Australians aren’t accustomed to a white Christmas, but in 1918 the No. 4 Squadron of the Australian Flying Corps celebrated the holiday, as well as the recent Armistice, in snowy Bickendorf. Amid the festivities, the bright decorations, a delicious roast dinner and a lively band, Air Mechanic Tim Tovell noticed an unexpected guest sneaking through the crowd. The inviting smells and sounds of the mess hall had tempted a ragged little waif in from the night.

Cold and hungry, this uninvited visitor quickly charmed the squadron. He appreciated the Australian flare for celebration, particularly in comparison to the more humble merriment hosted by the British troops. Tim Tovell had young children of his own at home in Queensland and immediately took on guardianship of Henri. Soon the boy was like his own son.

Henri’s story mirrored that of a generation in war-torn Europe. His father was killed in Flanders and not long after, his mother died during a German bombardment. ‘I don’t know a lot about my past,’ he confessed. Even so, he couldn’t escape the memory of his mother’s lifeless body amongst the rubble of their home. Since then, Henri had attached himself to British units, but the chaos of battle and deaths of newly made friends eventually led him to the Australian airmen that Christmas Eve.

Tim decided to take Henri back to Australia with him. He wrote home to tell his wife, Gertie, ‘that really, one extra in the family wouldn’t make that much of a difference.’1 But sadly Henri would not mean ‘one extra’ for the Tovell family. Tim was told his young son at home had died from meningitis. Tim’s grief made him more determined to provide Henri with a home.

Uncertain of Henri’s age, he guessed the boy was perhaps eleven. But who really knew? Years of fear, hunger and loneliness had had a drastic effect on Henri’s size and development. The squadron decided that his new date of birth would be 25 December; after all, that date marked a new beginning for Henri. When the time came to return home, Tim knew there would be many obstacles on the voyage to Australia. He could hardly abandon Henri, but there would be a great deal of creativity required to ship the boy to Queensland.

Little Henri was packed inside a hundred-pound oat bag, slung over Tim’s shoulder and smuggled aboard a troopship to England. They were sent to a camp on Salisbury Plain where Tim dressed the boy in a tailor-made replica of an AIF uniform and ‘the little digger’ was adored by everyone. He soon got up to mischief and adventure, trapping the rats that rummaged through the camp and joining the men in games of two-up.

A hundred-pound oat bag: Henri was packed into a hundred-pound oat bag for the journey to England. A03056 courtesy Australian War Memorial.

The little digger: No. 4 Squadron mascot, Henri Tovell, dressed smartly in a replica AIF uniform made for him in London. Beside him are his adoptive uncle and father. P00867.001 courtesy Australian War Memorial.

For the next leg of his journey, Henri was put inside a hamper, covered with sporting equipment and smuggled into Tim’s cabin. Their troopship stopped in Port Said and Henri, trying to keep up with the men, dived overboard to swim in the cool waters. Like his fellow leave-breakers, he returned to the ship horribly sunburned and in so much pain that Tim was forced to take him to the ship’s doctor. Henri was hardly a secret stowaway now.

Luckily, one of their fellow travellers was Thomas Joseph Ryan, the Premier of Queensland. The moment he learned of Henri’s story he contacted the Minister for Home Affairs and organised permission ‘to land the mascot’.2

Difficult as it was to get Henri to Australia, arriving home wasn’t easy for Tim either. He returned to a son’s grave and to a daughter who had been just a baby when he’d left. When Henri arrived in his new home, he walked straight up to Gertie and said ‘Hullo, Mum!’3 He wrapped his little arms around her and gave her a small gold brooch he’d bought with the money he’d earned in camp. From that moment on Henri was part of the Tovell family.

In 1926, now a young man, Henri left for Melbourne to train with the RAAF as a motor mechanic. Although homesick for Gertie and Tim, Henri still made the most of the new city. He bought a flash motorcycle and found himself a sweetheart.

Late one night, Henri was riding home from visiting his girlfriend’s house. He collided with a taxi and died not long after the accident.

Henri Tovell was buried in Fawkner Cemetery. Point Cook airmen were the pallbearers and an Air Force wagon his hearse. Some men from the No. 4 Squadron were there, as well as his girlfriend. She sobbed quietly by the gravesite. Before the dirt was shoveled over the coffin, a French flag was tossed down into his grave.

The story of the little mascot appealed to the hearts of many Melburnians, so much so that the Argus launched an appeal for a statue to commemorate him. Subscriptions rolled in and a small, stone figure of a boy was erected over Henri’s grave. The memorial looked over his resting place for decades, until the 1950s when the plot was vandalised and the ‘little digger’ went missing. Tim and Gertie were never told about the desecration. It was thought it would be too much for them.

Mourning the loss of another son, the Tovells were comforted by the thought that Henri had been reunited with his French mother and father. And they hoped they had played a part in healing the wounds of war. It was their ‘privilege to rescue him when he might have become just a piece of human driftwood without hope and without happiness in the world.’ The Tovells had offered the French orphan at least ‘a few years of comfort and joy.’4

A French orphan: Henri in his tailor-made replica AIF uniform. The cost of this outfit would have been considerable. H13592 courtesy Australian War Memorial.

‘Who plucked this flower?’ said the gardener. ‘I,’ said the Master, and the gardener held his peace: These words were a great comfort to the Tovell family as they mourned a second son. Inscribed on their son Timmy’s headstone, Henri thought they were ‘nice words’ and Tim and Gertie hoped they might also be inscribed on his memorial. Sadly, those wishes were not met. In 2009 the RAAF Association in Victoria and the Department of Veterans’ Affairs organised for a new headstone at Henri’s grave – this time inscribed with the words that Tim and Gertie had wanted. A03681 courtesy Australian War Memorial.

SOURCES AND FURTHER READING: This story draws on Tim Tovell’s account of adopting Henri in Norman Ellison, Flying Matilda (Sydney: Angus and Robertson, 1957); Henri Tovell Papers at the Australian War Memorial AWM, PR87/199; the Coroner’s Inquest for Henri Trovell PROV VPRS24, 1928/675; Tim Tovell’s service dossier NAA: B2455, TOVELL TIMOTHY WILLIAM; and Henri H Tovell – Memorial, NAA: A705, 202/3/334. The story of the ‘little digger’, his death and the memorial erected at his gravesite were reported on widely in the press and this story has drawn on many of the contemporary newspaper articles. For an extended account of Henri Tovell’s story see Anthony Hill, Young Digger (Camberwell: Penguin, 2002).

1 Norman Ellison, Flying Matilda (Sydney: Angus and Robertson, 1957).

2 ibid.

3 ibid.

4 Priest’s sermon at service for Henri Tovell in his home town, AWM PR87/199.