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Life So Full of Promise
Acclaimed historian and biographer Ross McMullin has again combined prodigious research and narrative flair in this sequel to Farewell, Dear People, the winner of multiple awards, including the Prime Minister’s Prize for Australian History.
Life So Full of Promise, his second multi-biography about Australia’s lost generation of World War I, features a collection of interwoven stories set in that defining era. The extended biographies give prominence not only to the extraordinary identities who died, but also to their families and friends.
The rich cast of characters includes a talented barrister whose outstanding leadership enabled a momentous Australian victory; an eminent newspaper editor who kept his community informed about the war while his sons were in the trenches; a soldiers’ mother who became a political activist and a Red Cross dynamo at Bendigo; an admired farmer whose unit was rushed to the rescue in the climax of the conflict; the close sisters from Melbourne who found their lives transformed; a popular officer who was more fervently mourned than any other Australian casualty; the most versatile top-level sportsman Australia has ever known; and a bohemian Scandinavian blonde who disrupted one of Sydney’s best-known families.
Also revealed is the untold story of an enthusiastic cricketer who was chosen in an Australian national side to tour England, and the surprising explanation for his decision not to go. In addition, there is a superb biography of a brilliant yet practically unknown cricketer whose stunning feat has never been matched.
The storytelling is superlative, illuminating, and profoundly moving.
Life So Full of Promise, his second multi-biography about Australia’s lost generation of World War I, features a collection of interwoven stories set in that defining era. The extended biographies give prominence not only to the extraordinary identities who died, but also to their families and friends.
The rich cast of characters includes a talented barrister whose outstanding leadership enabled a momentous Australian victory; an eminent newspaper editor who kept his community informed about the war while his sons were in the trenches; a soldiers’ mother who became a political activist and a Red Cross dynamo at Bendigo; an admired farmer whose unit was rushed to the rescue in the climax of the conflict; the close sisters from Melbourne who found their lives transformed; a popular officer who was more fervently mourned than any other Australian casualty; the most versatile top-level sportsman Australia has ever known; and a bohemian Scandinavian blonde who disrupted one of Sydney’s best-known families.
Also revealed is the untold story of an enthusiastic cricketer who was chosen in an Australian national side to tour England, and the surprising explanation for his decision not to go. In addition, there is a superb biography of a brilliant yet practically unknown cricketer whose stunning feat has never been matched.
The storytelling is superlative, illuminating, and profoundly moving.
640 pages, Paperback
Published April 4, 2023
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
July 20, 2025
Ross McMullen is both a thoughtful historian and talented writer. His mission to tell the stories of a number of Australians tragically killed in the First World War is both noble and quite fascinating. This book, the second in the series, focuses on three very talented young men killed at the front: a passionate doctor, a star cricketer and a brilliant lawyer. Through extraordinary research, McMullin has able not just tell the stories of these three lad's service, but detailed family backgrounds as well as the subjects life before 1914. What I particularly appreciated was the investigation into the family grief that followed and what happened to these families. The author loves his cricket so significant pages are spent detailing the on-ground performance of the subjects (which could be dry for those not passionate about the sport) but the detail collected is worth celebrating. The final subject, Murdoch MacKay, and his distinguished families story (and extended tragedy) could easily be a stand-alone biography. The book comes together very well and does not need to be read in one contiguous way.
May 27, 2023
This is hardly an objective review of Ross McMullin's second book about love and loss. The first part is about my own family and what can be a more compelling read? It seems appropriate to be writing this on Anzac Day.
Since Brian Pockley's death on the 11th September 1914, the Pockley family has had its own 9/11 subsumed into American cultural hegemony. Such is the power of hegemony that for many Australians WW1 is perceived to have begun with Gallipoli, or another holiday event where wreath-layers stand in silence at dawn around decaying monuments that can be found in the centre of any Australian city or town. The monuments and honour boards at the back of disused halls are usually inscribed with long, alphabetically ordered, lists of the names of the dead.
What is wonderful about Life so Full of Promise is that Ross McMullin quietly, but with the surety of thorough research, builds a sense of intimacy and connectivity as he delves into the lives of families from which the progress of young lives was interrupted. Here are real people suffering the pain of loss as they attempt (often unsuccessfully) to put their lives back together.
It's a peculiar feeling when your own family stories, received as passing remarks or oral fragments, are assembled into a coherent narrative set against nation-building forces. There were some parts I knew very well and others I didn't really know at all and, of course, much that was left out. Most of the time I felt as though Ross was being very careful not to upset anyone. Occasionally the tone of the story is almost plaque-like. That said, I was struck by the scale of interconnection with people and families that continues today - three generations later. The discovery that my own relationships with people whose grandparents knew each other makes me wonder about the extent to which we step through some kind of perpetual and repetitive dance.
While the theft of Brian Pockley's belongings is mentioned, as is his father's frustration when the body is exhumed without notification, no mention is made of the years spent trying to get his name spelt correctly (Brien sic). This and Jack Pockley's unknown grave weighed heavily on his father (my great grandfather) Frank Pockley. But this is nit picking. The reference to the proximity of Lancer wood to the place where Jack Pockley died is mildly disturbing. His descendants and family gathered at Hangard wood (to the west) during a commemorative gathering on the centenary of his death in March 2014. The wrong place?
Reading on, past the Pockleys to the archetypal, muddy death of Norman Callaway in a shell hole at Bullecourt, there are more interconnections despite the lapse into cricket adoration (I loathe sports). But I concede that some of the descriptions of batting and bowling are not just inspiring but poetic:
This is a sad but important book where Ross McMullin integrates intimate family dynamics with the wider forces of nation building that flowed over and through people who are so cleverly drawn that they become us all. And all of us have, in our particular ways, had our lives shredded by the relentless engines of war. Tears welled.
Since Brian Pockley's death on the 11th September 1914, the Pockley family has had its own 9/11 subsumed into American cultural hegemony. Such is the power of hegemony that for many Australians WW1 is perceived to have begun with Gallipoli, or another holiday event where wreath-layers stand in silence at dawn around decaying monuments that can be found in the centre of any Australian city or town. The monuments and honour boards at the back of disused halls are usually inscribed with long, alphabetically ordered, lists of the names of the dead.
What is wonderful about Life so Full of Promise is that Ross McMullin quietly, but with the surety of thorough research, builds a sense of intimacy and connectivity as he delves into the lives of families from which the progress of young lives was interrupted. Here are real people suffering the pain of loss as they attempt (often unsuccessfully) to put their lives back together.
It's a peculiar feeling when your own family stories, received as passing remarks or oral fragments, are assembled into a coherent narrative set against nation-building forces. There were some parts I knew very well and others I didn't really know at all and, of course, much that was left out. Most of the time I felt as though Ross was being very careful not to upset anyone. Occasionally the tone of the story is almost plaque-like. That said, I was struck by the scale of interconnection with people and families that continues today - three generations later. The discovery that my own relationships with people whose grandparents knew each other makes me wonder about the extent to which we step through some kind of perpetual and repetitive dance.
While the theft of Brian Pockley's belongings is mentioned, as is his father's frustration when the body is exhumed without notification, no mention is made of the years spent trying to get his name spelt correctly (Brien sic). This and Jack Pockley's unknown grave weighed heavily on his father (my great grandfather) Frank Pockley. But this is nit picking. The reference to the proximity of Lancer wood to the place where Jack Pockley died is mildly disturbing. His descendants and family gathered at Hangard wood (to the west) during a commemorative gathering on the centenary of his death in March 2014. The wrong place?
Reading on, past the Pockleys to the archetypal, muddy death of Norman Callaway in a shell hole at Bullecourt, there are more interconnections despite the lapse into cricket adoration (I loathe sports). But I concede that some of the descriptions of batting and bowling are not just inspiring but poetic:
...he scored most of the runs from cuts and on-side deflections; his eleven fours included several 'very prettily placed leg-glances'. He was in command, but then he was lured forward by a 'coaxer', missed, and was stumped - precisely the kind of dismissal be wanted to avoid. His first error became his last. p.211
This is a sad but important book where Ross McMullin integrates intimate family dynamics with the wider forces of nation building that flowed over and through people who are so cleverly drawn that they become us all. And all of us have, in our particular ways, had our lives shredded by the relentless engines of war. Tears welled.
November 12, 2025
An incredible book if you are wanting to do any research on those who fought in the Great War. It's also a brilliant work to read, just out of curiosity to learn about the lives of those who volunteered to fight, some giving their lives for their country.
Ross McMullin is an engaging writer, and his accounts immerse you in the story of these Diggers. It is very well researched and a book that shows the personal side to these men and their families. It highlights the horror, loss and trauma they all suffered - the huge cost they all paid, no matter whether on the front line, in support or back home waiting for them to hopefully return.
A moving piece of work.
Ross McMullin is an engaging writer, and his accounts immerse you in the story of these Diggers. It is very well researched and a book that shows the personal side to these men and their families. It highlights the horror, loss and trauma they all suffered - the huge cost they all paid, no matter whether on the front line, in support or back home waiting for them to hopefully return.
A moving piece of work.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews