This is the continuing story of the family and descendants of convicts Thomas Eather and Elizabeth Lee in Australia. You can find the very first post in this series here. That one deals with my journey to discover Elizabeth’s beginnings in Lancaster; following posts explore the Eather roots in Kent, then the journeys of both on convict ships to NSW, where they met and created a family and life together.

This chapter in the Eather family story is about my grandparents: Florence May Creek (1896 – 1973) and Ernest Beden Newton (1888 – 1955)

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A Missing Son

On Christmas Day 1942, Florence Newton (née Creek) set the table as usual for the family lunch. Eight plates, knives and forks: a set positioned in front of a chair for each of her children and her husband, Ernest Beden Newton. She omitted a setting for herself—she would eat later, once everyone had been served and were enjoying their meal. Until then, she would hover, in case Ernie wanted something. She’d bring extra potatoes or peas, dashing back to stir the gravy pan over the fuel stove in the hot kitchen. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades and ran into her eyes as she worked.
Once she could finally sit on the back step, a plate on her lap with a jumble of crispy potato skins and salty crackling from the roast, she’d fan her hot face with a corner of her apron and long for a cooling breeze.

One chair around the table would remain empty: the one facing the setting she’d laid out carefully for her eldest child. Lovable, kind, smiling Ernest Harvey—nicknamed ‘Snow’ because of his fair hair in a family of dark-haired and hazel-eyed children—would never again join them for Christmas dinner. But she refused to believe that he was gone forever.¹

In June 1940, after the German invasion of France, Snow had told her he was off to Paddington to enlist, where he joined the 2/18 Australian Infantry Battalion.²

At the time, he was living in Bilpin in the Blue Mountains, on a property he’d leased in 1939 and named Snow’s Carinya.³ He’d chosen Bilpin because a cousin, David Horsefield, lived there; the two lads were good friends.⁴ Most of the family were still at Homeville, the suburb of West Maitland where Snow had been born. Younger brother, fifteen year old Doug, had accompanied him to Bilpin, but returned to Maitland when Snow enlisted.

Like most mothers she’d have experienced a mix of pride and dread when her eldest signed up for war. She naturally assumed he’d be sent to the Middle East, where much of the action involving Australians had been to that point. It was hard to imagine her boy fighting in the desert against the Germans or Italians.

First, though, came training. Basic training began at the Army Camp at Wallgrove—not so far away, so that was reassuring. Then to Bathurst, for open field training to prepare for that desert war. The new year arrived, and in February 1941 he was on a troop ship, sailing out of Sydney to an unknown destination.
The surprising news came that he’d landed in Malaya. Far from desert warfare, his letters home described the tropical jungle environment, the sights, sounds and smells in the local villages, rest and recreation days in Singapore with its crowded streets and shops:
I rode {along} the waterfront where it is barricaded like a fortress with barb wire and pill boxes and the harbour is simply one mass of boats all shapes and sizes and coloures (sic).⁵

That was reassuring. Like most Australians, she assumed that the island of Singapore, controlled and fortified by the British, was protection against Japanese expansion into southeast Asia and Australia’s north.⁶ There were unsettling cartoons in the papers, depicting bayonet-wielding Japanese using the islands of Singapore and Indonesia as stepping stones on their way to Darwin⁷, but Singapore was safe. If Snow was in Malaya or Singapore, he really was defending his country.

His letters were full of stories of movie nights at base camp, the torrential rain of the wet season, shopping excursions to buy gifts for people back home, and messages of thanks for letters and parcels received.
The worst injuries he’d suffered so far had been fractured ribs in a footy match with his unit, and a head laceration from a fall, but nothing to worry about. He’d enjoyed dancing with Chinese women at the ‘New World’ dance pavilion in Singapore, set up for the entertainment and relaxation of the troops.

Snow had always loved motor bikes and had his rider’s license, so it was no surprise that he was tasked with the role of rider. He sent a photo of himself proudly astride his motorcycle. In one letter, he corrected his mother’s use of the abbreviation ‘DR’ (dispatch rider):

I see you are putting D.R. before my name. Well, I’m not a D.R. in the eyes of this Battalion as they pay an extra 1/- (one shilling) a day for D.R.s. They may want some later on they say, as a new organisation is being developed. Here’s hoping as 1/- would mount up each fortnight.⁸

In November he wrote to say that he was starting a month-long course to become a driver/ mechanic, and he’d be working on vehicles affected by the humid and muddy environment.⁹

In every letter, he asked after family and his girlfriend, Doris:

Has Doug been called up yet? And has Ralph heard anything about coming over since last you wrote? I will enclose a lot of {photo} negatives and match box tops for Doris…
Don’t leave yourself short by putting money in the Bank and don’t forget to help yourself if necessary.
Tell Ralph not to knock the bike around as it will have to do a long trip when I get back…
Bob seems to be doing alright for himself … I hope he does well, tell him to watch himself. Doug is also getting a good wage, damn near as we get in our pay. Ron is also doing well. You can tell them to keep it up and look after themselfs (sic) and wish them a merry Christmas and a prosperous new year for me please.
Will send a piece of poetry next letter and the boys all join in sending a merry Xmas and a happy new year.

Always her ally, he hadn’t forgotten how difficult his father could be:
Glad to hear Dad has gone back to work, I suppose it is a load off your mind to have him away.¹⁰

And every letter he signed off as: your loving son, Snow.

Now it was Christmas and she must have longed for another letter. His last had been dated a year earlier: 18 November 1941. While she waited, she couldn’t know that Japanese troops had received orders to begin an assault on Malaya.

As the new year dawned, they overcame key British targets along the Malay peninsula, covering hundreds of kilometres at a frightening pace.¹¹ They were better equipped, better trained and more professional than Australians had been led to believe.¹²

Snow’s unit was ordered to move south to defend Singapore Island, the last bulwark against further Japanese expansion. During the night of 8 February, they faced an all-out assault on the island, while Japanese planes rained bombs on Allied airbases. Waves of Japanese soldiers streamed through gaps in defences, seemingly unstoppable.
Fighting throughout that night and into the early hours of the next morning was hand-to-hand, much of it in thick mud and mangrove swamps. As men fell, they sank into warm, sucking mud.¹³ It was a chaotic frenzy of fear, violence and adrenalin, with little time to think. All the Australian boys could do was react, fend off the ferocity of the Japanese, try to survive the night.

Snow was last seen at a rubber plantation near the Tengah airfield, in the island’s northwest, probably killed during that first night of intense fighting, rather than the retreat that followed.

‘Missing Presumed Dead’ declared the Army casualty list, several days before Singapore surrendered to the Japanese.¹⁴ Another two hundred and twenty two families received similar news, while four hundred more heard their boys had been wounded.¹⁵

Survivors were marched to prison camps in Japanese occupied countries. Many died from their wounds or the terrible conditions in the camps.

Florence could never accept Snow’s disappearance on that dreadful night. Even when the official Army Certificate of Death arrived in May 1946, she did not want to believe the stark words on the page. A more hurtful notice arrived a few months later, in the form of a flimsy paper on which an Army clerk had typed a list of ‘war gratuity entitlements’ payable on her son’s behalf: his service and his life apparently valued at £ 270.¹⁶

She continued setting a place for him at the Christmas table for many years.

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Snow’s disappearance echoed down the years for the whole family, including his siblings. Decades after the end of the war, his younger brother Doug began researching the events of February 1942 in Singapore and Malaya. He contacted Lynette Silver, historian and Honorary Member of the 2/18th Battalion and 2/19th Battalion AIF, who provided information on what was known about the fighting there, and the likely date and place of Snow’s death. This helped Doug and others in the family come to terms with the loss of their beloved brother.

A Mighty War

The frightening news of Singapore’s surrender meant that those back home had to consider the possibility of a Japanese invasion of Australia: something that before had seemed unthinkable. This was a new worry, added to the sorrow of the gaping hole left by Snow’s disappearance.

More anxiety was in store. In 1942, son Bob enlisted.¹⁷ At least he would serve in the Citizen Military Forces (CMF) within Australia, as a motorcycle dispatch rider at Wagga Wagga and Bathurst army camps. Members of the regular Army often derided the CMF as ‘chokkos’ or ‘chocolate soldiers’ who would melt in the heat of battle, but for a time there were many more CMF than AIF soldiers, and CMF troops fought at Kokoda and other parts of New Guinea alongside the AIF. Bob, however, remained in NSW.
When she heard the news that he’d been in a serious accident while on duty, she must have feared the worst. He ended up with an amputated leg, but he lived, and was discharged as medically unfit in 1946, much the family’s relief.¹⁸

In 1943 her fourth son, Doug, decided to sign up.¹⁹ He first joined the Citizen Military Forces as his brother Bob had done, and spent time in Australia before transferring as a gunner in the AIF. Departing from Cairns on board the Mexico for New Guinea, he landed at Aitape, in northern New Guinea. He was twice admitted to the Australian camp hospital—for malaria and then bronchitis—but no telegram arrived at Maitland to inform Florence that he had been killed or was missing, like Snow.

He was finally demobbed in 1946 and arrived home, safe and sound—although as for many war veterans, there were injuries, illnesses and mental scars that would appear later. For Florence, the main thing was that he was alive and home again. The fear that she might lose another son to this war was very real.

Through all this she also dealt with wartime rationing, trying to keep house and home together through restrictions on some foods. As during the Great War thirty years earlier, mothers and housewives worked hard to make sure their families had food and clothing. In the back yard at Station Street, Homeville, Florence grew vegetables and kept poultry and a few cows, so they had fresh food, though she needed to save her coupons to buy sugar, tea, meat and clothing.

She cooked over a wood stove; lighting was from kerosine lamps and heating by a coal fire. She was handy with a needle to darn and mend; Prime Minister John Curtin himself had declared that the darning needle is a weapon of war.²⁰

She’d always dressed plainly, as had her mother. No fancy frocks or expensive shoes: just a homemade cotton dress with an apron or pinny to keep it clean. She never went to a beauty salon—they were for women with money to spend on professional haircuts or a weekly set in rollers. She wore her hair bobbed or scraped back into a simple bun—again, exactly as her mother had done. No makeup either. Her needs were few, apart from Sunlight soap and a warm wash with the flannel.

Her widowed mother, Jo, lived a few houses away on Station Street and was a great support. The children would often visit their grandmother and be treated to biscuits from an old tin on her kitchen bench.²¹Jo’s death in 1942 added another grief to the burdens piling up during those hard years.

Ernie’s wage did not bring in much, but at least now it was just the youngest children still living at home. They were all used to wearing hand-me-downs, so not much changed there.

Florence had given birth to six sons and two daughters, all of whom lived to adulthood.²² She had avoided the anguish of burying a child—the fate of her mother, grandmother and great-grandmothers. The children all attended school, but without government financial support, there was an urgent need to start earning, so most left after primary school. Higher education was not possible, even if they had dreamt of something different.

The children all had chores depending on their ages: milking the cows each morning, separating the milk, making butter, cleaning out the dairy shed, weeding the vegetable garden, feeding the stock.

On top of the constraints and worries of wartime, a different kind of threat hung over her every day.

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When she’d married in 1916, like most brides she hadn’t expected to live in fear.²³ Ernie could be charming—indeed, people sometimes commented on what a pleasant fellow her husband was. But at home, it was a different matter.

She’d quickly learned to keep her mouth shut and her eyes downcast when he was in a ‘mood.’ The wrong look or word could result in a beating. At meal times, he kept a leather strap handy near his seat, so that if any of the children spoke out of turn, they’d get a beating, too. The whole family ate in silence, eyes on their plates, never speaking unless spoken to by him. She tried to make sure the kids had everything on their plates before they sat down, so they wouldn’t need to ask for the salt or butter. If Ernie exploded at someone and she tried to intervene, it made things worse for them all.²⁴

There were many small cruelties: if he cut one of the children’s hair, the scissors sometimes took a little piece of their neck along with hair. A hinged lolly tin sat by his armchair and sometimes the children were allowed to have two each. They learnt to be quick in grabbing the sweets—too slow and fingers would be caught in the tin as he slammed the lid down.²⁵

There was no possibility of leaving him. One by one the older children found jobs and lives of their own. Snow’s move to Bilpin had been in part because it was a comfortable distance from his father. That was a source of grief, but she understood. She stayed, making the best of things with the few resources available to her, enduring his outbursts and attacks. Where could she go? She’d had only a basic education and few skills for a job to support herself and the younger children were still in school.

She was needed most at home, making do—and worrying. This was the lot of wives and mothers, especially in wartime.

She was fighting a mighty war of her own.

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Florence and Ernest’s story will be continued in the next Travels with My Ancestors (#19) post

Footnotes:

1 Personal communication of recollections by Doug, Doreen and Kris Newton, multiple dates
2 Ernest Harvey Newton NX27296 in National Archives of Australia; Canberra, Australia; Second Australian Imperial Force Personnel Dossiers, 1939-1947; Series: B883, Accessed 12 Sept 2023
3 Historic Land Records Viewer, Historical Parish Maps, County Cook, Parish Bilpin, Sheet ref 1, Edition 6, 1933 EH Newton Special Lease 39-9; Via Museums of History NSW, State Records Collection, accessed 1 Feb 2024
4 Isabel Johnson to Denise Newton, telephone discussion, 2024
5 Letter from Pte EH Newton to Florence Newton 13 May 1941 (copy in collection of family of Doug Newton)
6 Commemorations Branch, Department of Veterans Affairs, A Bitter Fate: Australians in Malaya and Singapore Dec 1941 – Feb 1942, 2002, p2
7 Commemorations Branch, Department of Veterans Affairs, p13
8 Letter from Pte EH Newton to Florence Newton, 27 Oct 1941 (family collection)
9 Letter from Pte EH Newton to Florence Newton, 18 Nov 1941 (family collection)
10 Letters from Pte EH Newton to Florence Newton, 13 May, 27 Oct, 6 Nov 1941 (family collection)
11 James Burfitt, Against All Odds: the history of the 2/18th Battalion AIF, Monograph published by the 2/18th Battalion Assoc, c. 1991
12 Email from Lynette Silver, Historian and Honorary Member of the 2/18th Battalion and 2/19th Battalion AIF, to Doug Newton, 11 Sept 2001, Copy in collection of family of Doug Newton
13 Email from Lynette Silver 11 Sept 2001
14 Commonwealth War Graves Commission Casualty details for Private EH Newton. Singapore Memorial, Kanji War Cemetery, memorial reference Column 120; Aust War Memorial Roll of Honour Canberra Panel 41; Certificate of Death on War Service dated 30 May 1946
15 James Burfitt, Against All Odds, p1
16 State Records of NSW; EH Newton Will Packet NRS-13660-28-8526-Series 4_338224
17 Arnold Robert Newton in National Archives of Australia; Canberra, Australia; Citizen Military Forces Personnel Dossiers, 1939-1947; Series: B884, Via Ancestry.com, accessed 20 June 2024
18 Arnold Robert Newton in N156695Australia, World War II Military Service Records, 1939-1945, Series B884: Army Citizen Military Forces Accessed 20 Sept 2023
19 Douglas Frank Newton NX174633 in National Archives of Australia; Canberra, Australia; Second Australian Imperial Force Personnel Dossiers, 1939-1947,. Accessed 15 Sept 2023
20 National Archives of Australia, Empty shelves: rationing in Australia | naa.gov.au Accessed 15 Sept 2023
21 Isabel Johnson to Denise Newton, telephone discussion, 2024
22 NSW Birth registrations Ernest Harvey Newton 1917/45938/; Edward Ralph 1920/16849; Arnold Robert Newton 1922/36722; Douglas Frank Newton 1925 from Australia, World War II Military Service Records, 1939-1945; Family records for Ronald George Newton 1927; Alma Newton 1928; Albert Newton 1933; Isabel Newton 1935
23 Marriage of Ernest B Newton & Florence M Creek, Aust Marriage Index 1788- 1950, 1916/15549 Via Ancestry.com, accessed 6 Jan 2023
24 Recollections of Doug Newton
25 Isabelle Johnson to Denise Newton, telephone discussion 2024