Keep the Home Fires Burning - detailing wartime life in the towns and villages mentioned.

B.S. 1914 Oct. 31st

Able Seaman Fred Cobbold, of H.M.S. Paragon, spent last week-end with his parents at Filgrave, and has been speaking of his exploits. He has been in the Navy for two and a half years, and just prior to the outbreak of war his ship was patrolling off the Irish coast, as a watch dog against gun runners. When war was declared, the Paragon received orders to proceed to the Orkney Islands, the base for the 4th flotilla squadron, and in the words of Seaman Cobbold;

“We read the signal that when we saw the enemy’s ships we were to commence hostilities at once. We have been patrolling up and down the North Sea ever since, but have seen nothing of the German fleet. We wish they would come out. We have been ready and waiting for them.”

An accident to one of the Paragon’s engines compelled Commander Cherry to take the vessel into dock for repair, and this enabled Seaman Cobbold to obtain three days’ leave and visit his home.

B.S. 1914 Dec. 26th

Private W. Fowler (a veteran of the South African War, who took part in the siege of Ladysmith) is now serving with the R.A.M.C. in a Field Hospital in France. Of his experiences, he writes to his mother at Filgrave;

“C section is ordered forward to -----. We hear very heavy artillery firing as we near this large town, and on advancing further the big gun and rifle fire becomes terrible. Our advance continues to a village where we find some wounded. We send them back (after attending to them) to our dressing station. The medical officer reports that there are some bad cases about two miles away which must be fetched in at once, as they are expecting the Germans to start shelling every (sic) minute. It is pitch dark, and the officer leads the way. We walk on tip-toe so that the Germans cannot hear us. We stop and listen occasionally to ascertain if all is quiet. After going over some trenches, hedges and ditches we come to the wounded. Every little noise we make seems ten times louder. Even our stretchers as we open them seem to make a terrific noise, yet the Germans don’t hear us. We start on our way back, groping in the darkness over hedges and ditches. We were thankful when we reached the roadway, but our sentries kept shouting “Halt! Hands up!” until it became sickening as we had to lower our stretchers each time. We eventually got out of range of the German rifles and felt thankful. After loading the wounded in the ambulance wagons about 4 a.m. we marched back to our dressing station.”

B.S. 1915 Jan. 9th

Regarding his experience of active service on the French battlefields, Private W. Fowler, of the Royal Army Medical Corps, writes to his mother at Filgrave;

“The first to attract my attention were the French Infantrymen who looked peculiar to me with their long blue coats and red trousers. Saw some German prisoners on a transport bound for England. We eventually disembark and I obtain some bread and have a real good feast of bread and jam. It being Sunday there were many people watching the troops disembark and I selected a little French girl to post a card for me. Went outside the dock gates and managed to buy a glass of claret (1d). The transport was then ready to be unloaded and we all fall in and unload the waggons, and then march to the railway station to entrain. The French people flocked round us and asked us for souvenirs - badges, numerals &c. Two young French ladies and a gentleman so persisted that I should give them something that I allowed them to cut off my red cross from the left sleeve of my jacket. The loss of this did not matter as it was hidden by my brassard. The lady then gave me some French cigarettes. We collected together and sang such ditties as “it’s a long, long way to Tipperary,” “Annie Laurie” and c. The French also made us understand they wanted us to sing “God save the King,” which we gave them lustily. We leave ----- and hear big gun firing and discover that the Germans are here also. Arrive at a village about five miles from -----. It is raining, but we manage to light a fire and cook some bully beef when suddenly we have orders for stretcher sections to fall in. Am afraid shall not be able to eat hot bully beef after all, but we just manage it. As I stand with my squad, stretcher sections are ordered to advance. Terrible fire is going on, and it is rain, rain, until we are wet through. We are in full marching order which is very heavy. Several houses are burning and our artillery is firing shrapnel at the enemy in the dark. They seem to be firing just in front of us. We find a chap wounded in the chest. It is our first case, but there are more. Our big guns still shelling the Germans. Shells go screeching over our heads, and the scene is weird as they burst in the darkness. Came across four Germans who said they came from Mons.”

B.S. 1915 June 12th

Able Seaman F. Cobbold, of Filgrave, was aboard H.M.S. Amethyst during the Heligoland Bight fight, and was present at the early operations in the Dardanelles. The following are extracts from a letter dated April 6th, which he has sent to his mother;

“You will see that I am on another ship now having volunteered for the minesweeping. I daresay you would like to know all of my adventures, so I will begin from when we left Gibraltar for an unknown destination under sealed orders six or seven weeks ago. We towed a submarine from Gibraltar to Malta, and here we coaled ship, or rather the Maltese coaled for us, and you can bet your life that Jack did not hurt himself while the Maltese were lashing out. When we left Malta we steered for the Dardanelles and we were there some time and had some busy and strenuous times. We were protecting the minesweepers; that means that we were occupying the forts attention with our guns while the trawlers were carrying on with their sweeping. We have been doing that for some weeks, and everything came off alright till the 13th of March. On the night of the 13th we sailed up as usual behind the minesweepers, and as we were going up the captain gave us a little speech, and he told us that we were going to make a dash and try our hardest to get through. No hammocks were got up that night, no man turned in, we kept watches on the bridge, searchlights and guns, and the people who were off watch slept fully dressed on the mess tables and stools and some on the deck. In the early hours of Sunday morning one of the minesweepers was hit by one of the enemy’s shells, and then we made a dash up to engage the forts and try to hit the searchlight and put that out; a very hard job, I can assure you, as their light dazzles you when you get in the full glare of it, and one cannot get a correct range. We drifted up farther than we expected, and No. 1 of the enemy’s shells hit us and shot away our steering gear on the bridge, and we had a job to stop our engines. The enemy’s shells were screeching over us all the time. We stopped after a few minutes and engaged the forts at 600 yards range. When the steering wheel was shot away we had to connect up the hand wheel aft and steer the ship from a place we call the hand wheel flat. Of course when the steering wheel forward was shot away we had nothing to steer the ship with for a few minutes till the steering gear aft was connected up. During the few minutes we took doing that we had drifted nearly 200 yards closer to their guns, and the battle raged fiercely. We poured broadside after broadside at their batteries and forts and searchlights which were nearly blinding our gunlayers, but we fired our guns as fast as ever we could load them and gave them something to go on with, but the old Amethyst was hit several times, and we had a heavy toll of dead and wounded. We were nearly surrounded by mines, which we had a hard job to steer clear of. I thought we were doomed, and I did not expect to see the ship come out of it again, for we nearly ran ashore and into a bunch of mines. If we had run aground they would have shown us no mercy but would have blown us up (or down) one of the two. One shell exploded a few feet from me, and I have got a piece of shrapnel shell that hit my boot. I am going to keep it as a reminder of the 14th March (Sunday morning), 1915, although I don’t think I shall forget that action in a hurry. Well, after two hours of it we were in a rather bad condition, and there were several forts battering away at us, and we were there alone so we had to retire, and I was not sorry to see her head swing round. As we left we gave them some good and well directed parting shots with our poop gun. It was 5a.m. when we managed to wriggle out, for we were in a very tight corner. It seemed as though the hand of God was upon us, and I think those of us who escaped alive can indeed thank Him for delivering us from the jaws of death. When we got out of it early that morning our decks were a proper shambles, and when we answered the roll call it was discovered we had 30 killed and 33 wounded, a big percentage out of a ship’s company of 280. Yes, it was a veritable hell while it lasted, and I was surprised and astonished how we ever got out of it, and could hardly realise that we were saved. Well, I could say more about the action but time and space will not allow, as I have a lot to tell you of other things, but I must say we accomplished what we set out to do; we cut the cable from Chanak to the opposite side, and that the trawlers successfully swept all the mines away, and that H.M.S. Amethyst was mentioned in dispatches, and the French admiral sent a message expressing his deepest sympathy and regret at our loss and thanking us for what we had done. I forgot to mention that we were present at the bombardment of one of the towns and before we left we reduced it to ruins. Well, on Sunday, the 21st, I volunteered for minesweeping. I volunteered with a mate, a decent sort, thinking we could go together, but we got disappointed; he went to one boat and I went to another. We went on the Sunday night to the trawler; had rather a rough passage in a rowing boat in the dark. We had a job to find her, and to crown that it came on to rain, but we got there eventually. I have finished with the Amethyst altogether now and am on Trawler No. 258 (minesweeper); her name is Richmond Castle. I like being on her very much. There is no strict discipline like the Navy, for some of the old fishermen are still aboard and they take things fairly easy, and of course being with them we catch their ways. I think we shall feel it when we go back on a ship again. We get 2s 6d extra a day while we are on here, and 1s 5d victualling (sic) money; and we live well, much like merchant sailors. We sleep in bunks. I am ship’s cook. I took on the job the second day I was aboard, and I think I can say without any conceit that I am a fairly good hand at it now. I can cook and boil or roast meat, or cook any sort of vegetable, make soup or rice puddings or pies, or suet puddings or pastry and nearly everything else. And I make plenty to drink whenever they want it - tea, coffee, or cocoa. I sometimes make something for breakfast. If I don’t make anything I give them either corned beef, salmon, or rabbit. I always give them a two-course dinner (don’t laugh) and I give them a meat tea mostly. Sometimes I give them pastry and sometimes I warm up the meat and potatoes that are left from dinner. Well, we went up the Straits Narrows on March 24 at night, and we were not up there many minutes before we had a perfect hail of shells falling about us. Of course, we do not feel very comfortable, and I began to wish I was behind a gun again, where we could reply to them. We turned round and came back after we had been up there about half-an-hour, and we were going up again just after midnight when we had an accident with our sweeping wire; somehow it got round our propeller and broke two blades off, so we could not go up again. Two days after we were towed round to Malta, a distance of 600 miles. The weather was lovely, and the journey took three days and three nights. We were towed round by Scawby, a Stockton boat. We arrived at Malta on the 4th of April (Sunday) and have been here nearly three weeks now. I have been ashore both in Silema and Valetta several times and had some good times. I cannot describe the place, but I have travelled a few miles over it and I have got some postcard views of the place, which I hope to be able to show you later on.”

B.S. 1916 Aug. 12th

Private A. Miller, of the Bedford Regiment, has been wounded in action twice in less than a month. On the 2nd July, as the result of an accident he was slightly injured, but after treatment at the Casualty Clearing Station returned to duty nine days later. On July 27th he was again wounded when hit by a piece of shrapnel in the right arm, and was taken for treatment in one of the French hospitals. The son of Mr. and Mrs. Miller, of Filgrave, he enlisted at the outbreak of war and has been in France for a considerable time. Before joining up he was employed at the Olney tannery. A brother is in Egypt with the R.A.M.C.

B.S. 1916 Sep. 30th

Private Frederick Miller, of the 10th Gloucesters, was severely wounded in the Somme fighting on August 19th. An exploding enemy shell badly injured him in the head, shoulder, left arm, and both legs, and he is now in Old Mill Hospital, Aberdeen. The only son of Mrs. Cooper, of Filgrave, he joined up at the outbreak of war, and having been in France since August, 1915, had passed through all the heavy fighting unscathed.

B.S. 1917 Apr. 21st

Private Albert Miller, of the Bedfordshire Regiment, is in the 13th General Hospital, suffering from a serious abdominal wound caused by a gunshot. On April 14th a visitor to the hospital writes to the soldier’s mother, Mrs. Miller, of Filgrave;

“Your son has had another operation to-day, so is not too well. He is not improving very much at present but there are still hopes that he may get better in a few days. He is very brave for he has a great deal of discomfort, but he does not complain at all.”

Only three days before the date of this letter Private Miller had undergone his first operation, the wound having been inflicted during the recent heavy fighting. Aged 20, he enlisted at the outbreak of war, having previously been employed at Olney Tannery, and during his considerable time in France he has been wounded on two previous occasions. He is the youngest son of Mrs. Miller, and two of his brothers are also in the Army.

B.S. 1917 Apr. 28th

Regarding her son, Private Albert Miller, Mrs. Miller, of Filgrave, has received the following letter from Sergeant J. Nixon, of the Bedfordshire Regiment;

“As you are aware no doubt from your perusal of the papers, we have begun a new offensive movement in which this Battalion has played its part. Death and wounds too have also played their part. It was during our share of the fighting, I am sorry to tell you, that your son got wounded in the thigh, hand and arm. None of the wounds are really extremely dangerous, and personally I have no doubt that owing to his splendid stamina and consistent life he will pull through. He was a particular friend of mine, and we were true chums. He was a splendid man and a real good soldier, and one who always gave of the best.”

(Tragically, Private Miller succumbed to his injuries on April 28th, in the 13th General Hospital, Boulogne, the official news reaching his mother from the Records Office on Wednesday, as also from Mr. and Mrs. Konig, of Tyringham House. In place of Matins, on Sunday, May 6th a memorial service would then be held in St. Peter’s Church, Tyringham, and, with special Psalms sung by the choir, the rector, the Reverend Charles Escritt, would make a touching reference to the fact that Private Miller had been a keen and zealous worker in the church, being not only a chorister but also a ringer. A muffled peal would be rung before and after the evening service. Before enlisting at the outbreak of the war, Private Miller had been employed at the Olney Tannery.)

B.S. 1917 Nov. 24th

Gunner J. Tullett, from Filgrave, is serving with the Forces in Salonica, and has forwarded the following lines clipped from the ‘Balkan News;’

(For a considerable while Gunner Tullett worked in the gardens at Tyringham House, and before enlisting was employed by the late Mr. Tattam, of Emberton.)

B.S. 1919 Jan. 11th

Private J. West, the youngest son of Mr. and Mrs. West, of Filgrave, has been awarded the Croix de Guerre. This was earned for his actions in September 1918, rescuing wounded under heavy shell fire. Private West served in France from March 1915, and remained unscathed despite being in many engagements.