Book Review: Vera Deakin and the Red Cross by Carole Woods

For the first time I’ve been sent a book for review, a somewhat novel experience for me, but one that I hope will continue as I expand my range of book reviews on this blog. I always love having the chance to talk about a woman who played a crucial role in history, but whose voice and or story has been lost to the broader narrative. In being sent Vera Deakin and the Red Cross by Carole Woods, I’ve had the chance to learn about an intriguing woman, and also about the role of the Red Cross Wounded and Missing Enquiry Bureau, which could easily have been a book in and of itself. So thank you Simone from Shebang for sending me the book.

Simone’s contact wasn’t the first time I’ve actually seen this book. I bought it for work, as I’m always keeping my eye out for any books about women in Victorian history, that can help to fill gaps in the predominantly male narrative, especially military narratives which often write out women entirely. So I’d purchased the book for the PMI Victorian History Library. Sadly, I don’t have time to read every book I buy for work (it would actually be physically impossible) and in all honesty Vera isn’t one I would have picked up and read for myself. I saw it as a reference book to be dipped in to for information as needed, not something to read cover to cover. This supposition is supported by the format, a somewhat awkward slightly oversized hardback. The book does not promote itself as a popular biography. Given this, I was intending to dip in and out for this review, but I was surprised to find how readable Vera is.

Much of this readability comes from the compelling, improbable and complex nature of Vera Deakin’s life and that’s where I want to begin.

Vera Deakin, born in 1891, was the youngest daughter of Australia’s second Prime Minister Alfred Deakin. She was many ways a deeply conventional woman, but she stepped forcibly out of the conventional mould in pursuit of what she saw as her duty to serve.

Vera begins describing her somewhat idyllic childhood, of literature, family life and education both in Melbourne and in Point Lonsdale (where both Vera and her husband chose to be buried). It explores her immediate family, and the role of both her parents Pattie and Alfred Deakin. It’s in this section that narrative lost me a little for the first time, as it skipped around in trying to create atmosphere at the same time as describing non essential people and jumping forward and back in time to allude to future events. Vera does encapsulate the world of learning and music that was the foundation of Vera’s life. However, despite extracts and comments from Vera’s own diaries and letters, Vera herself is a little lost (along with the narrative thread) in the sheer welter of new people, houses being bought and then sold, laundry listing of events, family dynamics, connections, atmosphere setting and external references.

Vera really catches you when we reach World War One. With war declared Vera, who in the preceding chapters had been travelling in England and Germany to continue her musical studies, wants to do her part, very clearly wants to serve and is rebuffed. This is where we see Vera really step into her own story. No one else (especially her father) envisions a role for her in the war other than helping at home and running canteens with her mother, so she makes one. This is where we see the Vera who would later be described as autocratic but deeply compassionate, who inspired fierce loyalty, love, but also awe and in some cases fear. If she had been a man, no doubt the autocracy would not have been commented on.

In finding her own place, Vera got on a ship to Cairo to join the Red Cross support services in Egypt. This was the beginning of her lifelong commitment to the Red Cross. It is not an exaggeration to say that she was the backbone of the organisation in Australia. Arriving in Egypt, Vera was at the coalface of the beginnings of the Australian Enquiry Bureau. Essentially this was a service of tracking down soldiers and sending news of them to their relatives, they also took requests from relatives to track down their loved ones. This might sound like a simple enough concept, but dealing with the conflagration of disorder that was World War One, it was anything but simple. By 1915 enquiry lists were stretching out to 900 pages. These were all soldiers listed as missing, or wounded, or dead. The idea was to provide context for families, the military notification was stark ‘missing’ ‘wounded’ ‘died of wounds’ ‘killed in action’, the Enquiry Bureau filled in these gaps, finding the soldiers, letting their families know of their condition, communicating with prisoners of war (a little later) and sending care packages, and if the solider was dead not only confirming the death but also how they died, usually by talking to another solider who had been there. As you can imagine this was a mammoth task, they had searchers who went out to all the hospitals and military units etc to ascertain the information, but it all had to be sorted and communicated and made useful. Vera was at the heart of this. When the action moved more to Europe, the Egyptian Bureau closed and Vera moved it to London in 1916, she remained there, running the Bureau until the end of the war. The Bureau provided comfort to thousands and thousands of families, but also soldiers, through contact with prisoners of war, helping soldiers on leave and visiting sick and wounded soldiers. Vera was again at the coalface of this side of the operation often ‘adopting’ soldiers and taking them to entertainments on leave, hosting parties, visiting them in hospital and, on one memorable occasion, taking Christmas to a particular hospital when her parents visited in 1916. She also formed relationships with the families of soldiers she was helping to trace, in several cases maintaining correspondence even after the solider was found to be dead. She kept in contact with one father until his death twelve years later.

Vera did not undertake this work alone. She was the heart of a dedicated group of some paid but largely volunteers. This included several women from a similar background to her own, who became lifelong friends, and some of whom she continued to work with when she returned to Australia. As a snapshot of the sheer volume of work that was undertaken- in 1917 the Bureau received 26953 cabled enquiries from Australia and sent back 24610 responses. They received 9175 posted enquires and another 11444 enquiries from Britain and France. 32753 reports come in from searchers and a further 4501 reports from soldiers, matrons and padres. We know these numbers, because of the meticulous records that Vera ensured were kept, and ensured went back to Australia. They are now at the Australian War Memorial and some are in the process of being digitised.

At the cessation in hostilities Vera began to close down the London office, and to move back to Australia. They continued their work right up to the last, sending searchers back on the troop ships, seeing it as their last chance to collect stories from the soldiers of others missing, or stories of how the dead died.

There was one more twist in the World War One part of Vera’s story though. One of the prisoners of war that Vera had been corresponding with early on in the Bureau’s existence was Thomas White, an Australian Aviator who had been captured early in the war flying in Mesopotamia, and held captive by the Turks. The Bureau corresponded directly with him, as he was the best contact to provide support for the rank and file prisoners. The officers were given slightly more lenient treatment. White escaped in 1918 and stowed away on a Russian freighter, making his way to England by circuitous route.

On the 21st of December 1918 another former Turkish prisoner from Geelong, Les Luscomb, came to the Bureau. He and other Turkish prisoners had been held for so long they didn’t know much about what had been happening in the world, so the Bureau helped reorient them. Vera invited Les to visit the Temple Church in London. She saw the soldiers as crusaders describing the deceased at the armistice as “the voices of those Crusader souls who have given their lives on the battlefield & the high seas” and thought he might appreciate the crusader knights’ effigies found in the Temple Church which dates to the 1185.

I just want pause very briefly here to put on my medievalist hat, as people reading this review have probably read some of the rest of this blog, and say that none of the effigies in the Temple Church are crusaders, but you can see where the sentiment was coming from. Les Luscomb met Vera at the Temple Church the following day. He brought his friend Thomas White, Thomas and Vera were engaged three weeks later and married for 37 years. Thomas went on to be a prominent member of parliament and Australian High Commissioner to London- where he was knighted- and it was in her role as his wife that Vera’s path and the book’s narrative continues.

This is not to say that Vera was only his wife. She certainly supported him, but she kept up her volunteer work. When World War II broke out, the Whites had both spoken out against appeasement, Vera set up and ran the Bureau again, but this time from Melbourne rather than London. It feels like an injustice to skate over this part of her life, which was filled with the same complexities as World War I and was instrumental in establishing structures that are still used by the Red Cross today, but like the book I can not cover all aspects of Vera’s life in a review. She was a woman of vision, determination, education, insight, incredible organisation, authority and deep compassion. She was also clearly a woman of her times, she was deeply dedicated to Empire and England, militaristic, pro conscription in both WWI referendums (a concept I can’t understand from someone who saw the suffering first hand), and I found her vision of ANZACs of noble crusaders uncomfortable, but that is again reading this book as a medievalist first. She and White dedicated the rest of their lives to the memorialisation of the ANZACS and all those who fought as heroes. She was at the core of the creation of the ANZAC legend, so it is ironic that her story and the story of the many dedicated (mainly female) volunteers has been lost from the narrative.

Vera does a good job telling the story of Vera’s life and I would like to note the excellent index, but it hovers in the difficult territory of trying to be both a readable, enjoyable biography and a useful reference book. It doesn’t quite achieve either. It is in many ways hampered by the fullness of Vera’s life, some sections feel skated over, a laundry list of achievements rather than a story and examination. Vera tries to ride too many horses; telling Vera’s story, telling the Red Cross’s story, examining her family dynamic and Alfred Deakin, exploring broader military history, Thomas White’s story, even the Bureau’s story. Any of these could have been a book by themselves, and I found myself wanting to know more, to be move involved in the narrative. I also wanted more from Vera herself in her own words integrated into the narrative (as there was clearly been a lot of access to letters, diaries etc). For me, the section that could have been sacrificed to allow more space for the others would have been Vera’s years in Germany and Budapest, and her early tours of England, which while formative, simply aren’t as interesting as her later life. At 210 pages Vera is not a long book, and this has meant the sacrifice of depth in some areas.

All that being said Vera Deakin and the Red Cross does a wonderful job bringing Vera out of the shadows and placing her back at the heart of the ANZAC story, and the formation of the Red Cross- right where she belongs.

Vera Deakin and the Red Cross by Carole Wood can be bought from the Royal Historical Society of Victoria

Or borrowed from the PMI Victorian History Library


I know ANZAC day has come and gone, but it represents something interesting in Australia and I thought it was worth a post.

There has been so much written about ANZAC day I’m not going to retread old ground.

You can see from the list of articles at both New Matilda and The Conversation that it is in many ways a controversial topic. Especially when it comes it Australia’s indigenous population, both in the lack of recognition of their contribution to Australian war efforts and whether the the white occupation of Australia can be considered a war. I am not offering a personal opinion in this second matter because political opinion is not the purpose of this blog.

This year was the centenary of ANZAC. I thought it was worth having a very quick background of what ANZAC day actually is.

ANZAC to start with stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. ANZAC day began originally to commemorate the Gallipoli Landings on the 25th of April 1915.

The purpose of the Gallipoli landings was to draw the Turks away and to stop them over running the Russians in the Caucasus. Russia had suffered a terrible defeat at the hands of Germany and Turkish forces in the Caucasus were pushing them hard. So Russia appealed to its ally Great Britain to launch an attack against the Turks. The British were in favour partly because they saw it as part of protecting the Suez Cannel.

Several tactics were somewhat cautiously tried but ultimately it was decided that attacking the Dardanelles with troops was the preferred option. The ANZACs were training in Egypt and were thus perfectly placed to serve in the attacking force.

For more information and a map of the Gallipoli peninsula see

So on the 25th of April 1915 a mixture of nationalities, it wasn’t all ANZACs, tried to land on the Gallipoli Peninsula.  Many died before they even made it to the beach. There is debate over whether they were sent to the correct position or not, but regardless they were faced with hilly, sandy and scrubby terrain with little cover. The attack on Gallipoli lasted until the 3rd of May 1915 and was a failure for pretty much everyone. The Turks lost a lot of men, more than the allies, and the allies retreated defeated.

The numbers that died at Gallipoli are debatable but a rough estimate is

Gallipoli dead
Ottoman Empire 86000
Australia 8700
New Zealand 2700
British Empire (apart from A & NZ) 27000
France and French colonial troops 9000

Overall roughly 134 000 died at Gallipoli which is approximately 600 a day.

There weren’t really any winners here.

I think one of the most moving depictions of Gallipoli I have ever seen is Eric Bogle’s song And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda. I learnt it in Primary School and it has stuck with me ever since. A picture story book has been created of it with Illustrations by Bruce Whatley. You can see some of the book here. And the video below shows Eric Bogle singing the song.

The final verse of the song is I think an interesting look at how ANZAC day is seen now.

And now every April I sit on me porch

And I watch the parade pass before me

I see my old comrades, how proudly they march,

Reviving old dreams of past glories.

But the old men march slowly, old bones stiff and sore.

They’re tired old heroes from a forgotten old war

And young people ask, what are they marching for?

And I ask myself the same question.

What ANZAC day has come to mean for Australia is a tricky one. It seems to be all about mateship and Australian identity. Despite the fact that it is based on a defeat, it has somehow come to be seen as the forging of an Australian identity. You have to remember federation was only 14 years before the battle so there isn’t much else that can be seen as a turning point to Australia seeing itself as a nation in it own right rather than an outpost of Great Britain.

ANZAC day has come to be commemoration of those who have fallen in all wars that Australia has fought in, though again some are possibly excluded. It certainly means a lot to a lot of people.

Leading up to ANZAC day it was everywhere from biscuits


To historical displays. Like this one at the Prahran Mechanic’s Institute.


To full installations of replica trenches such as those at the Caufield RSL


There were also installations of knitted poppies across the CBD

IMG_1350 IMG_1351 IMG_1354 IMG_1355 IMG_1358

If it is possible to be hagiographic about an event then that is how Australians are about ANZAC day. It is somehow sacred, the holy day for a largely irreligious country. Criticism is not permitted. But even though school children learn the basics of the history the realities are forgotten in the push to canonise the ANZACs. I am not for a moment saying that they weren’t very brave, that what they did shouldn’t be commemorated. I just think the reality of the situation which was in many ways remarkable is being lost in this canonisation. I think in putting the ANZACs on a jingoistic pedestal we are losing their humanity. Two works from Leunig sum it up beautifully.



As this year was the 100th anniversary I went along to the dawn service at Melbourne’s Shrine of Remembrance. I was there by about 5:10 am and there were already thousands and thousands of people. It obviously really means something to Australians.



IMG_1338 IMG_1336 IMG_1335

The weather was horrific, it rained the whole time and it was cold and everyone was standing there for nearly two hours, packed into the crowd. I couldn’t even get close enough to see the speeches. They had screens up everywhere to make sure people could see something.

There was no issues and no loud complaining.

Below you can hear the Ode for Remembrance and the last post as well as the minute’s silence. You have to remember that there were thousand’s of people there and despite this the silence was still absolute.

The Ode to Remembrance that is read out at most war commemoration services is part of a longer poem.

For the Fallen

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

I think the stanzas that are read out are by far the best part of the poem. It was written by Robert Laurence Binyon and was published in the Times on the 21st of September 1914, months before Gallipoli and it was written only a few weeks into World War One, so well before the true extent of WWI was really known.

Personally I prefer the war poetry of Wilfrid Owen and Siegfried Sassoon. I’d like to finish on my favourite of Sassoon’s poems.  One I think that sums up the horror of war, better than anything I’ve ever seen or anything I could say. It isn’t a poem about sacrifice, or bravery, or heroism. It’s a poem about the reality.

Suicide in the Trenches

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

I think I’ll leave it at that.