Somes Prisoners

Enemies Within?

A Study of New Zealand’s Home Front during the First World War

(Written by Val Burr, for presentation at the Conference on Scandinavian and European Migration to Australia and New Zealand, in Stockholm, Sweden, on Wednesday, 10 June 1998. An abridged version of this article appears in the book Scandinavian and European Migration to Australia and New Zealand, edited by Olavi Koivukangas & Charles Westin, and published by the Institute of Migration, Finland) 

New Zealand ‘came of age’ during the First World War, and proudly celebrates ANZAC Day each April in memory of those who sacrificed their lives at Gallipoli. Television regularly covers stories of heroism from the period. Similarly, war memorials dot the countryside, proudly recording names of those who died. However, for some the distant battlefields of Gallipoli, France and Palestine were not the only front lines. During the First World War, Northern Europeans in New Zealand were the accessible enemy for the civilian population. In fact, in this most suspicious period, New Zealanders of British descent considered anyone with a European accent or a strange surname, as likely to be ‘German.’ After all, as one politician said, German spies were unlikely to openly present themselves as being German[i]. That New Zealand was so far from Germany seldom featured in the equation. Like other Allied countries, New Zealand made its German population pay for the actions attributed to a country most had left decades before. That these people often migrated because of the constant threat of war also rarely entered the equation.  

I

This study draws upon the experience of the German settlers, most of whom had been assisted to migrate by the New Zealand Government in the 1870s. It should also be noted that Poles, along with Danes from Schleswig-Holstein, found themselves classed as ‘Germans’ at that time, much to their dismay. It is not surprising, then, that the 1916 Census found the median age of these people to be a rather elderly 52 years. The median age of the overall population, by contrast, was 25 years[ii]. The advanced age of the people being targeted is therefore another disquieting aspect of this study.

The usually somewhat biased views of the dominant society, namely persons descended from British migrants, are well recorded in Parliamentary debates, newspapers and in extensive files at National Archives, Wellington. However, the views of the affected minority groups are somewhat harder to locate. While many brief traditions have survived, these tend to concentrate on ‘acceptable’ things such as sons or grandsons who served in this war. The home front experience is typically minimalised to a place on a semi-hidden list along with such things as poverty, loneliness and domestic problems.

Publications tend to concentrate on the same areas. For example, J.W. Pobóg-Jaworowski’s History of the Polish Settlers in New Zealand, contains many family stories. Wartime stories were plentiful when this book was researched, but only a handful of vague references appear. The most telling, however, was 83-year-old Bernard Fabish’s remark that his father often commented on how “at home we were persecuted by the Germans and now, here in New Zealand, we are regarded as Germans[iii].” A Dane from Schleswig-Holstein might have made the same remark.

The Scandinavian community also attempted to disassociate itself from Germany. For example, in mid-August 1914 Oscar Monrad (grandson of former Danish Prime Minister, Bishop Monrad) told a meeting of Palmerston North farmers that, had the Danish provinces of Schleswig-Holstein not been taken by Germany in 1864, no Monrad would have come to New Zealand. He explained that while Holstein was “Germanised,” Schleswig was Danish[iv]. Unfortunately, as far as New Zealand went, Schleswig Danes were still proper ‘Germans.’ After all, a Schleswig Dane could easily be a German spy in disguise[v].

The 1916 Census revealed a distinct decline in the country’s German-born population. At the same time, the Russian-born population almost doubled.  For example, in 1911, the Census found 4,015 German-born people, yet by 1916 this had declined to 2,999. The 1911 Census had found 658 Russian-born people, yet in 1916, 1,242 were enumerated. As no mass migration of Russians took place during this period, it appears that the Prussian Poles had become Russian Poles[vi].

When war erupted, the New Zealand Government dealt fairly quickly with its ‘enemy aliens.’ Within a week, un-naturalised German and Austrian men were told to report to local police stations to register their status. They were soon arrested and sent to Wellington. These men, mostly seamen and labourers, found themselves interned on Somes Island, an internment camp in Wellington Harbour, for non-combatant prisoners of war. Most of them, being reservists in the German military forces, remained interned until 1919.

The country’s German Consulates proved another complication. For example, New Zealand’s first reported wartime anti-German violence occurred on 7 August 1914, when young men hurled stones through the windows of the Wellington Consulate.[vii] Three days later the New Zealand Government seized records held by all four Consulates[viii]. Over time, three of the four German Consuls - all of whom were naturalised New Zealanders - suffered arrest as well. Even Auckland’s Danish Consul, Paul Hansen, suffered internment from 1916. Although ethnically Danish, his parents were from Schleswig[ix].

Denmark also contributed a rare woman to New Zealand’s internment history[x]. Dr. Hjelmar von Danneville, aged 54, was an unregistered medical assistant at the Lahmann Health Home in Miramar, Wellington. Her ‘crimes’ appear to be outspokenness, intelligence, very short hair, and the masculine-style hat, coat, vest, collar and boots that she wore with her skirt. A severe nervous breakdown forced her release from Somes after six weeks[xi].

II

New Zealand’s German communities quickly expressed their patriotism toward New Zealand and the British Empire. For instance, on 9 August 1914 the Marton Lutheran congregation passed a resolution acknowledging its allegiance and willingness to assist in matters relating to New Zealand’s defence[xii]. During following days, German residents of Upper Moutere, Halcombe and Gore did the same[xiii].

Certainly through the early months, politicians, newspaper editors and others in similar positions repeatedly reminded the general public that not all so-called ‘Germans’ were dangerous. However, a constant diet of Germany’s activities, such as the Lusitania sinking, as well as alleged battlefield atrocities - which were often generated by the British Government’s propaganda machine[xiv] - quickly tarnished this view. New Zealaanders, and others around the world, soon developed a hatred of Germans.

Many German men, especially wharf-workers, found themselves unemployed. As months passed, new jobs became difficult to find. One former Wellington wharf worker, Arthur Rottmann, aged 21, went inland to Ruahine, near Mangaweka, to work on a dairy farm. Unfortunately, in late December 1914 he drank too much and then murdered his employer, his employer’s wife and their baby. Rottmann’s family evidently had a history of insanity, and although he was soon captured, tried and hung, this first-hand evidence doubtless helped convinced some that the newspapers were correct.

Several days after the Rottman killings, 2,000 New Year’s Eve rioters wrecked a German-owned pork butcher’s shop in Gisborne[xv]. Within a week, four Gisborne Germans, including the shop-owner’s brother, found themselves on Somes. Others, had business premises threatened and were reduced to publicly denying German ancestry[xvi].

Throughout the war, anti-German correspondence regularly appeared in newspapers, especially after the establishment of the Women’s Anti-German League in 1915. The League advocated excluding those of German ancestry from the New Zealand Army and from positions where they could obtain information that might assist Germany[xvii]. The League also had ready access to the ears of senior politicians, encouraging them to hunt down and investigate anyone in the Armed Forces whose surname sounded remotely German.

The Lusitania sinking on 7 May 1915 caused the most widespread outburst of anti-German hatred. Newspapers reported many overseas riots and beatings, and in New Zealand, on 14 May, it was Wanganui’s turn to experience a riot. On this occasion, a crowd attacked another German-owned pork butcher’s shop, along with two other buildings with German links. In response, the Evening Post’s Editorial warned that overseas activities could not be avenged satisfactorily by simply wrecking New Zealand pork butchers’ shops[xviii]. 

Lutheran Churches and the German immigrant communities in which they were established made ideal targets for anti-German sentiments. Their presence in some of these communities and their shared faith also saw Scandinavians drawn into the anti-German foray. Many non-Germans ignored the repeated declarations of loyalty to the British Empire that these communities offered. Even though some naturalised German families had sons in the armed forces, accusations of disloyalty against the German communities were ongoing. The Upper Moutere German community, near Nelson, featured in this capacity after the Lusitania sinking. In response, the settlers, whose forebears had arrived in the 1840s, “indignantly repudiated” reports of disloyalty in the district. They also promised regular funds toward patriotic causes.[xix] Doubtless many Germans paid out heavily during this time in an attempt to prove their loyalty.

Relations appear to have been cool between the existing Lutheran communities and unfortunate practicing Lutherans who may have been interned on Somes Island. For example, as at April 1916, not one Lutheran pastor had visited the island. The clergy of several other denominations had visited, however.[xx]

Throughout the war, un-naturalised men associated with Central Powers countries faced constant demands that they should be interned. Naturalised people were also watched closely [xxi]. Understandably, jobs for Germans became  increasingly scarce. Little sympathy was ever expressed by the general public for those men who were affected, except perhaps if they had wives who were of British descent[xxii]. German business owners found their custom vanished and consequently were forced out of business[xxiii]. Others, such as Hallenstein Bros., pleaded their pro-British case through the newspapers[xxiv]. As times became harder, some unemployed Germans decided internment was better than freedom and acted accordingly, although sometimes it was only a prison cell they received[xxv].

Soon only the foolhardy risked visibility. For instance, Ernest Horne, son of a Halcombe German, visited a Feilding hotel in November 1915 and offered to pay a guinea (£1/1/-) for any gold sovereign (£1/-/-) he could purchase. A fortnight later he returned and, after a few drinks, made a similar offer. He said that “old Bill” (i.e. the Kaiser) would be there in three months and paper money would be no good then. These silly claims earned him a beating by an angry crowd, after which he sought refuge in a railway ticket office. The Manawatu Evening Standard condemned the 100 to 1 odds - “especially when the one is a German” - and noted that the only man who attempted to protect Horne was a soldier[xxvi].

Newspapers record many cases where people attempted to disguise their ethnicity by illegally changing their surnames[xxvii]. Others were accused of making disloyal remarks[xxviii]. Seldom stated is the sequence of events that drew such people to make such risky remarks in public. For example, in December 1917, F.W. Lukaschefski gained conviction in the Waipawa Magistrate’s Court, for cheering for the success of the Germans. In fact, the 57-year-old German-Pole, was drunk and had been aggravated by others at the hotel who would not invite him to drink with them. Although not interned, his naturalisation was revoked in 1918[xxix].

III

For Lutherans, 1917 was certainly the low point. Military conscription began in 1916, and in early 1917 the Government called for the population to further economise in the interests of the war effort[xxx]. The loss of loved ones and the flow of misinformation, including the notorious ‘corpse-conversion factory’ atrocity lie[xxxi], saw non-Germans increasingly resent the fact that many of New Zealand’s German population seemed to be having a safe and successful time at home.

Newspapers described sons of Germans appealing against compulsory military service. Common reasons for this included relatives in Germany, fear of fighting - and even training - alongside people who hated Germans, and fear of ill-treatment by Germany if captured. Many of these men were still willing to serve in New Zealand or at least away from the Front lines[xxxii].

In April 1917 anti-German attention focused on the Lutheran communities of Marton, Halcombe and Rongotea in the Manawatu-Rangitikei district. Non-Germans resented Lutherans conducting church services in German and running their own schools. When Halcombe Lutherans advertised that they were to hold German language services on Sunday mornings and English on Sunday afternoons, complete with prayers for “our soldiers and the British army,” some readers angrily chose to interpret “our soldiers” as meaning the German Army.[xxxiii]

The same month, the Wanganui Education Board focused its attention on the Marton Lutheran School. This school, which taught in the English language, came under the control of the Minister of Education. However, the Chairman of the Wanganui Education Board, Fred Pirani, said that if the Board still controlled it, they would not have recognised it as a school. Pirani was also part-owner of the anti-German newspaper, the Feilding Star[xxxiv]. Although the Board could no longer dictate the fate of the school, it successfully requested that rural-based children be denied free railway passes to attend it[xxxv].

While the school taught in English, the Government had given permission for Marton’s Lutheran Church to conduct its services in German. However, in May 1917, and to preserve peace in the community, the church dropped the language as a war measure. The Post published Pastor Heinrich Hoffmann’s letter to Sir James Allen, Minister of Defence and Acting Prime Minister, stating that he deplored the “would-be Christian” section of the community that had taken offence at their receiving permission to use German in church. The pastor, who had begun the war as a civilian internee in Germany[xxxvi], considered that “the vital sacrifice we now make for our spiritual advancement, will only in a very small measure be compensated by submission to class rule and race hatred.” He also pointed out that not one member of the Lutheran Church in New Zealand had been arrested or interned as a disloyal citizen[xxxvii].

By mid-1917 anti-German agitation in the district was such that on 26 June, an encounter took place in Halcombe between Charles Whiskie, the son of a German couple, and a soldier, William Percy Stewart. Stewart came off worst and Whiskie found himself charged with assault, using obscene language and committing a “grossly indecent act in a public place[xxxviii].”

Then, in the early hours of 2 July, and allegedly for a £25 bet, someone burnt down the Rongotea Lutheran parsonage. Due to the constant persecution of Lutheran children by other children, the parsonage had been moved away from the State school, and was being enlarged for use as a Lutheran School. Even so, the intention had been to teach the children in English. Work was virtually complete at the time of the fire.[xxxix].

Whiskie pleaded not guilty to the assault charge on 3 July, but pleaded guilty to the second and third charges. Although found guilty of all three, he received lenient treatment in court. This incensed both the community and the Feilding Star. Especially aggravating was the ‘mere’ £10 fine the “big, burly” Whiskie received for the ‘grossly indecent act’ he had evidently inflicted upon the comparatively slight soldier’s uniform. On 6 July, the Star remarked on the extent of local agitation resulting from the lenient punishment accorded to Whiskie. It added that “it is said to be not unlikely that the matter will be pushed further by some local Britishers who want a revision of the judgments[xl].”

Doubtless as a result of the case, in the early hours of 16 July 1917, arsonists burnt down the Halcombe Lutheran Church. Due to arson threats and two earlier attempts, the pastor, Christoph Dierks, had watched the church closely and had even slept in it sometimes. He had just relaxed his vigilance. The stress that resulted from this period, combined with the effects of the 1918 Influenza Epidemic, contributed to his death in December 1918[xli].

Two days after the fire, the Star hinted at the extent of the agitation at Halcombe, advising that a group of supposedly ‘pro-German alien’ shearers had formed a league. They had then told farmers they sheared for, that if one of their members, who had been called up for the army, was sent to camp, they would refuse to do any shearing in the district. The Star naturally wanted the Government to deal with these most ungrateful people[xlii].

The Star’s entire coverage of the Halcombe fire amounted to just seventeen words[xliii]. Perhaps not surprisingly, its criticism of local Germans became equally limited over subsequent weeks.

There were attempts to burn down the Marton Lutheran Church also, however, these failed as men from that congregation guarded it each night[xliv]. As a result, this church is still standing.

A Member of Parliament later described the Halcombe Germans as having been “one seething mass of hostility” during the war. One can only speculate as to how else they might have felt under the circumstances[xlv].

IV

Of the range of wartime legislation New Zealand used to deal with aliens, most curious, but also most useful now, was the Registration of Aliens Act of 1917. Although designed as a means to locate and control unnaturalised enemy aliens, the end result was somewhat different. Despite the wishes of anti-German parliamentarians, the Act only covered ‘Aliens’ of either sex who were not less than 15 years of age and who were not British subjects either by birth or by naturalisation in New Zealand[xlvi].

Although the resulting register, compiled in late 1917 and early 1918, has not been analysed, it is evident that many hundreds of naturalised people also registered[xlvii]. Both Christchurch’s Press and Wellington’s Post remarked that “neither the police nor anybody else thought there were so many aliens in” their respective cities[xlviii].

By 21 January 1918 a total of 4,985 aliens had registered. Associated statistics indicate that this figure excludes the many hundreds - perhaps thousands - of naturalised people[xlix]. In fact, a total of 994 people aged 15 and over, had registered in the Manawatu-Rangitikei alone. Of this figure, 251 (25%) were of German birth. Of this number, at least 83% were naturalised and therefore should not have registered. Another 457 (46%) were of Scandinavian birth, of whom at least 57% were naturalised and also should not have registered[l].

Possible reasons for registration include confusion, misinformation, fear of the £50 fine if they misunderstood their eligibility to register, or a wish to place their origins on record. Another alternative is a planned silent protest. After all, why would so many intelligent - and naturalised - leaders and business people from New Zealand’s Northern European community, register by mistake? For example, why would a prominent lawyer such as the Danish-born O.T.J. Alpers, make such an error? Eight years later he became a Supreme Court Judge[li].

V

By 1918 the apparent prosperity of the German communities was a serious concern to the wider population. Naturalised German families were accused of purchasing many farms, the fact that their sons were still available to run them, being a particular complaint. People whose relatives had been conscripted and perhaps killed, or who considered that they stood to lose financially by such deals, were particularly angered[lii]. For instance, in January 1918, a Board member of the Rongotea Dairy Factory, complained to the Wellington Military Service Board, that four Germans had recently purchased 17 small dairy farms in the Rongotea district. These had then been converted to sheep farms. The complainant considered that this was to reduce the quantity of food available to the New Zealand Army[liii]. Presumably he thought the Army had no use for wool and meat.

In addition, young men of enemy alien descent were said to be taking advantage of the labour shortage by demanding very high pay rates. As a result, in early June 1918 - and citing the young men of the Oroua district in particular (i.e. Halcombe) - the Feilding Agricultural & Pastoral Association unanimously demanded that the Government “conscript for national work at soldiers’ pay, all eligible enemy aliens and persons of alien descent[liv].”

On 26 June 1918, the trans-Tasman steamer Wimmera, shocked Australasia by striking a German mine off North Cape, and sinking with the loss of 26 lives[lv]. As a result, the Gisborne Borough Council led a campaign of other Borough and City Councils, demanding that the New Zealand Government intern all ‘enemy aliens,’ including those who were naturalised. While it was not deemed reasonable to both send a son to the Front lines and then intern his parents, there was a strong view that the Government should conscript the labour of those who claimed exemption from military service, or who were refused admission to it  due to their ethnicity[lvi]. Mass internment was, though, neither financially practical, nor was it in line with Imperial instructions[lvii]. In fact, as Sir James Allen advised, “retaliation (of this type), owing to the numbers concerned, would be to our disadvantage. [lviii].”

VI

Although the Anglocentric State school system in New Zealand then, demanded that children be educated only in English[lix], the loss of both the German and Scandinavian languages was finalised by this war. Suddenly it was both unacceptable and unsafe to use them in public. Even at this time though, many older immigrants still had limited use of English. This especially applied to women and, in particular, those living in more isolated communities such as Halcombe. There were even demands during this period to have the German language made illegal in New Zealand[lx].        

This situation is no better stated than through the words of Christian Jensen, a Dane who arrived in New Zealand as a four-year-old in 1875. Despite living in a mixed Scandinavian-German neighbourhood, near Palmerston North, visitors to the Jensen household were firmly told, “Here you must speak English. No Danish or German here.” In later life he justified not teaching his grandson the language by explaining that “New Zealand is a British country - we must be like them and speak English[lxi].”

A recent study of  the ‘Scandinavian descendant’ community in New Zealand, took note of the near-total absence of Scandinavian language used at community events[lxii]. No doubt the far less re-established ‘German-descendant’ community would follow a similar pattern. Rather than not considering the language important enough to pass on to subsequent generations, as the authors’ of the aforementioned study wondered, I consider that our desperately-assimilationist forebears considered their Northern European languages a major liability in New Zealand. It was in the best interests of all, they would have felt, that these unpopular languages be lost as quickly as possible.

Conclusions

New Zealand, then, was not a battle front during the First World War, but this study of the experiences of its Northern European immigrant population reveals that it seemed that way. The British Government’s anti-German propaganda, combined with many military casualties, enflamed an Anglocentric community that had few outlets for its pent-up rage. That, plus a few thousand accessible ‘enemy aliens’ and former ‘enemy aliens,’ saw this rage channeled onto the Home Front. There is no doubt that the New Zealand Government did protect the naturalised German immigrant communities to a certain extent. As these persecuted, often elderly, people had no control whatsoever over the situation in their homelands, and as most undoubtedly considered New Zealand to be their homeland, the case is all the more sad.        

The legacy of this war was a loss of confidence by the Northern European migrant population of that time. Present generations can only wonder at the emotions concerned as so little was handed down. Even the year in which the Rongotea and Halcombe Lutheran fires occurred, was recorded incorrectly until 1997[lxiii]. Key events surrounding the fires only came to light while researching this essay. In about 1980, a Halcombe man, whose name is uncertain, told a shocked bus tour group of the Halcombe church fire. He said that local people did not discuss it often as it caused too much bad feeling[lxiv]. These words can be ascribed to the whole wartime experience. Undoubtedly they can also be ascribed to the hidden experiences of many other minority groups. As the saying goes, those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it. Perhaps that is the lesson to be reinforced here.  

Bibliography

Primary Sources

Official Publications

Census of New Zealand, 1916

New Zealand Department of Internal Affairs: Register of Aliens, 1917 (Government Statistician, Wellington, 1918)

New Zealand Parliamentary Debates

New Zealand Statutes

Archival Sources

AAAB (file missing for) POW 455, Danneville, Jhelmar (sic). National Archives, Wellington

AD 1 59/156, Prisoner of War Repatriation. National Archives, Wellington

IA 1 20/7/4, Lukaschefski, Frank William. National Archives, Wellington

MS Papers 2200 Folder PR 100/2, St. John’s Lutheran Church, Halcombe. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington

MS Papers 2200 CR 1/1, Lutheran Church of New Zealand, Annual Convention Minutes 1907-1920. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington

Secondary Sources

Alpers, O.T.J., Cheerful Yesterdays, (Auckland, 1930, First published 1928)

Benson, Pamela, History of Rongotea, (Rongotea, 1981)

Burr, Val, ‘Knud and Karen Sophia Jensen - a family saga,’ in Early Manawatu Scandinavians (Scandinavian Club of the Manawatu, Palmerston North, 1990)

Burr, Val A., Mosquitoes & Sawdust, a history of Scandinavians in early Palmerston North & surrounding districts (Scandinavian Club of the Manawatu, Palmerston North, 1995)

Burr, Val, German-ating the Seeds of Anger, The Great War’s Impact on Germans in Manawatu-Rangitikei (B.A. [Hons.] History Research Exercise, Massey University, Palmerston North, 1996)

Halcombe Lutheran Church Anniversary Committee, Lutheran Church, Halcombe, 1875-1953, 75th Anniversary (Halcombe, 1953)

Ingram, C.W.N., New Zealand Shipwrecks, 1795-1970 (Wellington, 1972)

Johnson, Simon, The Home Front, Aspects of Civilian Patriotism In New Zealand During the First World War (M.A. History Thesis, Massey University, Palmerston North, 1975)

King, Jean A. The Lutheran Story, a brief history of the Lutheran Church in New Zealand, 1843-1993 (Palmerston North, 1994)

Pobóg-Jaworowski, J.W., History of the Polish Settlers in New Zealand, 1776-1987 (Warsaw, 1988)

Ponsonby, Arthur, Falsehood in Wartime (London, 1942, First published 1928)

Sanders, Michael, & Philip M. Taylor, British Propaganda during the First World War 1914-1918 (London, 1982)

Valentine, Kristin Bervig, & Eugene Valentine, ‘The Performance of Collective Memory.’ A paper presented at the Western State Communication Association Conference, Denver, Colorado, USA, February 1998

Newspapers

Evening Post (Wellington)

Feilding Star (Feilding)

Manawatu Daily Times (Palmerston North)

Manawatu Evening Standard (Palmerston North)

Manawatu Herald (Foxton)

Rangitikei Mail (Marton)

The Press (Christchurch)

© Val Burr, 2003