Lockdown’s crop

Stuck at home during the pandemic, we’ve been clearing out our homes - and unearthing a treasure trove of wartime relics.

Poignant: Eric Tanner looks through his father Ronald’s wartime memorabilia. Picture: Graham Schumann

“Enid darling, this is a litter I have been intending to write for a long time, but have kept postponing, as I hope you never receive it. If you do, then you shall know that I have gone, and that you shall only see me in your dreams...”

Ronald’s 1944 letter to Enid. Picture: AWM

It’s September 22, 1944, and Flying Officer Ronald Tanner is seconded to No.149 Squadron, Royal Air Force in England – Bomber Command. The school teacher is living at a makeshift air base in Methwold, camouflaged among the ­Norfolk Broads, a world away from the sparkling shores of Sydney and the warmth of his wife’s embrace. Tanner, a flight navigator, is trying to quell his nerves as the clock ticks down to this evening’s sortie, a life-or-death mission to bomb the Port of Calais and stymie the German advance. His adored wife and son will be waking for breakfast just as he disappears into the inky midnight sky over the English Channel.

Ronald and Enid on their wedding day

After routinely preparing his emergency box, a stash of local currency, a hacksaw and some other necessities should the Lancaster ditch behind enemy lines, he sits downs to his most important pre-flight task, a letter to his wife – to be posted if he fails to return. Only half of his comrades are returning after each of these bombing raids.

“I have always tried to be cheerful and optimistic in my letters and yet, even as I write now, I have a haunting premonition that I shall never see you again,” he laments in a smooth cursive hand. “It is nearly two years now since I came into the Air Force and although I am justly proud of the uniform I wear, I have hated every moment of it for it has kept us apart for so long. It is strange how many people would give so much to see the beautiful Niagara Falls, the Panama Canal, the night clubs of New York, the bustle of London and the Blitz and the flying bombs, the green fields of ­England and the millions of other sights – and yet I would gladly give all I have seen for just one ­minute, or even one second with you.

“So, goodnight my sweetheart, a last goodnight perhaps and a special kiss, and loving memories and sweet dreams. To my little boy it is goodnight too and a special hug. Look after your mummy, little man, for your Dad loved her so much that he is not afraid to die for her. Be good to her son, for my sake.”

Flying Officer Ronald Tanner and his partner, pilot Jim Shepherd, did not return as scheduled the following morning. So with heavy hearts, his unit posted his farewell letter to his beloved wife to comfort his family in their grief.

Eric Tanner, now 80, is the little boy mentioned in that letter. He discovered it ten years ago while sorting through his mother’s things after her death. It was folded up inside a Christmas card, tucked away for safe keeping in a little black box along with Enid’s most precious possessions, and there it stayed until Covid came along.

Ronald Tanner’s seven-page letter is now part of the Australian War Memorial collection, one of 50,000 pieces of wartime memorabilia unearthed and offered for donation during what can perhaps be described as the great Covid cleanout. The ­silver lining of Australians being stuck at home for the better part of two years is the precious time we’ve found to sort out the cupboards and shoeboxes of family life gathering dust. And we’ve ­collectively uncovered a treasure trove of memorabilia that has placed important pieces into the jigsaw puzzle of our nation’s rich war ­history. “You just never know what’s tucked away in someone’s private collection... so often we hear, ‘My uncle or grandpa passed this down and I don’t know what to do with it,’” says Rebecca Brenton, assistant curator of private records at the Australian War Memorial.

“Ronald Tanner’s letter was special and gives us such an insight into life during the war through the eyes of a serviceman. You can only imagine what it must have been like for his wife. I was ­crying when I read it, it was so heartbreaking but so beautiful. I just love receiving these personal letters and stories, it gives us a great perspective on life during the war.”

The Australian War Memorial’s assistant ­registrar of acquisitions, Robert Fisher, says that among the extraordinary volume of memorabilia offered for donation last year was a letter written by World War II hero Lieutenant Thomas “Diver” Derrick VC DCM. Derrick served in five campaigns from Tobruk to Tarakan and wrote extensively of his wartime experiences. His diaries are considered to be among the most important writings by any Australian soldier, and so there was much excitement when a six-page letter he wrote to his mate Lieutenant John Thirkell back home in Australia was discovered during the lockdown.

Thomas “Diver” Derrick. Picture: AWM

“It would still be sitting in the file in another ten years if Mark hadn’t come along,” says Lynice Thirkell, the soldier’s daughter-in-law. Melbourne’s rolling lockdowns gave military historian Mark Johnston, head of History at Scotch College, time to research the life of “Diver” Derrick and he has recently published a book, Derrick VC In His Own Words. While scouring the files of the National Archive for Derrick’s service records, Johnston came across a letter written to Army Records in 1991 by a member of the public, a Mr Derek Thirkell from Queensland, who was seeking information about Tom Derrick. The last paragraph, mentioning that Derek Thirkell had a copy of a letter that Tom Derrick had written to his father John, sparked Johnston’s attention, and he immediately began searching for Derek Thirkell and the missing letter.

By then, Derek Thirkell had passed away but Johnston tracked down his widow Lynice in a small town in Tasmania. As luck would have it, she had kept the letter from Derrick to her father-in-law John Thirkell, and had stored it away in a filing cabinet. “When John died, we found the letter among his belongings,” she says. “He was a very organised man. He came to stay with us when he became sick in his later years and he had all of his important papers filed away neatly in a little folder which he carried around under his arm a lot of the time. The letter was among those papers, so we knew it must have been important to him.

“My husband Derek was named after Tom Derrick, who John met in officer training school. They became very good friends. I didn’t know what to do with the letter. If Mark hadn’t called and suggested it be donated, it would still be tucked away in the cupboard, maybe someone would’ve found it after I’d died!”

The six-page letter, which describes the landing at Tarakan during the Borneo campaign and gives insights into the conditions the soldiers were enduring, now takes pride of place among the Australian War Memorial’s collection. “The letter is dated May 16, 1945 which makes it one of the very last, if not the last letter Tom ‘Diver’ Derrick ever wrote because he died eight days later. He is one of the most iconic Australian figures of the Second World War,” Fisher says.

“It is of great significance and thankfully Derek Thirkell realised this might be something important and tucked it away for safe keeping. It’s really very special when you hold something like that in your hands.”

The Australian War Memorial holds the nation’s biggest collection of wartime material, with more than 10,000 donated items in the private collection, but sadly not all of our nation’s precious history is tucked away neatly for safe keeping. Fisher has seen more letters rolled up in shoeboxes than he cares to think about, but he has also received donations found in landfill, or rescued from skip bins as they are being carted off to the tip. “Sometimes the family just don’t know the importance of the history, or don’t care,” he says, “and we know quite a lot of important historical memorabilia has ended up in rubbish, which is a great shame. It’s terrific if there’s one family member who cares enough to look after material or to at least hold onto it and not throw it away.”

The Australian War Memorial is happy to hear from anyone considering donating material but it can’t take everything and it isn’t the only option. State based organisations such as Melbourne’s Shrine of Remembrance, State Libraries, the National Archives of Australia and some local RSLs also accept donations; as Fisher points out, there are many local war museums, and the Army, Navy and Air Force each have their own museums dotted around the country.

“The most important thing if you find something is to do something with it – don’t throw it away,” he says. “Whether that’s to keep it stored safely among the family, or donated; just don’t leave it getting mouldy in the back shed, and don’t leave it until the last minute. A lot of people ­contact us when they don’t have long to live, which is a great shame. We can and do deal with estates to fulfill people’s wishes but it’s often much longer and more complex.”

My own parents put their lockdown hours to good use, dusting off two shoeboxes of letters that have been tucked away in a filing cabinet waiting for a rainy day. The letters belonged to my grandmother; they were treasured correspondence from her beloved brother George, and she had entrusted my Mum with their care.

Lieutenant George Bolding from Morwell in Victoria was captured during the Battle of Crete in 1941 and held at Warburg then Eichstatt prisoner of war camps. George and his Aussie mates had a knack for escaping the camps and considered it their duty to do so, disrupting the Germans at every opportunity. On the night of June 3, 1943, 65 men escaped Eichstatt through a series of ­tunnels dug underneath the camp. George ­Bolding was among them. The Antipodeans, led by their British pals, made a beeline for the Swiss ­border, causing quite a ruckus. Eventually all 65 were recaptured but only after having tied up the resources of thousands of police, soldiers, home guard and Hitler Youth for more than a week in the search. Quite a triumph.

The escapees were transferred to Colditz ­Castle, perched high above a town in Saxony and declared by Field Marshal ­Hermann Goring to be “escape proof”. Not for the Allies. They continued their shenanigans using every available means to flee – they hid in postal sacks, dressed as German officers or Hitler Youth, used bedsheets to climb down the castle’s walls and even made a glider out of bits of fabric they’d scrounged. They notched up hundreds of escape attempts, of which 31 are said to have been successful.

Colditz Castle. Picture: Camera Press Agency

At Colditz, Bolding became friends with British soldier George Lascelles, otherwise known as ­Viscount George Lascelles, a cousin of the future Queen Elizabeth. After Colditz was captured by the Americans in 1945, Bolding wrote to my grandmother back home sharing the news: “Everything happened so quickly for us. The Americans flew us straight out of here to England. I am now at the Australian camp getting a little organised and what a wonderful camp it is, such comfort. We can hardly believe we are free men again.”

Such was the friendship with Viscount ­Lascelles that Bolding and three other Australians were later invited to a reception at London’s Dorchester Hotel hosted by Lady Mountbatten, at which the guest of honour was the Viscount’s mother, the Princess Royal. The letters will be offered for donation.

Eric Tanner’s voice chokes up as he reads ­passages from his father’s 1944 letter. Although he has read it dozens of times before, it doesn’t get easier. “Mum never mentioned this letter, ever,” he says. “I never knew it existed until I found it after she died.”

Miraculously, Tanner and Shepherd had actually survived their mission and by the time Enid Tanner received her husband’s emotional farewell letter, she’d been made aware that he was in fact alive and well. Tanner and Shepherd’s ­mission to bomb the German operations at ­Calais had taken longer than planned and by the time they were ready to return to Methwold, fog had shrouded the English Channel. Visibility was poor and engine problems forced them to divert off course and land at the closest air strip along the coast. They landed safely but they were a long way from Methwold and with poor communications it wasn’t until much later that day that they were able to get a message through that they were alive.

Eventually they were able to fly back to their own base and continued on with their wartime service; while most aircrew were committed to 30 missions before they were sent home, ­Shepherd and Tanner completed more than 50. They stayed in touch for the rest of their lives, and Eric Tanner and Jim Shepherd’s daughter remain in contact today.

Ronald resumed his career in education upon his return to Australia after the war, and died in his 70s, while his beloved Enid, dux of Sydney Teacher’s College in 1933, lived until she was 97. The letter, offering a rare window into the serviceman’s soul, was never spoken of.

“I wish I’d known it existed before my father died,” says Eric. “I was five years old when my father returned from the war, and we never saw any emotion from him from that day forward. Dad kept a stiff upper lip. We got along very well but he never discussed his emotions or his experiences during the war, as many didn’t. This letter gives me such an insight into him.”

Eric Tanner has since discovered that his father, a man of few words, wrote prodigiously from the front line to his beloved Enid, a letter almost every day, but he says the additional letters are too personal for him to read, and as such they’ll remain boxed up until after his own death.

“No one in the family has read them, so I have no idea what is in them, but I know I’m too close to them, it’s too personal,” he reasons. “When I pass on, they’ll go to one of my daughters and she may read them.”

Time will tell if a Lasseter’s Reef of wartime treasure awaits us.