Gordon Herbert Cleaver was born 14 July 1895 at the family home in Traralgon - the first child of Robert and Emily Cleaver. He attended the Traralgon State School, and was an active member of the school cadets.

After leaving school he worked as a shop assistant for Mr Christensen, the auctioneer - his military interests were continued as a member of the 13th Light Horse.

Gordon volunteered for service overseas in the 1st AIF on 8 July 1915, and left Melbourne on the HMAT A64 Demosthenes on 29 December 1915 for the Middle East.

In a postcard to his sister Eunice, dated 31 December 1915, Gordon writes:

Just a few lines to let you know how I am geting on & hoping you are all well. I was a bit seasick yesterday but I am alright again now. There is a concert on tonight to see old year out but I don't think I will wait up for it. Love to Dad, Mum, Little Phyl and yourself.

He departed Alexandria for Marseilles on 7 April 1916 and taken on strength of the 1st Pioneer Battalion; shortly after arriving, writing to his parents:

We are still putting in most of our time in the trenches. It's not too bad; only when its wet the floors get slippery. I am getting an expert with the shovel. When the little bits of lead are flying is the time to dig, I can tell you. Rifle fire is not too bad, but the nachine guns are beauts. I saw Billy Curran on Tuesday. He is in the artillery. The crops are looking fine, and are mostly oats and peas. I saw some Algerian oats here; the first since leaving Australia. The cattle are all stabled, and have coats like racehorses. The stables are generally under the same roof as the living quarters. THe buildings form a square, and the middle is the manure heap. You would think it would be unhealthy, but the country is so cold it doesn't seem to hurt. We saw a good sight the other day. One of the French airmen flew right down low, across the German lines, so that they were firing at him with the rifles. The shells were bursting so near him that the flash sometimes hid the plane, and one appeared to hit him, but he came back time and again, firing at them with his machine gun. We buy a lot of eggs, and they are 2s doz. The French people seem to live on beer and eggs. I don't think they can make the Australians out. But we are good customers to them. After pay day the Australians do spend some money. There are only about six Gippslanders in this Battalion, and three of us are in the one lot. The Indian soldiers are fine chaps, but they must feel the cold here after India. Wood is very scarce. They cut the limbs off the trees, and just leave the stumps, and when they grow cut them off again. The weather is beautiful; real spring, and all the fruit trees are out in bloom. The birds are starting to build their nests. Sparrows are very plentiful here. We are camped about two and a half miles from the German trenches, and they often send shells over here. You hear them coming. The noise they make gives one a chance to get into the dug-out. They also sent gas over one night, but there was not enough wind to drive it far enough. We only got a sniff of it. But it would not have mattered much. We have gas proof helmets. They are as safe as the bank. I was looking at a crop about three inches high where Germans lobbed shells the other day, and there were holes big enough to bury a horse and cart. They made a mess of the crop alright. The French farm implements are 100 years behind the times. Their harrows, plows, etc are real characters. I saw one that was built in 1862, and it was still going strong. The horses are driven with one rein, and how the dickens they guide them I don't know. The dogs pull the carts too, and are hooked into them like horses. It gets daylight very early in the morning; about half past 3 and goes dark about 7.30. After I came out of the hospital* I had a great chase round to find my battalion; but I caught up to them after two days. We are being supplied with Tommies uniforms, but I don't like them as well as our own. They say that the French country is very like that of England. Some of the villages I have seen here are very pretty. There are a lot of Russians here now. Remember me to all at Traralgon. *Gordon had spent a week in hospital with Anaemia.

On 21 August 1916 Gordon was killed in action during one of the attacks on Mouquet Farm (known to the Australian soldiers as Moo-Cow Farm), located on Poziers Ridge and a central bastion in the German defence position during the battles of The Somme from July to October 1916.

Just three weeks before his death, Gordon wrote this last letter to his parents:

I suppose you have been wondering why I have not written, but the fact is we have been very busy lately, as no doubt you will have seen by the papers, strafing old Fritz, and right well we did it too. I was very lucky. I got my shrapnel helmet all dinted in with shrapnel, and the sole of my boot all ripped off with a bullet, which I have for souvenir, and a crack with a bit of high explosive which bruised my leg. So I think I was terribly lucky. Our boys are splendid. Nothing could stop them, and they fell without a murmur. We were in some terribly hot corners, but it was grand One cannot describe the feeling. You should have seen the German prisoners! One that could not speak English said: "Tommies are good, Scotch ferry goot, Australians (shrugging his shoulders) var soon end!" Now for some news concerning some people you know. Chenu Norm, Wishart* and Alec Lancaster were wounded: Ted Cobbledick and Les. Davidson are alright. also Fred Stewart and B.Polden. You have heard me speak of Mr. Taylor, one of the first Officers' we had at Ascot Vale, and one of the finest men in the A.I.F. He was killed, and I was terribly sorry when I heard it. My word, talk about souvenirs in the German trenches! If one could only have got away with them! Their dugouts were a treat, especially those of the Officers. They went down a terrible way in the ground, and had electric light laid on. and contained all sorts of furniture: also ladies clothing, so evidently they had been entertaining their lady friends. The only thing I bothered taking was a revolver, and some cartridges. It has been lovely weather this last fortnight, and not a drop of rain. One chap got an iron cross off a dead German officer. You would have laughed. I saw a dead German officer, and thought, "Here's a find; he might have some papers on him." so I just got his revolver, when up comes a big "Darkie Johnson." And bursts right alongside of us, and nearly buried the German. It dazed me. I put my helmet on, and went wandering along the trench with the pistol in my hand, till I came to the Tommie' lines. They gave me a drink, and I came round. I often laugh over the incident. I am sitting here writing in a beautiful place, with rows and rows of trees and the birds singing. You would never think there was a war on But a few miles away the ground is ploughed up for miles as if with a giant plough, where the shells have been falling, and the trees are all dead. It is a great difference, General Birdwood wrote personally thanking all in our battalion for the splendid work done at different times. I suppose it is getting spring-time over there now. I always think of September and the wattle blossom by the piece of poetry: "September the maiden with bright yellow tresses," etc. We had some of the Germs' bully beef for dinner, and some apple jam, but the bread is hard, dirty-looking black stuff like lumps of wood. I saw some transport drivers with an old car that Fritz. had left behind. I might say that our chaps in the firing line get better food. It has to be carried sometimes miles through open places, and on the backs of men. This sporting life agrees with me. We are going into action again very soon. A man is stiff to get "knocked," but it's all in the game. That's why if anything happens to me I don't want you to worry too much. They are busy carting the harvest in over here, and it has been a splendid one. By the way, I had the pleasure of seeing a Taube come down the other day. I spent my birthday in a tiny little village, that had about 40 inhabitants. Needless, to say I didn't have a very exciting time. I often see Traralgon boys. One day I struck Dave Pye in a trench that the Germans were wailing shells into. I did not have a chance to talk to him. The people around here are not as nice as the ones further down. They pop the price on everything, saying; "Australia, plent money." I was sorry to hear of Arthur Miller being killed. But it is all in the game. In anything like a village they always have a fine chapel, which the people attend regularly. It is a very religious country. You will find at every cross road a cross or crucifix, nearly life size sometimes. Remember me to my friends.

Gordon Herbert Cleaver is interred at the Courcelette British Military Cemetery in France.

Gordon served with his friend Walter Benstead King – after the war, Walter returned to Australia and married Gordon’s sister, Eunice.