Corporal
John ‘Bluey’ Herbert Farrell DCM, MM and Bar 6th Battalion
AIF
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Cpl
John ‘Bluey’ Herbert Farrell, DCM, MM and Bar.
Photo provided by WO1 Darryl Kelly, RSM 1 Bde
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Bluey
Farrell was your typical country bloke. Honest, hardworking,
with a larrikin streak a mile wide. He was the sort of bloke
who’d give you his last sixpence if you needed it. But
he was also one not to be crossed either, as he was handy with
his fists and could give as good as he got.
He was born in the tiny Victorian town of Pernum and on leaving
school he took up trade as a butcher.
As he stood in the pub with his mates, they read the paper with
interest. The Germans were rampaging across
France and Belgium and Britain had given them the choice –
withdraw or take on the might of the British Empire.
“If there’s a stouch, are you going to join up Blue?”
his mate asked.
“Nah – I reckon the old poms will kick the square-heads
bums all the way back to Berlin!”
That night as Bluey lay in bed, he thought about the possibility
of war. His mum had recently died and his dad was all alone.
“Nah – nothing will happen anyway, so why worry”
he said to himself as he rolled over.
But war did come and Australia answered the call. Bluey was
reserved as he had a final drink with his mates; they were off
to Warrnambool to enlist in the AIF.
“Can’t talk you into comin – Blue?”
“Na mate, it’s the old man you know. I’d feel
like a mongrel leaving him”.
Later Bluey read of the landings at Gallipoli and later as the
casualty lists started to appear, he recognised familiar names
amongst the dead and wounded.
It was June 1915 and Bluey, now 26, sat with his dad at the
kitchen table. “Bad business, this war stuff,” his
dad said. “Look son, I know your busting your boiler to
join up – why don’t you get yourself down and do it.”
“You sure dad?” Bluey said.
“Course mate. I’ll be right. Go on – get going
before it’s all over.”
Bluey was allocated to the 6th Battalion as reinforcement. The
6th was already locked in combat with Turks at Gallipoli and
their casualties were mounting.
He did his basic training at on Melbourne’s outskirts at
the Broadmeadows camp and embarked aboard the troopship Anchise
on August 26, 1915, bound for Egypt.
Bluey made it to Gallipoli towards the end of the campaign.
He was shocked by the state of the Diggers. Disease and
the poor diet had taken their toll on the troops, reducing them
to mere shadows of their former selves.
He’d been there only for a few days, when he also took
sick. He was serious enough to warrant his evacuation to Malta
for special treatment.
By mid-March, 1916, he was pronounced fit for service and returned
to Egypt to rejoin the Battalion.
“Farrell,” the CSM said, “I see you were a butcher
in civvy street, we’re going to put your talents to good
use – you’re off to C Coy as a cook!”
“But sir, I joined as an infantryman – not as a bloody
cook,” Bluey protested.
“You’ll do as you’re bloody well told, lad!”
the CSM curtly replied.
He envied his mates as he watched them undergo their daily training.
He was ever conscious that even though he hated his job, his
mates deserved the best of food and he set about to provide
just that.
Bluey was with the Battalion as it traveled to France. He undertook
the compulsory training in the use of helmets and gas masks,
but was always side-tracked off to the kitchen when the “real”
training was undertaken.
In mid-1916, the 6th moved up with the other battalions towards
the fortified village of Pozieres. The area surrounding the
village was designated as key terrain by both sides and in the
ensuing battle both sides gave each other no quarter in the
seizing and holding of ground.
Farrell and the other cooks worked long into the night to ensure
their boys got a hot meal where possible. He saw the constant
stream of wounded being carried to the rear and longed to get
up to the front to do his bit. But this was all in vain.
Following the carnage of Pozieres, the 6th Battalion withdrew
to lick its wounds. He’d decided that he’d had enough
of sitting out of battles and it was about time he did his bit
in the line. He badgered his Company Commander to give him a
go and get him back into his old platoon. “I’m loath
to loose a good cook, Blue”, the officer said.
“Come on sir, I didn’t join up to fight the enemy
from a kitchen. Put me where I’ll do some good.”
“Alright, you win – I’ll put you back with 11
Platoon.”
Bluey was infatuated with the new Lewis light machinegun, which
had been issued to the Battalion on its arrival in France. The
weapon was a light-weight, drum fed arrangement delivering a
high volume of fire. He was made number three on a gun under
the watchful eyes of a couple of old hands – Norm Lindhe
and Forbes Tweedie.
Farrell proved his worth in the line time and time again. He
was strong and dependable and never backed off from a fight.
He was a natural with the gun and used it with deadly effect.
It was now October 1917 and the Allied advance pushed towards
a feature known as Broodseinde Ridge. The 6th was locked in
a see-sawing battle but was slowly getting the upper hand, when
its progress was stopped by a number of pill-boxes that dotted
the landscape.
The Battalion set about taking them out, one by one. Bluey and
his team were leading from the front as usual.
They keep the enemy machine-gunners busy by peppering the gun
apertures of the pill-boxes, while their mates crept forward
to fumigate the fortifications with bombs and, in some cases,
the bayonet. As they took out one emplacement, they’d regroup
and moved forward to take out the next.
Farrell kept up the pressure until a wound took him out of the
fight.
On rejoining the unit about a month later, he learnt that he
had been awarded the Military Medal for his actions at Broodseinde.
“Well done on the gong – Blue,” a mate remarked.
“That’s LCpl Blue to you, young fellow,” he jokingly
said, pointing to the single stripe on his arm.
He was lucky enough to score a “Blighty” leave in
mid-January, 1918, and proceeded to “paint the town red”
but all too soon it was back to the front.
In July 1918, Blue was promoted to Cpl and shortly after he
was summoned to speak to his Company Commander. “I am going
to send you to an NCO school when we come out of the line,”
Capt Carne said.
For Bluey it was the end of the world. They all knew that he
was rough as bags on parade with no inkling of a word of command.
“Don’t do that Capt…” the Cpl replied.
“Well Farrell, if you bring me a little Fritz for identification
purposes, I wont send you,” the officer jokingly replied.
That night, the Battalion moved forward and after taking a few
casualties reconsolidated their line. Capt Carne was sitting
in his dugout going over the new trench maps, when suddenly
five unarmed Germans were marched in closely
followed by Bluey Farrell with a captured machinegun over his
shoulder.
Bluey looked the officer in the eye and grinned. He then saluted
and said, “no school.”
The Capt later learned that Farrell and his platoon sergeant,
a man by the name of Lockhart, had ventured out alone toward
an enemy post. They were almost on the post when a German NCO
spotted them and made a dash for his machinegun. Farrell and
Lockhart rushed the post before the gun could be brought into
action. Their sortie netted the two machineguns and eight prisoners.
Blue’s actions would see him recommended for the Distinguished
Conduct Medal, but instead he was later awarded a Bar to his
Military Medal.
Farrell’s sorties didn’t stop there. During one of
the big stunts he was allocated to the “left out of battle”
elements.
These were key men who were kept out of the line in case the
Battalion got badly knocked and they would be needed to form
the nucleus of the rebuilt unit if required.
During the middle of the night, Farrell and few of his mates
took off, only to reappear a couple of hours later, looking
a bit under the weather. A sergeant found they had a pack filled
with bottles of Gold Top champagne and had been going out each
night to party at a nearby deserted wine cellar they’d
just happened to find.
It was now early August 1918 and a fresh Allied offensive was
launched. The Diggers were able to punch a significant hole
in the German line near the town of Lihons. The breech was exploited
and the battalions now enjoyed open country fighting with the
mud of the trenches now far behind them. Gains of ground, which
months before would have been thought of as impossible, were
now occurring on a daily basis, the greatest occurring on August
8, which became known as the “Black Day of the German Army.”
The next day, as the 6th moved forward, it was forced to spread
out and fill a gap between its sister units. Suddenly it came
under a concentrated barrage of German artillery and machinegun
fire. As the rounds speared in around him, Bluey Farrell found
that he was the only man left from his section. Realising that
he was useless on his own, he attached himself to a nearby company
of his own accord, taking charge their Lewis Gun section who’s
commander had become a casualty.
Suddenly he spied an enemy post located in a small quarry. Rushing
forward at the head of his section, he hooked in with his Lewis
Gun killing all of the defenders. The Germans were now on the
run and Bluey again pushed forward, keeping up a torrent of
fire until suddenly he was hit. Crawling up, he continued to
direct his section’s fire until he was hit again, this
time in the chest.
The wound was serious and for Blue the situation was touch and
go for many weeks. As he underwent treatment in England, he
learnt that a Bar to his Military Medal had been confirmed and
later that year he also learnt that he had been awarded the
Distinguished Conduct Medal for his work at Lihons.
Bluey made it home and passed away in 1938, aged 49.
