Military history has an unfortunate habit of gravitating towards the battlefield. We know the names of generals, remember the famous battles and endlessly debate tactical decisions, yet the politicians and administrators who created the institutions that made those battles possible are often left in the background. John Connor’s Anzac and Empire is a welcome corrective to that tendency.
At its heart, this is a political biography of George Foster Pearce, Australia’s longest serving Minister for Defence. That description, however, undersells the book. Connor has really written a history of Australian defence policy during the formative years of Federation, using Pearce as the thread that ties together questions of military organisation, imperial strategy, political compromise and national identity.
For many readers, Pearce will be an unfamiliar figure. That says more about Australian historical memory than it does about Pearce’s importance. While generals became national heroes, the politicians who built the machinery of defence largely disappeared from public consciousness. Connor makes a convincing case that Pearce deserves to stand alongside the better known architects of modern Australia.
One of the book’s greatest achievements is demonstrating that Australia’s military success in 1914 did not begin with mobilisation. It began years earlier in cabinet rooms, parliamentary debates, defence legislation and budget negotiations. Armies do not simply appear because governments declare war. They require organisation, training, planning and political will. Connor never loses sight of that larger picture.
His treatment of compulsory military training and the expansion of Australian naval and military capability before the First World War is particularly strong. These chapters quietly dismantle the comforting myth that Australia somehow stumbled into military competence through national enthusiasm alone. Instead, Connor shows that success rested upon years of often tedious administrative work carried out by people whose names rarely appear in popular histories.
That emphasis is refreshing because Australian military publishing still tends to favour campaign narratives over institutional history. There is certainly nothing wrong with another book on Gallipoli or the Western Front, but without understanding how Australia created the force that fought those campaigns, those histories are incomplete. Connor fills an important gap.
The research is exactly what readers should expect from a historian of Connor’s calibre. Parliamentary records, cabinet papers, official correspondence and contemporary newspapers are woven together without overwhelming the narrative. The scholarship is thorough but rarely intrusive, allowing the story to flow naturally.
Where I think the book is at its strongest is in its refusal to reduce Pearce to either hero or villain. Modern readers often expect historical biographies to reach a moral verdict. Connor wisely resists that temptation. Pearce appears as a capable, pragmatic politician navigating an exceptionally complex political landscape rather than an infallible statesman or a convenient target for hindsight.
The discussion of the conscription crisis illustrates this well. Rather than judging decisions through twenty first century values, Connor explains the competing pressures facing both Pearce and the Labor movement. Whether readers agree with Pearce’s choices or not, they are given the context necessary to understand why those choices were made.
That said, the book is not entirely without weaknesses.
Connor is perhaps a little too sympathetic towards his subject. While Pearce’s administrative achievements are undeniable, there are occasions where a more sustained critique of his shortcomings would have strengthened the biography. Pearce was an accomplished minister, but like every long serving politician he also made mistakes, misjudged situations and became entangled in bureaucratic rivalries. These episodes are acknowledged but rarely explored with the same depth as his successes.
Similarly, the book occasionally assumes a degree of familiarity with early Commonwealth politics that not every reader will possess. Those already comfortable with Federation politics will have no difficulty following the various personalities and party manoeuvres. General readers may find some chapters heavy going as governments rise and fall, alliances shift and cabinet reshuffles become central to the narrative.
Readers looking for battlefield action should also understand what this book is and what it is not. Gallipoli, the Western Front and the operational history of the AIF remain largely in the background. Connor’s focus is policy rather than combat. Personally, I regard that as one of the book’s greatest strengths, but anyone expecting a campaign history will be disappointed.
The book also raises a broader question about Australian military historiography. We have produced shelves of books celebrating battlefield achievement, yet comparatively few examining the institutions that supported those achievements. Connor demonstrates just how much remains to be written about the machinery of government, procurement, logistics and defence administration. In many ways, Anzac and Empire points towards an area of Australian military history that deserves much greater scholarly attention.
For me, one of the enduring lessons of the book is that military effectiveness begins long before soldiers enter combat. It begins with legislation, budgets, organisation and political leadership. These are rarely glamorous subjects, but they determine whether armies succeed or fail once the shooting starts.
Anzac and Empire is an important contribution to Australian military history because it shifts attention away from the battlefield and onto the institutions that made Australia’s wartime achievements possible. It restores George Foster Pearce to his rightful place as one of the principal architects of Australia’s defence system and demonstrates that politics and military history cannot be separated.
It is not a perfect book. At times Connor’s admiration for Pearce edges close to advocacy, and readers unfamiliar with early Commonwealth politics may occasionally struggle with the level of political detail. Yet these are relatively minor criticisms in what is otherwise an outstanding work of scholarship.
For anyone interested in how Australia prepared for war rather than simply how Australians fought it, this is essential reading. More importantly, it serves as a reminder that military history is about far more than battles. It is about the decisions, institutions and personalities that shape armies long before the first shot is fired.
Not because the scholarship is lacking, but because I finished the book wanting Connor to be even more critical of Pearce and more willing to explore the limitations of both the man and the defence system he helped create. That, however, is perhaps the highest compliment one can pay a historian. The book leaves you wanting the conversation to continue.