dandenongs.

In mid-1914 campaigning was underway for an election for both houses of Australia’s federal parliament when war clouds gathered ominously in Europe. Harold Elliott had welcomed Labor’s contribution to Australia’s enhanced defence preparedness, but he was a most unlikely ALP voter. Essentially a middle-class conservative, he read the Argus and agreed with its advocacy of free trade rather than the protectionist views propagated by its rival, the more progressive Age. With sectarianism regrettably pronounced in Australia, he was, like many other Protestants of Anglo-Scottish descent, inclined to be suspiciously hostile to Roman Catholics, especially if they were fond of Ireland. He supported the White Australia Policy, and accepted the conventional notions of the day about the superiority of the Anglo-Saxon race. (At one particular drill session the Essendon Rifles failed to meet his exacting standards when practising a ceremonial march. ‘Do it again’, he roared, ‘that wouldn’t satisfy a bloody Chinaman!’) Like many other men who manage to rise from disadvantaged origins to a more elevated station in life through self-discipline and hard work, he tended to believe others could do the same if they wanted to badly enough. This perspective, which inevitably aligned him politically with Labor’s opponents, understated the significance of Londonderry. Without detracting from the determination and commitment underpinning his success, it was the Londonderry proceeds that had enabled him to escape from rural poverty.

The 1914 federal election resulted in a convincing victory for the Labor Party, which returned to office with Australia already at war. As part of the British Empire, Australia had become involved when Britain declared war on Germany after its invasion of Belgium. Britain was aligned with France and Russia in this cataclysmic conflict, while Austria–Hungary supported Germany.

Reactions to Australia’s participation varied. Publicly expressed hostility was minimal. There was probably a good deal of muted wariness, but it was overshadowed by the ardent enthusiasm displayed by those Australians who expressed their support in vehement pronouncements or exuberant refrains of ‘Rule Britannia’. Although many of the enthusiasts probably grasped that the forces involved would be immense, there was a widespread belief that the war would be decided relatively quickly. Few Australians were aware that recent advances in military technology, which significantly advantaged the defensive side in an engagement, would lengthen rather than shorten the conflict. Although certain discerning observers concluded that this trend had been exemplified in the Boer War, for Australian martial enthusiasts in 1914 a far more significant impression arising from their country’s most recent participation in armed conflict was that casualties had been relatively light. Australian casualties in South Africa were too small to constitute a forbidding deterrent in 1914; in Harold Elliott’s Victorian unit more bushmen died of disease than because of enemy bullets.

The rush to enlist reflected a conviction that the cause was worthwhile as well as the widespread expectation that the war would soon be over. Most Australians combined nationalistic allegiance to their own country with a fervent attachment to Britain. They felt affectionately sentimental about the land of their forebears and proud of the pre-eminence of the British Empire, which they regarded as the standard-bearer of civilisation around the world. At the same time they felt uncomfortably vulnerable about Australia’s security; they looked apprehensively to Britain, its navy in particular, to protect them. In that context any genuine threat to British power was a serious danger to Australia, and it was infinitely preferable to deal with the ominous situation overseas rather than on Australian soil. Another possible influence on the early impetus to enlist was the notion that this conflict represented a superb opportunity for a newly federated nation to make its mark internationally as a worthy member of the British Empire.

Individual Australians held this dual loyalty to Britain as well as to their own nation in varying proportions. For example, the strong imperial orientation defining the work of Brudenell White, Australia’s pre-eminent military administrator in 1914, was altogether absent from the nationalistic outlook of the architect of the pre-war universal training scheme, J.G. Legge. Harold Elliott’s perspective was much closer to Legge’s than to White’s. As Elliott grew up he was encouraged to feel proud of the relatives on both sides of the family who had served with distinction in Britain’s armed forces, but his own experiences in the Boer War had left him anything but starry-eyed about the British army. His disenchantment was reinforced when he read Scapegoats of the Empire, a book written by his friend George Witton, who still felt bitterly resentful about the treatment he and his comrades in the Bush Veldt Carbineers had received from British military authorities.

However, despite this measure of disillusionment with British soldiery, the dictates of duty and desire pointed in the same direction for Harold in August 1914, as Kate knew they would. After a century relatively free of major wars, a massive conflagration had erupted in Europe with most of the world’s great powers involved and Australia an eager participant. Much of Elliott’s life had been devoted to preparing himself so he would be able to contribute effectively if and when such a conflict arose. He had benefited from his extensive military experience, both in the ranks and as an officer, without becoming over-seasoned like some of the other militia commanders, who were soon exposed by the rigorous demands of combat as being too old or unfit.

Unlike them, Elliott had just turned 36 and was in robust health. Since his university years his girth had spread markedly, but despite this increased weight he was still the very embodiment of a vibrant man of action. If anything, his strapping physique made him an even more imposing figure in uniform. His attributes as a commander included a capable and adaptable intellect; considerable experience; absolute dedication; formidable willpower; self-confidence and decisiveness; proven courage under fire; administrative competence; strength of character; a certain charisma; and familiarity with Australians of diverse backgrounds — rural and urban, poor and comfortable, working-class and professional. The looming war was going to be the biggest challenge of his life. He was itching to embrace it.