A page for people interested in the social and military history of Ballarat & district during the Great War.
Last Friday I had an emergency tooth extraction; it hasn’t been the funnest of times! Not allowed to play trumpet for at least a week, so I’m really pushing to be ready for the concert on Saturday. Knowing what I’m prepared to put myself through, how many of my Ballarat followers will come along to hear me play???
When Patsy Adam-Smith penned The ANZACS, her classic account of Australians in the Great War, she featured two brothers from Ballarat. The personal experiences of Carl and Ernek Janssen formed a special part of the book’s narrative. It was clear that Adam-Smith was touched by their story and, listening to their voices, with the benefit of historical hindsight, is like hearing an echo from a time when we were still innocent…
The Janssen family lived in a very comfortable weatherboard home at the end of Albert Street in Sebastopol. In many respects, life was a tr***e easier for them than most of the period, but it wasn’t due to a lack of hard work and endeavour…
Inuk Pavia Luplau Janssen came to Australia, like most early immigrants, with high hopes of a bright future. His birth on 4 June 1855 in the village of Godthåb (the colonial name for Nuuk, which is now the capital of Greenland) was not an indication of Greenlandic ancestry. His parents, Carl Janssen and Louise Sophia Frederikke Luplau, were Danish.
Carl Janssen, a Lutheran pastor, had been sent to the Danish territory to take over as acting leader at Grønland’s seminary in Nuuk. His own background was privileged; his father, Poul Ernst Janssen, was an embedsmand (civil servant), placing him near the top of Denmark’s social hierarchy, whilst his mother, Karen Børresen, was a famed ballet dancer. Carl was a man of considerable intelligence, and during his time in Greenland he used his position to empower the local Inuit population, advanced human rights and pushed for social reform. In choosing “Inuk” for his son’s name, Carl was connecting the boy to the place of his birth and its people – Inuk, originating from the Greenlandic Inuit language, means person and is the singular form of Inuit, which translates simply to “the people.”
The Janssens returned to Copenhagen in 1857 (due to Carl’s apparent ongoing battle with gout) and it was there that Inuk received his education. No doubt he was deeply influenced by his Lutheran teachings; it was a strong trait in his maternal line – his grandfather, Ludvig Ferdinand Luplau, was a pastor. The influence of his mother was also strong – Louise Luplau was herself a noted diarist.
The family continued to grow, and included the births of Inuk’s sister, Louise Amalie and his
brother, Luplau. During this period, they were living in the small town of Sørbymagle on the Danish island of Zealand.
Education was a principal aspect of the Janssen household, with Luplau studying art; he became a highly regarded painter in the Modern Breakthrough (Naturalism) movement. His son, Carl Emil Luplau Janssen (born in 1889) was to become a prominent astronomer, author and philologist. Louise Amalie studied music in Copenhagen and went on to become a Wagnerian soprano of some repute. The eldest son, Ernek Egede, was a senior telegrapher with the Great Northern Telegraph Company.
Multiple factors led to mass migration of young Danish men in the 1870s and 1880s, none of which seemed to directly affect Inuk Janssen. Political and military unrest, along with the industrialisation of the rural sector and population pressures do not seem to have impacted the young man. He was the second son – traditional Danish laws ensured the “eldest son inheritance” custom, but again, this was not a consideration. It seems that young Inuk may simply have longed for new horizons.
By the early 1880s, Inuk Janssen had made his way to the Ballarat district. In these early years, he led a party that discovered a ‘very rich patch’ in a paddock at Bald Hills, but ‘no legitimate mining was done.’ It would be 1900 before the area would see a major gold mining revival.
When he became a naturalised Australian on 20 February 1883, he was working as a farmer and living at Graham’s Hill near Creswick.
In 1886, Inuk married Margaret Eliza Catherine Scopie. Maggie was the first generation of her family born in Ballarat; her parents were married at the St Paul’s School House on 21 June 1856. Whilst her mother, Margaret Taylor, was a Londoner, her father’s background was painted as somewhat more exotic. Carlo Savarro Scopie (often referred to as Charles) was said to have been born in Venice, Italy. His appears to be a classic case of 19th Century immigration: someone of Italian heritage altering his name to navigate an English-speaking world. His distinctly Southern European appearance was to have a dramatic influence on the appearance of his grandchildren.
The young couple settled into a ‘choice’ five-roomed weatherboard house in Albert Street, Sebastopol, close to the Welsh Presbyterian Church. Inuk was then the manager of the Sebastopol Plateau Mining Company, specifically the Plateau No1 Mine. The company had been registered as a ‘no liability company’ on 15 October 1886 as the South Plateau Mining Company; Inuk had 2000 shares, making him one of the company’s major shareholders.
The first of their four children, Carl Wilhelm, was born in October 1887. His birth was followed by Beatrice Louise (known as “Beattie”) in 1889, their second son, Ernek Valdemar, in February 1891, with the family completed by the arrival of Naja Alice, nine years later in 1900.
Of course, Carl was named for his paternal grandfather, while Ernek was named after Inuk’s brother.
In February 1893, their Albert Street home (which included stables and buggy house) was offered for sale after Inuk had purchased a farm. It was most likely the acreage he owned at Canico Flat near Carngham); but he had also leased properties at Smythe’s Creek (the residence date being listed as 7 May 1900) and Ballarat. The move, if it indeed eventuated, was short-lived, and the Janssen family returned to Sebastopol.
Inuk Janssen was a very public-spirited man and a positive influence on his children. He was involved in several Sebastopol institutions, including the local fire brigade and the Sebastopol Free Library. By 1900, he was managing the Gay Star Gold Mine in Sebastopol. His care for the men working at the mine made him a very popular boss.
After accepting a position with a wealthy English syndicate, Inuk was set to leave for Borneo to undertake mining operations. A valedictory dinner was held for him on 21 August 1900. The event was attended by the mayor and a large number of councillors, along with several visitors from Melbourne. He was presented with a travelling bag on behalf of the men at the mine. The project, however, appears to have been short-lived, and Inuk was soon back in Ballarat.
The boys’ education was spread across three schools near to their Albert Street Home. They were enrolled at the Magpie State School before moving to the larger Sebastopol State School in Yarrowee Street. Both completed their primary education at the Cambrian Hill State School – Carl was enrolled there in 1900 (Grade VI) and attended until the end of 1903; Ernek followed in 1904, graduating at the end of Term III in 1905. The popular and highly regarded William D. Thomas was the head teacher during their time at the school.
Like his Danish family, Carl showed artistic leanings. He studied elocution and performed at the Royal South Street Eisteddfod in October 1904. The text he was required to perform for the Impromptu Reading was taken from Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe, and describing the burning of the castle at Templestowe. The same year he studied photography at the Ballarat School of Mines. The examination results appeared in January 1905, with Carl just squeaking through with a 50% pass.
By 1912, the Janssen family had left Sebastopol and started the next stage of their lives in Melbourne. At that point they were living at 65 Brunswick Road East. The suburb of Brunswick was then a self-contained industrial hub on the northern edge of the city. Carl had begun his career as a process engraver at The Argus, one of Melbourne’s large broadsheet newspapers.
While Inuk and Maggie soon moved to “Nessnay” in Barry Street, Mentone, a quiet seaside suburb southeast of the centre of Melbourne, their children began branching out. Carl and Beattie moved to 4 William Street in South Yarra, and Ernek, who was working as a carter, lived across the city at 18 Leveson Street in North Melbourne.
In 1914, the brothers were living in Prahran. Ernek began to show an interest in the military by joining the local 49th Infantry Regiment. Carl, on the other hand, had not pursued the military life beyond 12-months as a school cadet, which he said was during time at the Dana Street State School. While he continued working for The Argus, Ernek changed his job and was then employed as a storeman.
The call for volunteers to man what would become known as the Australian Infantry Force began in earnest immediately Britain declared war against Germany. Ernek Janssen was amongst the very first to answer that call – he began the enlistment process at 49th Battalion Drill Hall in Prahran on 13 August 1914 and signed the oath of service two days later. Carl followed on 18 August.
In many ways the brothers were very similar – they both had dark complexions with black hair, brown eyes, and dimpled chins. Physically they were also alike – Carl, at 5-feet 8, was the taller by just two inches, but Ernek was slightly heavier, weighing 9-stone 10-pounds. Carl was 6-pounds lighter, but he could expand his chest to 35-inches, an inch more than his brother. Almost peas in a pod.
The boys had been raised as Anglican and nominated the Church of England as their religious denomination. The family worshipped at St Augustine’s in Como Parade West, Mentone.
In completing their paperwork both Carl and Ernek nominated their father as their next-of-kin, and the Barry Street address in Mentone was listed as their place of residence. Carl also made an allotment of three-fifths of his pay to their father.
Rapidly filling ranks quickly enabled the raising of multiple military units. Amongst the first was the 5th Infantry Battalion, with the first draft of 790 men sent to Broadmeadows Camp on 19 August. Upon arrival at camp, the men were organised into companies and provisional NCOs were appointed. Ernek was assigned to E Company (one of the companies covered by enlistment at Prahran) with the regimental number 359, while Carl joined G Company, number 757.
The first two weeks in camp was spent in recruit training; this was followed by company and battalion training. Musketry training was carried out at the North Williamstown firing range, with the men travelling across Melbourne by train. They were instructed by members of the R***e Clubs Union.
Initially, there was a great deal of trouble securing uniforms for the men. Boots were ‘in many cases defective in make and badly finished causing bad feet,’ and the clothing that was issued appeared to be ‘off lots.’ But it was the supply of great coats that caused the most angst – only large sizes were available, and many men went without a coat at all. This was ‘severely felt as the weather was wet and cold.’ The issue of breeches was almost comical – a large number appeared to have been made for cadets making them ‘quite useless.’ In one case of 200 pairs were received and ‘it was impossible to use any of them.’
Carl and Ernek Janssen were not the only Ballarat boys with the 5th Battalion – Stan Kinsman, Dan Sweeney (q.v.), Cecil Brittain (son of John Brittain at the Ballarat Observatory), Hugh Dyring and Lieutenant James Wallace Ross were also among the originals. And, significantly, their commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel David Sydney Wanliss, was a Ballarat College Old Boy.
As the day for embarkation approached, Ernek wrote to his father,
‘…I am sorry you were not home the other day, but would like to see you all before we go…We are sailing Tuesday by the Orvieto (A2) is her number. She goes from Port Melbourne. My number is 359…’ (In order to impress this upon his father, Ernek pencilled this heavily in black).
The battalion sailed from Station Pier on 21 October with mixed emotions of excitement and sadness.
Just five days out from Melbourne and the day they reached Albany, Carl wrote his first letter to sister, Beattie.
‘…This will be posted at Albany, our final port of call. There is not time to write more than a short note. I have been sick since the day after we left but am recovering now. We have had perfect weather from the first. By the way, I am a Lance Corporal. I got my stripe in a birthday present [appointed on 22 October]. I daresay Mother will send our letters on to you to read. It will be your turn for a longer letter next time.
Your loving brother Carl…’
They reached Albany the same day. The First Contingent of Australian and New Zealand troops gathered in St George’s Sound, a large sheltered natural harbour of the Albany coast. Eventually 36 transports, carrying over 30,000 troops, would lay at anchor – the largest fleet ever assembled in Australian waters.
While they waited off Albany, the entire battalion underwent inoculation against enteric fever. One man refused and he was immediately discharged and sent back to Victoria.
The convoy sailed on 1 November.
On 9 November, a distress call was received from the British wireless station in the Cocos Islands. HMAS Sydney, one of the escorting cruisers, picked up the urgent signal, “Unidentified ship off entrance.” The German cruiser SMS Emden was known to be in the area, so the Sydney immediately steamed off to intercept the raider. The ensuing battle lasted for less than two hours – the first shots were fired by the Emden at 9:40am; by 11:20am the Emden, heavily battered and on fire, was forced to beach on North Keeling Island.
After the commander of the Emden struck the ship’s flag and surrendered, the survivors were taken onboard the Sydney. After rejoining the convoy at Colombo, the German prisoners were divided across various transports. Fifty-three men, including four officers, were taken onboard the Orvieto. The excitement and the significance of the engagement was not lost on the troops. Carl wrote to his parents of his part in this historic moment.
‘…Colombo was full of ships…all our fleet and the rest mostly big grey warships. It was here we saw the Sydney for the first time since she left us to fight the Emden…how proud we all felt that an Australian ship got the very ship that so many English and Japanese had been looking for. Our ship took…some of the prisoners. 43 men, 3 petty officers, the Captain and 3 other officers one of whom is a Prince. I am on guard today. Guard means much more than it did. Each man on guard carries a loaded r***e and instead of 9 posts we have 15. It takes me just about 30 minutes to post sentries from one end of the ship to the other. The Germans are a fine looking lot and pleasant. The officers are in cabins and the men have a space in the stern barred off…’
Writing to Beattie, Ernek said that the entire experience ‘was the only great excitement of the long journey.’ His description of the troops as they entered the warm equatorial zone was almost comical.
‘…It is very warm, all we are wearing at the present is a singlet and trousers, no boots or socks, we all look like a lot of orphans with our blue trousers rolled up to our knees. Some of them go about in bathing costumes…’
Carl showed a dry sense of humour when he described a “route march” onboard the Orvieto.
‘…This morning after church service we went for a 2½ mile walk, which is only 10 times around the first-class deck and thoroughly enjoyed it. It feels good to march to a band again…’
The convoy continued on, reaching Alexandria on 3 December. The men then travelled through to Cairo by train; they continued on to Mena Camp, about 10-miles west of the city.
Ernek painted a romantic scene in his first letter home from Mena.
‘…My dear Mother, Father, Naja and Bosco [his dog], we are camped below the pyramids with the sky for a covering. They have not got enough tents for us all but there are some more coming shortly. It was very pretty coming through by train from Alexandria.
We have just received your letters and snap-shots which you wrote on 22nd Oct 1914. They must have gone to England then had to be sent back here. I was disappointed not getting any at all. There were three tram loads of mails come out to this camp, yesterday. All of the transport is carried out here by Electric Trams…they run right into the camp…’
Carl wrote to his friend, John Garibaldi Roberts, who was the accountant for the Melbourne Tramway and Omnibus Company. The letter appeared in multiple newspapers…
‘…Mena, Egypt, 10th January, 1915.
Here we are camped at the foot of the Pyramids. Two days ago, for the first time since leaving Australia, we received letters written after our departure. You can imagine how anxious we have all been without news. I cannot thank you enough for the papers and booklets. I was the first to get our letters in our line, and the only one to get papers, so you can guess how popular I became. We felt like kissing an Australian newspaper. From what I can hear, this might be the last letter we can write uncensored. No one knows why, but I do not think we will leave here for a time.
Our training here is very strenuous, mainly, I think, to get us fit, and also to w**d out the unfit. We do six hours daily on the desert in sand ankle deep, and over stony stretches. Broadmeadows was a picnic. Also twice a week we do night marches or outpost in trenches, and other training. At other times we roll out at 2.30 a.m. (twice last week), and return to camp at 8.30, and then two hours' drill in the afternoon. Sundays we have church parade at 9 a.m. (reveille at 6.15), and then a march from 10.30 to 1. Our food is good, and sufficient to keep us fit. We had too much at Broadmeadows.
There will be a few men returned to Australia. This life has shown them up because of their inability to keep going. Practically the whole of those of our company (about six or seven) to go back are
English boys of a low type, who have lived in Australia for a short while and joined for the trip. There is a lot I would like to write, but time forbids. For a man who wishes to get physically and mentally fit soldiering is the best thing out, but there is no place in the army for the drunkard and the malingerer. This is, I suppose, one of the worst countries in the world for vice, and the weak and bad characters such as must exist in such a force as this have caused a little trouble, but not in such a way that the force has had its good name tarnished.
The authorities have kept a strict supervision, and of late there has been very little leave granted. One mistake, I think, is that the only leave granted is at night, and consequently such places as the Museum, &c., are closed, so the men find that time hangs, and there is no necessity for even a Satan to find them mischief.
We landed at Alexandria on 3rd December, and I had the good fortune to be chosen to accompany my captain and a sergeant to stay in that city for a rest camp for sick horses. I was delighted at the chance of seeing Alexandria as well as Cairo. We camped in a big roofed reserve used for storing cotton, and situated at Cabarri, one of the lowest native suburbs.
When I heard we were coming to Egypt I was not at all disappointed, for to do so had always been a desire of mine, but (I know this will seem blase, but it is not) I am disappointed with travel to this extent. Photography and the cinematograph have taken away much of the charm from historical places and objects. At every port we touched I had the feeling of being at a cinema show, and of seeing things second-hand.
We are camped a few hundred yards from the Pyramids and Sphinx, and yet I do not bother to walk that far for a fortnight. I was interested, but it was not new. At Alexandria what was really interesting was the life and customs of a population which is so largely native. The sergeant and myself wandered and poked round into some q***r quarters, and saw things which the tourist never sees, and which one does not read of or see illustrated. Alexandria is a fine city as regards the central portion, which is largely European and consists mainly of a fine square, with gardens and open-air cafes and some fine shops. The languages spoken are mainly French and Italian; and also English, of course, but very little.
The quaint buildings, cafes and tradesmen's shops in the native quarters are wonderfully interesting, and as a soldier I had opportunities which do not come in the way of all visitors. None of us went out singly or without side arms, but the lower classes are too cowardly to do anything but cast black looks, and the better class welcomed the advent of strong forces of British troops.
Cairo I have not seen a great deal of yet, but it is a large and much wealthier city than Alexandria. The shops and business places are exceptionally fine, and the mosques are wonderfully beautiful. Here again it is unfamiliar life which is so interesting. There are a number of Territorials stationed in Egypt, but very few regulars. They are mostly boys and of a very poor stature. Even the regulars say they have never seen training such as we are getting. You would not recognise us for the same troops now. The feeling of being volunteers seems to be gone, and soldiering is as natural as our old occupations.
We are extremely fortunate to have had such a perfect climate. The days are pleasantly warm, and the nights cold, with heavy dews, such as we never have in Australia. Our anxiety now is to get
to the front, and also we would like a little more news from home. I cannot understand why our letters are delayed…’
Carl was not alone in wondering why they weren’t receiving letters and parcels; it was a common thread in letters home.
In writing to an artist friend, Carl shared a far more colourful version of what he was seeing. After mentioning his duty at the camp for sick horses, he continued on…
‘…Our camp was in one of the lowest native suburbs…We never went out singly and always with side-arms. I expected a wealth of colour but some dirt predominated. There is a fine square or series of squares in the city proper and from there the native streets stretch in all directions. The Sergeant and myself penetrated to some most interesting parts apart from the beaten track. Q***r Arab cafes, bakers’ shops, confectioners, metal workers and all sorts of places around. There are special shops where those Tarboosh caps are blocked into shape while the customers wait…
Alexandria is famed as having one of the biggest brothel quarters of any city and I can believe it. The first thing a cabbie says to a soldier is “Sister Street”? There are about 6 streets containing nothing but pr******tes of all nationalities. These women are inspected once a week and all produce their certificates before doing business. Some of the girls are very fine and some are worse than awful. I saw one or two French girls with beautiful figures but these were in the better class houses. Business is done quite openly and the pr******te and the old woman in charge tout at the doors. There are very few comparatively speaking native women pr******tes. Some of the unmarried women who wear a white veil are beautiful up to about 18 years of age. The married women wear a heavy black veil with a metal arrangement over the nose…’
Writing to his parents, Carl steered clear of discussing pr******tes and kept to safer topics.
‘…This camp is practically at the foot of the Pyramids and on the edge of the Sahara desert. It is sand and more sand and we drill in sand up to our ankles and march in sand and eat sand but it is decidedly cleaner than Broadmeadows’ dust. It is very cold here at night and the dew is equal to a heavy rain. 2 others and myself have dug a hole and covered it with rubber sheets till we get a tent. We have no rest day here. Even Sunday s we go for a long march after church. I guess we will get fit after a few weeks. I was terribly glad to get the prints of mother. We got a special tram to Mena and reached the Pyramids just at sunset. I will always remember that first view of the Pyramids. They stood out as masses of purple against a gorgeous sky…’
After a despatch from the Official War Correspondent C. E. W. Bean criticising the behaviour of some Australian troops appeared in Australian newspapers on 21 January 1915, there was an expected response. Carl addressed the issue in some detail. He was one of the few who came out in support of Bean.
‘…This mail was rather an exciting one, as the day before we had received word of our departure in a very short time: and also because it is the first we have heard of Captain C. E. W. Bean's letter re behaviour.
Our departure this time is “dinkum,” and no rumour. A couple of weeks back the 7th and 8th went to Ismailia as supports, but the whole business fizzled out so soon that they were not needed.
We all expected to get a look in, but were disappointed. There was no necessity to move us nearer the spot, as in case of trouble we could have been in the trenches in a few hours. At present, no one knows our next destination.
Now to explain a few things. First of all the only reliable man writing for Australian papers, from what we can read in copies received, is Captain Bean. No account of his which I have seen has been incorrect in any detail, but one very slight one, and that immaterial. The point to which I refer is a story of some privates booking a table at the Continental. I know the privates who were the chief actors in the comedy, and evidently the story was embellished for Bean's consumption. Also there have been numerous letters published, evidently by fond parents, from members of the force, and I guess a few young men are blushing unknown to us when they hear the remarks made in camp. There is a special company board in one of the company lines kept specially for those sublime examples of the art of writing fairy tales. Also, from paper accounts, our stay in Egypt has been one long picnic. In the main the statements are correct, because we did receive chocolate, and we did get plum pudding for Christmas, but until two weeks ago, no leave but night leave was ever granted. I saw a statement that we got one whole day in five.
This is the routine we had without any exaggeration. For the first three weeks reveille 6.15 a.m., breakfast 7a.m., fall in 8 a.m., march out about three miles in ankle deep sand with one bread roll a man and one tin sardines to four men for lunch (no variation in diet for lunch and breakfast — bread and jam, one slice per man), return to camp at 4 p.m. Training consisted of skirmishing for about two miles across the desert. The reveille was changed to 5.30 a.m., and return to camp at 4.30p.m., some mornings leaving camp at 7.30 a.m. and returning at midnight.
Even Sundays were not free. Reveille same time, church parade 9 to 10 a.m., then a route march over the desert for about five miles; return to camp at 1.30. Dinner, and then clean up lines for inspection. Inspection meant standing on parade from 3 o'clock till 4, and then dismissal. Then
the heads took a "tumble," and great is the change. We have one full day holiday a week, and Sunday excepted, church parade is free. General leave, excepting to defaulters, is granted both days.
Everybody is light-hearted and fit. Our work has been cut out in a sensible manner, and is done cheerfully and well. You would not recognise us for the same soldiers who left Melbourne. There
is a confidence in the bearing of all which I have not seen in any but soldiers with training, and it makes me realise how unfitted we were to go to war such as the present one with
our Broadmeadows training. . . . .
For weeks I did not go near Cairo, because it was impossible to go anywhere but the city itself. The only places of amusement are low-class cabarets. . . . . Now that day leave has been granted the men spend their money on trips to the hundreds of interesting places round Cairo, and crime has decreased tremendously. Our guard tent has been empty for three days. This is unprecedented, even in Broadmeadows.
Now for Captain Bean. There is nothing to quibble about in his statement. There is a leaven of wasters, but they have been mostly culled out. A large proportion of those wasters are not Australians, but immigrants from England. There are some very bad Australians I admit, but their badness is of a different type. Also we have Englishmen to whom we would be proud to give the name of Australian. It is just a case of the small leaven again. Bean was quite right in doing as he did, for the fellows will pitch some fine tales on their return. Also you should know that there are a lot of poor chaps who must go back because of bad luck in contracting ordinary diseases, such as rheumatism, etc., and others because of accidents. We are all sorry for them, and it is heartbreaking to see them go. The Brigadier told us that if we could not stand the training we would not be able to stand active service. I have weighed my words in writing the foregoing, and on re-reading cannot find anything I wish to delete. I am in the best of health, both of mind and body, and am not writing what I have from a sense of injustice, but merely want you to know the truth.
Cairo next. I am afraid I must leave Cairo until I see you all again, then I can talk. Cairo is a city larger than Alexandria. Beautiful buildings of many kinds with terrible hovels rubbing shoulders. The centre of the city contains many fine shops equal to, but not better than, any in Melbourne, excepting the to***conists, and the latter, I have not seen anything to equal for luxurious fittings. The native portion is, except in a few instances, in close vicinity to the European streets, and middling clean. Narrow lanes and culs de sac run in all directions, and I cannot believe it possible that an accurate map exists of the place.
Though I was disgusted morally in Alexandria, the filth and debauchery of Cairo is past mentioning. . . . To see Cairo as an ordinary tourist is impossible. In fact, I do not think that I should care to do as a civilian what I have done as a soldier. Two or three of us have wandered round and poked into all the q***r places imaginable. For the most part the natives are friendly, but we met isolated cases where one's shadow was spat on. It gives one quite a feeling of importance to have one's shadow spat upon, and I blush to think what would happen to us did we consider ourselves as relatively important in Melbourne as we do when we swagger in Cairo. Of course, we have been to most places of tourist interest, but more especially in the vicinity of the Pyramids have we seen interesting things unknown to the average visitor. . . . . .
Just one word more re Bean. I have heard only isolated opinions at all antagonistic to his letter. The very great majority are quite satisfied that what has been done was only fair to those — and they are a big majority — who are running straight. Certainly the scare headings gave cause, and
justly, for adverse comment…’
Again, Carl’s letter was reproduced in newspapers back home, but the editors decided to censor one particular part that was considered too graphic for sensitive souls reading over the breakfast table.
‘…Now for another dark patch. There are 400 cases of Venereal Diseases. We were warned on ship of the terrible forms of Venereal disease in this country, but of course there were the usual scoffers. But honestly I believe the proportion of victims would not have been so great had we been worked sensibly and granted day leave. Night leave left the men with weaker natures and nothing to do but visit hotels and Brothels…’
The censorship and re-wording Carl’s original letter begs the question: how many times were letters home “tampered” with by moralistic newspaper editors? Patsy Adam-Smith quite rightly pointed out that the double-standards of the Victorian era blinded many Australians to the realities of human nature – she could see that Carl Janssen was more sophisticated than the average soldier and he wrote of this subject to a friend who was equally worldly; it was probably not a subject he would have broached with his mother. The majority of Australians would not have listened to the truth – they believed our troops were noble heroes, above the “sins of the flesh,” and ‘against the men’s wishes they had put haloes on them.’
Fortunately, at this point, Carl’s only personal concern continued to be the lack of mail.
‘…I received your letter marked 6th written on March 8th last week. I did not have notice in time to write even a note so had to be content with a card. Ernek did not know in time to write at all. I cannot understand that you do not get my letters though there are others here get word of their letters not reaching home…’
Ernek wrote frequently to their younger sister, Naja. His main concern was for his beloved dog, Bosco.
‘…I have often wished that we had brought Bosco on board with us he would have been great company no doubt…’
Carl bought himself a vest pocket Kodak and began taking photos of his life in Egypt, photos of Egyptian orange sellers and troops at Mena. He sent many of the films home to his family.
While Carl’s letters were bright and breezy, Ernek showed he was a more sensitive soul. It was clear that he was more than a little homesick.
The anticipated move against the Turks had everyone on edge. Carl wrote to Beattie,
‘…I believe we are leaving on Tuesday. We all though that we would have been gone before as it is over a week since the 9th, 10th and 11th Battalions left, and my word they are keeping it quiet where they have gone. Nobody seems to know. I dare say that you will know where we are before you receive this…we have been doing some more night manoeuvres lately…and my word it was a cold night out, we did not have our blankets either, ours went astray somewhere. The whole of the Division was out, it was a big sham-fight and they even had mounted men (imaginary), falling out and being treated by the Ambulance Corps. The wounded men were lucky as they were taken back to camp and were able to have a good sleep in a tent…’
Finally, on Easter Sunday 4 April 1915, Ernek was able to write to his parents that they were on the move.
‘…We are in the station yard waiting to get into the train, we have just walked in from Mena and are pretty tired. We left camp at 6:20…I hope we have seen the last of it. I am writing this on the off chance of getting it posted, for I suppose it will be a long time before we can write again. Carl and I are together and both well, and I hope we come out of it alright.
You will hear plenty about us in the papers. We will be travelling all night and get to Alexandria some time in the morning and I suppose we will go straight on the boats. It will be only a short trip this time. We will miss the mail unless they keep it back at Alexandria and give it to us. We will soon be moving. Goodbye, with heaps of love. From your ever loving son Ernek…’
In the wee small hours of the following morning, Ernek rushed off a last letter to Naja.
‘…In train Easter Monday morning 2AM
Just a note we are on our way to getting the boats to go away to fight. I suppose you will hear all about us in the papers. We are all glad to get away from Egypt. Carl and I are both well and still in the same company. I will have to chance getting this posted. We will get to Alexandria about 7 am so we will have to get what sleep we can in the train hoping you are alright and Mother and Father also. I am your loving brother Ernek. (Excuse scribble.)…’
The Janssen brothers reached Alexandria early the next morning and, along with the rest of the 5th Battalion, boarded the transport Novian.
Carl’s last message, was written while the invasion force was still waiting at the island of Lemnos, some 50-miles from the Dardanelles; it was dated 11 April, and was in the form of a field service card – it was designed to be brief and to the point:
‘…I am quite well.
I have received your letter dated March 8th.
Letters follows at first opportunity. Carl…’
Some time on the 25 April 1915, Ernek Janssen was able to scrawl a brief entry in his pocket diary.
‘…Sunday 25 April: Arrived at our first landing place. Started a fearful battle. Went ashore early in the morning under fearful shrapnel fire. Started fighting as soon as we landed. We went waist deep in the water getting ashore. Carl was hit with a piece of shrapnel getting out of the boat…’
The 5th Battalion had been part of the second wave of ANZAC troops to land that day. They were met by a hailstorm of shrapnel and bullets.
Lance-Corporal Wilfred Buchanan was in the left of two boats carrying 5th Battalion men that landed together. A shell burst just missed the Buchanan’s boat, but pieces of shrapnel sprayed across the second boat that held both Carl and Ernek Janssen. Private Alex Honey was with the brothers and saw Carl hit. The most obvious wound was at the base of Carl’s neck, but it was a penetrating abdominal wound that would ultimately kill him.
Ernek knew that Carl had been hit, and had to leave him as the men pushed forward. He probably never knew what became of him…
When The ANZACS was made into a television mini-series, Carl and Ernek Janssen became the brothers, Carl and Eric Johanssen, dairy farmers from Ballarat; they were moved from the 5th to the 8th Battalion to streamline the story. Shortly after landing, “Eric Johannsen” is seen kneeling beside his wounded brother. “Marty Barrington” stops and asks, “Carl, can you make it?” The wounded man shakes his head. His tearful younger brother kisses him on the head, before charging off to rejoin the battle. Of course, this was all a scriptwriter’s dramatic re-telling of what might have occurred. It is, however, easy to imagine that Ernek would have stopped to be with his brother. Witnesses said that Carl was left propped at the base of a cliff – others said they saw him dead on the beach – in the maelstrom of battle, memories could easily merge details.
However, Carl did not die on the beach at ANZAC Cove – he was attended to by the stretcher-bearers and was evacuated to the Hospital Ship City of Benares, where he died at 11:45am on 26 April. His body was buried at sea somewhere between Gallipoli and Alexandria – that was the closest estimation given at the time.
Meanwhile, back in Ballarat, news of Carl Janssen’s death reached members of the Sebastopol Borough Council. At the meeting of 13 May, it was moved that a letter of condolence be sent to Inuk Janssen and his family. It was noted that Carl was the first Sebastopol boy to lose his life at Gallipoli. Sadly, he would not be the last.
Councillor Evan Jenkins, who had lived near the Janssen’s in Albert Street, remarked that Carl ‘was an obedient, bright lad, and he felt very keenly when he heard of his death.’
For Ernek Janssen, these must have been difficult days. The troops dug in on the treacherous hills and gullies above ANZAC Cove and fought hard to gain the upper hand. When the British High Command decided to attempt a breakthrough push along the coast at Cape Helles, several Australian battalions were transferred into position. The Battle of Krithia began on 8 May 1915. What happened to Ernek Janssen that day is clouded by confusion. Private Horace Ennor later said that Ernek had been killed and he buried him and two other 5th Battalion men two days later; he also claimed the date to be the 6 May. Sergeant-Major Robert Finch believed that Ernek had been wounded and died on 9 May. Lieutenant Keith McDonald had known both Carl and Ernek – he referred to the younger brother as “Ernie” and said that he was in C Company, ‘which was the old E Coy.’ The last time he saw Ernek was ‘when we made a big charge at Helles.’ He made enquiries and all the evidence pointed to Ernek having been killed, but he couldn’t state anything definitively.
Lieutenant Athol Adams was an officer with C Company and he added that ‘Janssen was commonly reported in [the] Company…to be killed at Cape Helles about 8 May.’ According to Adams, Lieutenant James Anderson Kerr Johnston, who was with the 7th Battalion had recommended Ernek (and others) for bravery. One of Ernek’s last acts was to try to help Lieutenant Johnston, who had been badly wounded in the back, calf and knee; he died in Cairo on 19 May.
Ernek Janssen was officially reported as wounded. In a cable, dated 24 June 1915, Base Records used the standard phrases when conveying what was regarded as non-urgent news to inform Inuk Janssen that his second son had been wounded.
‘Regret son Private E. V. Janssen wounded not reported seriously no other particulars available will immediately advise anything further received.’
As time passed, Ernek’s status was altered to “wounded and missing.”
The lack of news was heartbreaking. More than four months after Ernek had been reported wounded, Inuk had still heard nothing further. Taking matters into his own hands, he contacted Charles Bean.
‘…Dear Sir! Hearing you are willing to assist people to trace their wounded sons I am taking the liberty to ask if you will kindly help me. My son…was reported wounded by the Defence Department 18 June. I can get no further news from them. I cabled last Friday, the 17th inst, through the Eastern Company and received reply wounded between 8th & 12th May, no further report. Would you oblige by trying if possible to find out where he is. His brother…was killed in the landing between the 25th April and 1st May, so please do not confuse the two…’
Base Records informed Inuk Janssen that in response to their cabled enquiry, the authorities in Egypt reported vaguely, “No progress report received.” Major James Lean, the long-serving commander of the Base Records Office, immediately acted on the situation.
‘…In view of this unsatisfactory advice I am endeavouring to obtain further information concerning this and a number of other similar cases…’
Months continued to pass without official word. It is impossible to imagine how the Janssen family suffered when letters they had sent to Ernek began to return stamped “Killed.”
The witness statement given by Private Alexander Honey was sent to Inuk Janssen; unfortunately, the inaccuracies in his information caused further grief for the family. Inuk quickly called it into question.
‘…Your report to hand this morning, for which I thank you. Pte A. Hiney’s information is incorrect in every particular. I have two service cards written by my son, Pte E. V. Janssen…, on the 3rd and 5th of May 8 & 10 days after Pte Hiney says he was killed and I will enclose extracts from two other soldier’s letters written to me, boys in the same section and that knew him personally. In regard to my other son, L/Cpl C. W. Janssen…, we know from a friend of his (returned wounded) that they conversed on the beach…’
Pte Tom Chapman of C Company had written from the Hospital Ship Letitia, at Alexandria on Friday 7 May 1915 –
‘…As Ern and myself are old friends he has asked me to drop you a line with his card. I was put out of action and had to return here. On Monday morning last when I last saw him he was quite well. Ern and I were in the same section…’
Sergeant William Jackson, who was in hospital in Egypt, wrote on 30 November 1915,
‘…The last time I saw Ernek was just before we made our charge at Cape Helles. Up to then he was well and bright and was hopeful of getting through all right. After the attack was over and we were withdrawn from the trenches we found that he (with a large number of others from our company) was missing and I was informed that he was killed, of course this could easily be a mistake…’
Their long, drawn-out grief continued with a letter from Base Records on 4 April 1916.
‘…the unofficial report of his death cannot be confirmed and there is no further information other than wounded and missing…’
To compound the situation, it was suggested that a Sergeant-Major Fred Leveson had been in contact with Maggie Janssen. He told her that while he was in Malta’s Pembroke Convalescent Home, on 28 August, he had seen Ernek there ‘convalescent and getting around on two sticks.’ He went on to say that Ernek was being invalided to England. A subsequent enquiry found no trace of Ernek Janssen on Malta.
Finally, on 3 November 1916, a Court of Enquiry was held to assess the outstanding cases of “Missing in Action” from the Gallipoli Campaign. The court assessed the available information before making a pronouncement on each man. It was at this point that Ernek Janssen status was changed to “previously reported missing now confirmed killed in action.” The date of death was given as 12 May 1915, which was the last possible day of casualty in the battle.
Finally, the death of Ernek Janssen in action was certified by the AIF Headquarters List of 13 December 1916. It was stated that there had been no burial.
His body was never recovered.
Carl’s personal effects had arrived home in March 1916. Two small packages contained his cigarette case, some coins, a handkerchief, note book, money belt, to***co pouch, an infantry pocket-book, his disc and wristwatch.
When Ernek’s belongings eventually arrived – nearly three years after his death – they were wrapped in one small parcel. They were basic everyday items: his razor and shaving brush, multiple handkerchiefs, tie clips, a brush, lanyard, wrist strap, his “housewife,” a ribband of initials and a wrist strap. There were two articles of clothing: a cap comforter and scarf, showing that Ernek had been prepared for when the weather turned cold, and two pocket Testaments.
Surprisingly, the delivery also included a second package of things that had belonged to Carl; there were seven military books, a writing pad, two brushes and a quantity of letters. Of Carl’s Vest Pocket Kodak, there was no sign.
The allotment of pensions for the family of the two brothers seemed almost random. Beattie Janssen was granted the fortnightly amount of £1/15/- on 15 December 1917 on behalf of her brother, Carl. Maggie Janssen received just one pound each fortnight for her son, Ernek. Despite him still being technically missing, this pension had been granted on 29 January 1916.
Letters home from men who had been with sons, brothers, husbands, fathers, were received up, down and across the country. One particular letter was received by Beattie Janssen; it came from Carl’s mate, Sergeant Jim McDonald. He wrote,
‘,,,Poor Carl of course fell but a few yards away from me. I don’t know whether he was hit in the boat or not, but I clearly remember the shell that did the damage. Two of our sergeants and Lieut Adams and a few privates of our company are with me and they say that there is no doubt but that poor Ernek was killed at Cape Helles. You can understand that it is very difficult for me to write thus to you. How he met his death I don’t know. In Carl’s case, the same shrapnel shell which caused his and others’ deaths burst just as the platoon which I belonged to moved off. Had we remained one minute longer a good many of us would have fared the same. Poor old Carl was shot through the lower part of the neck and was propped up against a rock at the foot of the cliff…we had to move off and I never saw him again…’
It is easy to imagine Beattie’s tears as she read these words…
Endeavouring to gather as much evidence as possible regarding cases of battlefield death, Base Records organised a “Request for Information” form. These forms were sent out to families asking for any verifying material that could add details to what was officially known. Inuk Janssen completed the form for Ernek on 30 May 1921 – six years after the boy’s death.
‘…the enclosures (3) comprise the only information I have ever received. My family and self greatly appreciate the action that is being taken regarding my late son…’
In spite of their harrowing ordeal, the family still sought to express their gratitude for the help they had received.
Inuk Janssen died suddenly at their Barry Street home on 28 June 1927; Maggie was to out-live him by nearly twelve years. Beattie, who worked as a needlewoman, had moved back to be with her parents after her brothers were killed. She never married.
Naja Janssen had shown the family aptitude for education – she was presented with a gold medal by the chairman of the Mentone State School when she passed her Merit Certificate in 1915. During the inter-war years, she worked as a typist. In January 1942, she enlisted in the Australian Women’s Army Service and reached the rank of captain. Naja was 47 when she married returned serviceman and former prisoner of war, Kenneth William Burnett, at Christ Church in South Yarra on 27 September 1947. The marriage did not last, and Naja then shared a flat with Beattie in Murrumbeena Road, Oakleigh.
While the Janssen family legacy continued to flourish overseas, the Australian branch was effectively cut down by the Great War. Although many still remember and honour their distant connection to Carl and Ernek Janssen, there is no direct family left to mourn their loss.
Ballarat Central, VIC
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