At last, the war is over!

Campaspe News - - NEWS -

Novem­ber 11 1918

LAST week closed and this week opened upon an ex­pec­tant world! The shadow of a great de­feat was over Ger­many — the ar­ro­gant. Would the ‘blonde brute’, drip­ping blood, ac­knowl­edge de­feat or must some fur­ther blood be shed be­fore the con­vinc­ing point was reached? The an­swer was awaited al­most breath­lessly by a war-weary world. In the Al­lied coun­tries, in­ter­min­gled with anx­i­ety, born of the hope that the end of hu­man sac­ri­fice was near, there was a deep feel­ing of con­fi­dence that Ger­many was beaten, whether ac­knowl­edge­ment came or not.

The 11th day of Novem­ber, 1918, will live in his­tory as the day upon which pro­found con­fu­sion and hu­mil­i­a­tion over­took the self-styled su­per­na­tion — the teach­ers and dis­ci­ples of the doc­trine of ‘might is right’. The news of the sign­ing of the armistice reached Rochester at about a quar­ter to nine on Mon­day evening. The ring­ing of the fire bell and the church bells brought a crowd to­gether as if by magic, pa­trons of the Lyric The­atre emp­ty­ing them­selves into the street to join the throng. ‘‘The armistice has been signed — the war is over!’’ Noth­ing else counted. Cheer upon cheer rent the air, the na­tional an­them and God Bless Our Splen­did Men were sang with full hearts, and the band played Rule Bri­tan­nia, La Mar­seil­laise and other rous­ing pa­tri­otic airs. The crowd then made its way into the Shire Hall, where, act­ing on be­half of the shire pres­i­dent, Mr. H. T. Downe (shire sec­re­tary) re­an­nounced the great news. He ac­com­pa­nied the an­nounce­ment with a few ap­pro­pri­ate words con­cern­ing the fall of the cur­tain on the fi­nal act in the great war drama, and gave some par­tic­u­lars as to the ar­range­ments for next day’s cel­e­bra­tions. The crowd drifted again into the street, and an army of girls struck up sev­eral pa­tri­otic songs, singing lustily the while they formed them­selves into a pro­ces­sion.

When breath failed, kerosene and other tins and hand bells were utilised to keep up the note of ju­bi­la­tion. To­wards mid­night the crown thinned, but the bells sounded in­ter­mit­tently into the early hours of the morn­ing.

Novem­ber 4, 2008

WHEN Rochester res­i­dent Jack God­deb was born on Oc­to­ber 19, 1918, the world was still at war and the Rus­sian rev­o­lu­tion had barely be­gun.

Last month, he cel­e­brated his 90th birth­day with fam­ily and friends in Rochester.

As a young man, he ex­pe­ri­enced the hard­ship of the Great De­pres­sion and served in Bor­neo in World War II.

On his re­turn, Jack mar­ried Desma West in De­cem­ber 1947 and the cou­ple had six chil­dren.

Jack worked as a drover for many years and later be­came the mar­ket in­spec­tor at the Rochester sa­le­yards.

Jack re­tired when he was 65, but still milked 20 cows on a hobby farm on High St.

Sham­rock Ho­tel, late 1800s-1902 — sub­mit­ted by Stan Hog­a­rth of El­more. If you have a photo for Re­flec­tions, bring it to the of­fice be­tween 9am and 3pm or email ed­i­to­rial@cam­paspe­

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