Don’t mention the war! Not this time an episode from Fawlty Towers but the implied message during the Marshall-Serventy-Drysdale expedition around Australia in 1958. Despite having only one arm, ‘Jock’ Marshall had a distinguished record in the Second World War, leading a patrol behind Japanese lines in the New Guinea campaign. And he was clearly intent on winding up his great friend from Perth, Dom Serventy, on what he did for the war effort. Serventy, after a first degree from Western Australia, had acquired a Cambridge PhD with Frank Armitage Potts (1882-1937)—the ‘P’ in the famous book on invertebrates, BEPS, or as intoned in full, Borradaile, Eastham, Potts and Saunders. He then returned to Western Australia as a lecturer but in 1937 joined the fisheries division of CSIRO. And it was while working in fisheries that he became a hate figure to the Australian army. In Marshall’s words, the subject was raised one night during the airing of Ivan Carnaby’s ‘unsolicited views on army life and the evils thereof’. In Marshall’s words:
It was at this camp that we got some understanding of an affair that had been bothering some of us for several years past. Looking at Dom's face—a face benign in repose as he contemplatively swigged at a pannikin of rum and water in his swag near the fire—it was difficult to believe that here was one of the men most detested in the Pacific Theatre during the war against the Japanese. There was little about him now that would suggest that Dom was one of a group of persons whom many people wanted to indict as war criminals. Generally, if one is unfortunate enough to find oneself in the company of such a person, one tends to avoid like a plague the subject of former contention. But we had heard so many conflicting stories about the part that Dom had played in this unsavoury business that we felt that this would be a good opportunity to let him talk about it and, if he chose, to offer an explanation to us, an essentially sympathetic audience.
So in our tactful way we said suddenly, ‘Tell us about your part in that rather disagreeable goldfish business during the war, Dom.’
There was silence, except for the crackling of the fire. Ivan, a close friend of Dom's, and once a soldier, stirred uneasily.
‘It was not goldfish,' said Dom quietly. ‘The fish is Nematalosa erebiya so-called bony bream. It is, in fact, a true herring—one of the soft-rayed clupeoid fishes. It is a Perth fish, and therefore a good fish.'
There was another silence.
‘It is true,' Dom started off again, ‘that it does not command any sale when fresh. But is nevertheless a very fine fish, and it can be caught easily in great numbers by means of mesh nets of the beach seine type in the Swan River, the Leschenault Estuary and elsewhere. Leschenault was one of Peron's men in Baudin's expedition of 1801.'
‘It would be rather pleasant if you didn't change the subject,' somebody said.
‘Well,' resumed Dom, with some dignity, ‘in World War II, Mr A. J. Fraser, Director of Fisheries, whom you have met, suggested to Mr Vincent Gardiner, whom you do not know, that as he was already engaged in the production of turtle soup, it might be extremely helpful to the war effort if he, Mr Gardiner, experimented with the canning of certain common Western Australian estuarine fishes, particularly Perth herring, for which there was no demand when fresh. It turned out to be a very good product,' concluded Dom, a little defiantly.
‘But how did you get mixed up in these criminal activities?’ somebody broke in.
‘I was transferred home to Western Australia during the war to work on, among other things, the biology of the Perth herring, ‘It turned out to be a very fine fish. Not perhaps of the quality of good Scotch salmon, but nevertheless, a very good fish and, in tomato sauce, very similar to European herring.
‘It is true, unfortunately, that the flesh is comparatively soft. Therefore it does not stand excessive handling during transport. When tins of Perth herring eventually reached the forward troops the fish was still tasty, but appearances were against it.
‘Irrationally, the privates objected.’
‘Various personages associated with this delectable product, notably A. J. Fraser, Vincent Gardiner and myself went in some danger of our lives.’
‘It was even suggested that we be arraigned before the war criminal courts on charges of having conspired with the Japanese to lower morale.’
‘This charge is not true.’
There was silence except for the crackling of the campfire.
‘It was an attractive product, I thought,’ said Dom.
‘I enjoyed them.’
‘It was an honest attempt urgently to step up production of a food in short supply.’
‘How were we to know they wouldn't travel?’
‘We did our best.’
‘I would accept a tin of this fine Perth fish any time.’
I think we can take it that Jock Marshall, deep in the tropical jungle of northern New Guinea, was perhaps not terribly impressed by the odour, flavour or consistency of a disintegrating detritus-feeding fish in tomato sauce.
Perhaps then not surprising that Serventy moved to the wildlife division where he could pursue his lifelong interest in birds.
Perth Herring
The fish in question is now known as Nematalosa vlaminghi and it goes under the common names of Perth Herring, Bony Bream (but not to be confused with N. erebiya also known by that name) and Western Australian Gizzard Shad. It spends a period feeding at sea and then migrates to spawn in estuaries. Vincent Gardiner had a factory, Ocean Canning Company, at Belmont, Perth. Born in Dorking, Surrey in 1893 and educated at Reigate Grammar School, he began his career at sea as a radio operator. He then became superintendent of the Marconi School of Wireless in Sydney. A move as sales manager of Amalgamated Wireless also in Sydney was followed by his starting a gasket and felt company in Brisbane and Sydney. In 1937 he moved to Perth and began a meat canning company. It was there that he met A.J. Fraser and, as explained by Serventy, set up a canning factory for Perth Herring. The Australian army contracted to buy his entire output.
Although Gardiner moved into other lines, he was continuing to can Perth Herring for the civilian market into the 1950s. The tins were sold in Western Australia under the ‘Seahaven’ brand but production was insufficient to market them elsewhere. In a brochure extolling the virtues of Belmont, a former factory worker recalled his time working for Gardiner from 1940:
My original job involved cleaning fish, these being Perth Herring. The local fishermen received one penny per pound for them and cleaning was usually done by women who were also paid one penny per pound.
I wonder how Perth Herring in tomato sauce compared with my weekly lunch of sardines on toast or that dish still popular with Brits of a certain age, tinned pilchards?
Marshall AJ, Drysdale R. 1962. Journey among Men. London: Hodder & Stoughton. Paperback: Melbourne: Sun Books 1996 (reprinted 1967 (twice), 1968).
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