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With today’s internet a wealth of official information is available regarding those who served.
In an age before local radio and television, families often allowed letters to be published in the local press from their loved ones on active service. However, for their descendants the letters reveal a more personal aspect, graphically describing the experience of the people and providing an insight into their personalities. |
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NBT 1914 Oct. 10th Sat. Mrs. A. F. Dickinson, of Heath Cottage, Leighton Buzzard, has two daughters working in Belgium with the British Field Hospital Corps. Extracts from letters they have sent home are appended; “The village where we stood had been in the hands of the enemy the day before, and they had totally destroyed it. Several of the houses are still burning. Most of the inhabitants had fled in time, but there sad tales told us of a handful who had not. The brutes had transfixed a baby on a bayonet and pinned it against the wall in the middle of the village, shooting the poor mother when she tried to rescue it. You can’t imagine what devils they can be until you see their work for yourself and hear of their outrages from those who have suffered at their hands.” NBT 1914 Dec. 26th Sat. Able Seaman George A. King, serving on H.M.S. Cumberland, writes to his uncle, Mr. H. J. King, of Market Square, Leighton Buzzard; “I expect you know by the papers, we are in the Cameroons, West Africa. We are capturing places by the sea. I shall have a lot to tell you when it is all over about how we landed. It is truly marvellous no one has been killed. Several men have been wounded. Our worst enemy is the climate; the country is rightly called the “white man’s grave.” Fifty-odd of us have been down with malarial fever. We all pulled through, but no more malaria for me if I can help it. All we had was milk (tinned), and quinine. The sun is so hot; we are all dressed in white trousers, flannels and straw hats. It is quite a crime to go out on the upper deck without a hat on.” (Able Seaman King died on Wednesday, May 31st, 1916, and is commemorated on the Plymouth Naval Memorial, Devon.) NBT 1914 Dec. 26th Sat. Corporal Carey, of the 1st Beds. Regiment, whose home is at Leighton Buzzard, has written the following cheerful account of his adventures; “I am nearly sick of this Wilhelm von Hohenzullern and his tricks. It’s no joke, I give you my word. I have been in some of the worst fights and can’t make out how they did not hit me before. On the 5th November we were ordered to reinforce another unit, and it was fireworks if you like. A piece of shell hit me in the shoulder and made me feel a bit sick and savage. The day ended with a charge, plenty of casualties and a bruised Corporal. On the night of the 10th we had another extra special tuck in. We belted into them, left and right, but my time came at last – a bullet through the foot. I stuck it for a bit, but in getting away, which I could only do at the crawl the pigs shot me again. I am now at the Grand Hotel Astoria. It’s a fine place, in fact, too fine for us. The British Red Cross manage the place thoroughly well. They have also the help of several French ladies, whose patriotism is absolutely top hole. The French women are real good. Everything possible is done for our men and not a mite of trouble made over it. They deserve all the praise they get, and it’s a pity they don’t come under the public eye more than they do. . . . Those German blighters made three tidy holes in me, but some of my chums pasted them back for it.” NBT 1915 Jan. 2nd Sat. Some time ago P.C. Howard was called up from the Force at Leighton Buzzard to rejoin his old regiment, the Grenadier Guards, and has written home as follows; “I was blown out of my trench on November 12th by a German high explosive shell. We call them coal boxes or Jack Johnsons. Whatever they are or may be they play havoc with one’s nerves. We only see the effects of German shell fire, but I think our shells are superior and more deadly, too. There were six trenches close together, about 50 yards in the rear of the firing line, these forming the company’s headquarters. Shells were bursting all around us, but there was no rifle fire except a casual shot. Our souvenirs from Woolwich and their’s from Krupp’s were going at full speed. There we sat telling our experiences as soldiers like to do and expecting a coal box to blow us up every minute. They were bursting 50 yards away then, and seemed to be getting closer and closer every minute. From what I learned afterwards, the pair of stretcher bearers on our right had been shouting to us for some time to make a run for it. The Major, too, had shouted “Come on boys,” as he left the Palace of Varieties, smelling a rat, or rather a coal box, but my mate and I heard nothing but the roar of the shells. Suddenly up came one of our stretcher bearers and sang out “Bring your coats and run for it to the road,” No sooner had we scrambled out of the trench than a shrapnel 80 pounder burst right on us. It was hell. We were mesmerized. I felt all over myself in my madness to see if I was hit, and then on the ground I saw my mate with a broken thigh. I was absolutely alone with a wounded man in the centre of a wood. I placed the stretcher by his side and he rolled on it as best he could. I made him comfortable and shouted for my mates, who had been blown up by a coal box. Our Captain was digging them out, and some men were lifting a tree off them. Then we managed to get my mate out. What a Godsend another shell did not burst or I’m afraid this letter would not have been written. We got behind a farm-house and rendered first aid to his injuries, and then another two miles through woods and mud to a dressing station.” NBT 1915 May 11th Tue. Corporal Harry Guess gave up his job at the Wire Works when war broke out, and joined Lord Kitchener’s Army. He is now in the trenches with the 1st Hertfordshire Regiment, and writes to his parents at 18, Back Lane; “I am writing this to you in the trenches, for we have been in them one night. I found it a lively and exciting time. I think it is a grand sight at night to see the star shells burst in the air. We are only forty yards from the German trenches, and we can hear them singing. They fired a lot at us in the night, but we gave them a warm reception. I have come across Leighton fellows in the trenches. The Germans are a rotten lot. It is a shame the way they are treating the poor German people. We saw a lot of refugees along the road turned out of their homes. I am pleased I have joined the Army to help get rid of those rotten Germans. We are having some grand weather out here now. The Belgian and French people were very pleased to see us when we were coming along the road. I do not think that the war will last much longer, for I think they have nearly had enough of it. We do not hear extra much of them, only now and again.” His uncle, Private Bolton, of the Worcestershires, was killed at Mons. NBT 1915 May 11th Tue. Private C. Winmill, whose parents live at 68, Church Street, fought with the Canadian Division for Hill 60. He was wounded, and writes from hospital; “My wound is healing fast, for I was in good condition before I had my ‘souvenir’ so that would help me a whole lot. What do you think of us boys, now, mother? We have lost a lot of men, but we got back what we were told to do. You read of the Hill 60 fight eh? Well, we lost a few there, and just after that we were called away for this other fight, which lasted for about four days. I got my wound on the third day, so you see, I saw the thick part of it all right. It was hell in its worst form; I never want to see its like again. Its not war, its just slaughter on both sides. The Germans certainly lost a lot. The feeling is good, real good, when you feel your bayonet sticking in soft flesh. But a man feels tired after running at a dog trot for a mile or so, to get cover by digging himself in with the entrenching tool. When we got to a bush the very trees seemed to be firing bullets and shells, but we got the wood and a considerable piece of land on the other side of it. Only one Lieutenant is left of my old Company, and I had all my pals in the same company. God alone knows where they are to-day. I had lots of souvenirs, but when I lost my equipment I lost all I had except my helmet, which I am sure was stolen from me while I was dazed by those gases. To see those gases it looks like a thick light yellow fog spreading wider and wider till some unfortunate devil gets two or three whiffs of it and then he gives up the ghost and his skin turns a kind of a blue-black colour. The Germans have no pity whatever; its just their delight to spot a Red Cross motor car and shell hell out of it. One was hit a few days ago, killing six of the eight occupants, and yet we still have to look after wounded Germans whereas a mad dog would be shot. Thank God the Canadians took as little pity as possible with the Germans. People are too tender-hearted in these days. Well, I’ve told you some of my news, but I have lots that will keep till I see you again, which I hope will be soon, so I must ring off for now dear ma. Your ever loving son, Charlie. Send me some cigs, ma, for if anything has been sent to me in the trenches, well, I shan’t see it.” NBT 1915 May 11th Tue. Private A. Webster, of the 7th Battalion London Regiment, is a son of Mr. and Mrs. A.F. Webster, of Stroud Green, but formerly of Leighton Buzzard. He has contributed an interesting account of some of his experiences to the ‘Hornsey Journal’; “When I left England, the prevailing opinion was that the German artillery was great and the rifle fire rotten. Never has a greater mistake been made. The German artillery has been gradually mastered by the Allies, and this is quickly apparent, as immediately the English artillery opens fire the German ceases. On the other hand the German rifle fire is distinctly good. I could cite many instances of fellows who have fallen victim to the fine shooting of the Germans, but my platoon officer, I think, is as good example as any. He fired two shots from his pistol at night, and he changed hands, and again placed his hand ready to fire, but a sniper hit him full in the arm as he fired. Seeing that he only had the flash to fire at, this was good shooting. … I was very surprised to find the number of ‘terriers’ out here. Wherever you turn, no matter what part of the line, you will find the Terriers hold quite a lot of the ground, and what is more, have the confidence of the Commanding Generals. The night is the only time to see the Germans, for, like us, during the day they never show themselves outside their trenches; however, at night, also like us, they find it necessary to repair the trenches. Even then they are not visible at 100 yards and can only be seen when a star shell goes up, when they make themselves as scarce as possible, but we always have a shot at them. … A prevailing opinion out here is that the war will be over before the summer is ended. If that is so then it will be that one country gives way because it has not the munitions to continue. I feel certain that if it is not to end until the Germans are driven out of Belgium and right into their own country, then we are out here for fully another twelve months. I form this opinion by viewing the line and noticing the strong positions and defences, and the able men who man the trenches, for an advance of about two miles costs anything between 10,000 and 20,000 lives, so to advance the very many miles to take the Allies to Berlin will cost millions of lives.” “By far the finest sight I have seen is that of an aeroplane fight. Hearing the noise of several engines over our billet we all raced out, and there we could see two German taubes heading for the town. Racing across the sky could also be seen two Allies’ aeroplanes approaching from different directions. We were all expecting to see a grim fight in the air, but suddenly the Germans turned round and made off in haste. Another aeroplane had had shot across the sky to join the chase, and the last we saw of the fight was the German taubes being chased by three Allies’ machines, firing as they went.” NBT 1915 May 18th Tue. An ‘old Leightonian’ writes; “All was quiet and peaceful in the Red Cross Hospital in Southend. Daylight was just beginning to peep through the curtains; an orderly in soft shoes and white coat walked round the corridors, the nurses stole quietly round the wards, peeping at the sleeping patients, or putting on dressings. Two chatted quietly over the fire in the central hall, when someone came and said she thought she heard an aeroplane. They went to a side door, and on opening it were met by a rushing noise that was so loud that somebody said: ‘It is only a train.’ ‘Gee, whiz!’ Something flashed through the air just over their heads; then came a terrific explosion that shook the house violently. ‘Bombs! Are we hit? How near is it?’ ‘Out with the lights; to the wards,’ and ‘Are the patients all right?’ ‘Yes, and wide awake.’ ‘Don’t be frightened nurse, that’s fallen half a mile away.’ ‘Has it though; where is that fire?’ ‘So they are here at last; sounds like Jack Johnsons doesn’t it mate?’ were some of the remarks these wounded Tommies made, while the warning hooter still sounded its dismal note, and the noise of explosions continued, though not quite so near.’ “Then suspense. ‘We had better move the patients from the top wards to the basement,’ said the Matron to the night sister. ‘Get rugs, hot water bottles and ten nurses.’ So everybody was busy for a while. Special police constables. Secretaries, R.A.M.C. men, and a doctor came flocking in. ‘All right here? We thought you had been hit. A bomb has fallen each side of you. Any help needed. No! that’s good; but we’ll be wanted elsewhere. The Queen Mary’s and Overseas Hospitals have luckily escaped. All Southend, Westcliffe and Leigh are out in the streets now, and fires are raging everywhere.’ they say as they rush away. The telephone bell rings: ‘Any room for a casualty? We’re bringing a soldier injured in a fire.’ ‘Bring him along,’ was the reply. ‘We haven’t a single vacant bed, but we will put one up somewhere.’ So the day came, work when on with its usual routine. The tired night nurses, anxiously wondering whether their own people were safe, went home through the crowded streets, where the people flocked to see the havoc wrought so suddenly in their peaceful seaside town.” NBT 1915 May 18th Tue. Jack Lyon, of Briggington, who went to France about November 4th, 1914, has been wounded in the recent fighting, but his injuries are hopefully not serious. He is in the Seaforths, who on Sunday morning were ordered to advance from the trenches. He writes to his relatives; “I was just about to hop over the parapet when something struck me on the side of the head, and the force knocked me over for a few seconds. When I picked myself up I was still a little dazed. The first aid boys dressed my wounds and left me in a dug out for a time. Then with others I walked to a dressing station about two miles away. There we had tea and biscuits, and a motor ambulance took us to a village, where the doctor attended to our hurts and inoculated us against lockjaw. Then we were taken in a motor car to the Canadian Red Cross, and from there to the railway station, whence an ambulance train conveyed us to Boulogne. We arrived there on Monday morning, and our wounds were treated again and we went on the boat. This crossed on Tuesday, and an ambulance train which was waiting at the English port took us to Norwich. My wound has just been dressed, and the nurse is very pleased; in fact, I am doing what I can to help the other men in the hospital, and am quite enjoying myself.” NBT 1915 May 18th Tue. Corporal H. Guess, of the Beds . Regiment, writes to his parents; “We have just come out of the trenches for a rest, after five days and six nights forty yards from the Germans - a bit close for a start. They are a rotten lot of cowards, for they tried to poison a lot of us the other day with those gases they send over. There were fourteen of us in the trench I was in, and only four of us are left, and when the gas was coming the Germans rushed another trench and killed and wounded about 150 of our men, but they lost 500 in doing it. The gas did not upset me much. It is a shame to see the way the Germans are treating the poor Belgians. I have seen them homeless, and the towns are in ruins, with the houses and Churches blown up. I think, however, that the Germans have had about enough of it. I have come across several Leighton fellows since I have been out here. Will Sewell is all right. I hear Harry Bierton has had his thumb blown off.” NBT 1915 June 1st Tue. From Lance Corporal W. Eggington. (This should probably be William Eggleton.). He is at the front with the 2nd Bedfords, and writes to his mother; “I could not write before as we have been under a heavy bombardment of shell fire for seven or eight days. It was awful. We had ‘Jack Johnsons’ dropping all around us last Sunday. It’s enough to send anyone silly at times. On the Monday we went back about a mile from the firing line but when it was getting on towards night we had the order to fall in. We marched into the German trenches we had captured on the Sunday, and we knew we were not going there for nothing. We got the order to fix bayonets and charge and as soon as we got on the top of the parapet the bullets came over us like rain. The worst of it was we had to cross three streams in which the water was over our heads in places. When we got to the German parapet they threw bombs at us and we wanted more reinforcements but we did not get them so we had to retire and help the wounded back as best we could. It was the worst time I have had since I have been out here. I had a narrow escape when a bullet made a hole in the top of my hat as I was getting out of a ditch.” NBT 1915 June 8th Tue. Private S. Whybrow, of the 2nd Beds. Regiment, is with the British Expeditionary Force. (This is probably William Samuel Whybrow). From the north of France he writes to his mother and relatives; “I am thankful to say, please God, that I am quite safe and in good health. Have not been able to write before. Have been otherwise engaged with those blighters, the Germans. We have been in it this time and the show was an extra good one. I can now say that I have seen hell. As one of our chaps jokingly said; ‘The Devil was having his birthday party.’ That is the nearest description I can give you. I have seen plenty of Germans in the last few days; also helmets and other things. I am sending a German button, a cap badge and stop, and strap plates, which I took off a German helmet. I cannot send the spike, it makes the parcel too big; I would have sent the helmet, but could not. It is, as you say, a change for me to spend my birthday under these circumstances. But I am glad to say that we are out of the trenches for a rest, so can enjoy it better. Thanks for cigarettes. We only get a good smoke when they come from home: also enjoyed your cake and chocolates. I had the pleasure of smoking some German cigars which we found in the trenches and you may bet they were enjoyed. I do not wish to say anything about what I have gone through: it is too awful to talk about. I want to forget it but I don’t suppose I ever shall. We had a very nice Church service in the open today (Sunday), which we all enjoyed very much.” NBT 1915 June 22nd Tue. On Wednesday afternoon a telegram was received by David and Mary Ann Smith, of 11, Regent Street, stating that their 25 year old son had been dangerously wounded; “O.H.M.S. Warley Common. B 20 regret to inform you number 13553 Private Joseph Smith, 1st Bedfords, is dangerously ill. Gunshot wound head, chest, arms. At 11th General Hospital, Boulogne. Attest.” A letter was later received from one of the Hospital sisters; “Dear Mrs. Smith. I am sorry to tell you that your son was admitted to this hospital last night with a severe wound in the head. He was operated upon today and is so far fairly comfortable, but at the same time is seriously ill. We will do all we possibly can for him, and I trust may be able to send you better news soon. Until you hear again, please take no news as good news. I remain, Yours Sincerely, M.E. Blencowe (Sister). 11th General Hospital, Boulogne, June 15th, 1915. (Private Smith was well known in Leighton Buzzard as a journeyman carpenter. He enlisted last September in the 4th Bedfordshire Regiment, and during the winter trained at Dovercourt, being picked for a draft to the 1st Bedfords on April 27th. He was soon in the firing line, and at the battle for Hill 60 the butt of his rifle was shattered by shrapnel. His father, well known as the Cemetery keeper, served in the 1st Royal Scots for 12 years, and his grandfather saw 21 years service in the 43rd Light Infantry, being awarded the New Zealand long service and good conduct medals. NBT 1915 July 13th Tue. Mr. and Mrs. D. Smith, of 11, Regent Street, have learned that their son, who was seriously wounded in France, has been transferred to the Abbey Hospital, Woburn, for wounded soldiers. Making good progress, from there he writes; “I had several wounds, but most of them I received in the head. I was also wounded in the neck, chest and in my right arm. They are better now and you may rest assured that there will not be much the matter with me soon.” (Born in the town, Private Smith died at home of wounds on Tuesday, July 20th, 1915, and is buried at Leighton Buzzard.) NBT 1915 July 13th Tue. Private George, of the 1st Beds. Regiment, is in hospital in England, and regarding the death of two Leighton Buzzard men, Privates T. Underwood and J. Lawson, who were killed in action during the Hill 60 fighting, he writes to his mother at 88, St. Andrew’s Street; “I was with poor Tom Underwood and Jack Lawson. They fought like true soldiers and were very brave. I gave them all I could for their comfort before they died. They did not feel much pain. They have got very nice graves with flowers. I got shot in the head and neck and was gassed. It was terrible to see the poor men lying dead around me.” In a later letter he says; “I am getting on fine now. The ladies in this hospital belong to the Voluntary Corps, and are very kind to us. It is like heaven to be here after being out there. There are not many of us left who went out at the commencement of the war. I have seen my share of it if I don’t see any more. It is murder.” NBT 1915 July 20th Tue. Police constable F. Howard left the Leighton Buzzard Police Force to rejoin the Grenadier Guards, and has been at the front for several months. In a letter to Mrs. Val Pool, of Vandyke Road, he writes from ‘somewhere in France’; “Just a line to let you know I am still in the land of the living and quite well. I hope you will forgive me for not writing before, but we have had a warm time, and no time for writing letters. I think I promised you a letter on the next morning after I wrote last. We had to shift the same night and have been on the go, backwards and forwards, ever since. We are in a very hot position now, in some old brick-fields where we were last February, and where Mike O’Leary won his V.C. It is far different now from what it was then. There are mine craters and great piles of earth which have been thrown up by mines everywhere. Bombs are in great use, too. Large bombs are thrown by means of a trench mortar. The Germans throw a bomb which looks like a sack of soot coming through the air. It is two feet long and eight inches across, and explodes like a mine, causing an awful crash. God help a man who is near it, but we can see them coming as a rule and get out of the way. We have beaten the Germans at most things, especially mining, and we shall soon beat them at bombing. We are pegging two to their one now; ours are like footballs, something like a brick, only round. Rifle grenades and hand bombs go through it too. The Germans are only forty yards away; we can hear them talking. I’ll bet they can hear us very often; we have a sing-song now and again. Line regiments let the Germans do just what they like so long as they keep quiet, so they dig right up to them. If the Germans commence bombing they let them get on with it. We are just the opposite. If they are quiet we wake them up and if they start bombing we finish it for them. They often shout and ask the line regiments where the Guards are; they always know when we are there.” NBT 1915 Aug. 17th Tue. Driver F.N. Reeve, of the Mechanical Transport, A.S.C., was before the war the driver of the motor bus from Bedford to Leighton Buzzard. From France he writes; “The men of the Beds. Regiment, the Engineers, Yeomanry and other regiments out here are doing splendid work. There are to my knowledge 20 drivers, including myself, from the L.G.O.C. garage, Bedford, out here, either driving lorries with supplies, ammunition or ’buses. These men, with thousands of others, are doing splendid work, working under trying circumstances, and have travelled thousands of miles in France. I have frequently come into contact with several of them, and it certainly does one good to meet each other occasionally. Many are the tales which we tell when we meet, and when we all return to Bedford and take up our duties again with the L.G.O.C., there will be many tales told on St. Peter’s Green. I personally have had some very exciting times, some of which I hope never to experience again. I remember some time ago going with my lorry to a certain town in Belgium, and just as we entered the town one of our military police suddenly appeared from somewhere and said: “For Heaven’s sake don’t go any further yet, the Germans have already sent us eight shells.” A moment later one crashed into a house about 50 yards away and sent some of it into the garden at the back.” NBT 1915 Aug. 31st Tue. A Leighton Buzzard man, Private G. Webster, (9220), “A” Company, 1st Bedfordshire Regiment, British Expeditionary Force, France, writes; “Would you allow me to ask the readers of your newspaper, whether one of them could kindly send us a mandoline (sic) and a mouth-organ? They would be greatly appreciated by the men of our Company, and help to pass many a weary hour away, both in and out of the trenches.” NBT 1915 Sep. 14th Tue. Private J. Cavanagh, of the “C” Company, 1/5th Bedfordshires, was a well known athlete at local sports meetings, and regarding the recent fighting at the Dardanelles writes to a Dunstable friend; “Last Sunday morning we were called on to go into action. We soon had the word to fall in, and we moved off quite quietly, taking our time going up, as they started shelling us as soon as we left our camp, but our officers managed to get us right up to the top of a big hill without any loss. When nearing the top (we had already got our bayonets fixed), we had the order to charge. Over the top we went as hard as we could manage to go, where we received a very warm welcome in the shape of bullets and shrapnel, but I am proud that our boys stuck it very well indeed. After getting over the top, we still had a little further to go to get into the position we were required to take and hold on to at any price. During the afternoon and night we had a really warm time; it was one line of fire against another the whole time, backed up by artillery and maxims on both sides. On Monday morning they started early again, shelling us the whole time, but they were a little quieter in the afternoon, during which time we took the opportunity to dig ourselves well in. During the night they started another attack on our left, but were driven back. Next morning (Tuesday) they were quieter than the previous day. We only had a few shells over us, and received a visit in the evening from an aeroplane, which kindly dropped a bomb or two on us, but without any serious result. A few minutes after passing us the flier was sighted by our Fleet, who soon had him under fire, making him wobble a bit before he headed for home. For the rest of the time it was fairly quiet, only one little incident happening. A Turk got near our lines and was promptly shot dead on the spot. Whether he wanted to surrender or was spying, I was unable to learn. As for myself I am still very well and fit, and came through our first three days of action without a single scratch, for which I am very thankful indeed. I am sorry I cannot say the same for all our boys, but you will see our list of wounded etc., in the papers, where, I have no doubt, that you will see a few names that you know. The weather here still continues to be glorious. I like it very much indeed myself, but some of the boys find it a little trying, as it makes them frightfully thirsty, and we are not able to get water just as we like. The supply is a great deal smaller than the demand, but then we cannot expect to have everything we want, so we just grin and bear it.” NBT 1915 Sep. 14th Tue. Regarding the recent fighting at the Dardanelles, Private A.E. Dennis, of the 1st Beds. Regiment, the son of P. Dennis, of Leighton Buzzard, writes; “Just another line to let you know I am all right. I daresay you will know by the time this reaches you that we have been having a rather warm time, but, thank God, I have managed to scrape through up till now. It has been ‘simply hell’ out here. Of course, I did not expect it would be a picnic, but I never thought it was like this. We do live rough too; it’s exactly a week today since I had a wash, and it is longer than that since I had a shave. Even jam is a luxury out here, but, never mind, let us hope the war will soon be over. What do you think of the 5th Beds. now? I dare say you have heard of their charge; it was great, although we lost some men, but I don’t think there are any Leighton chaps killed up to the present. I don’t think I told you in my last letter, but Edgar Odell is wounded, rather badly, I believe, in three or four places. I have just been talking to a stretcher bearer who helped to carry him down. He said it was hot work.” Mr. and Mrs. Smith, of St. Andrew’s Street, have been informed that their son, Private James Smith, of the Beds. Regiment, has died from a wound in the neck. In a letter, one of the nurses writes that his death occurred on September 9th at a French military hospital, on a hill overlooking which his body was laid to rest. His cousin, Private Joseph Smith, whose parents live in Regent Street, died from wounds in July.) NBT 1915 Sep. 21st Tue. Engaged in unloading boats, from a rest camp Sergeant J.R. Clements, serving with the 1/5th Bedfords, writes to Mr. and Mrs. Clements, of 35, Mill Road; “I don’t know how long we are here for, but we were all done up when we got to the base. … I should be pleased with some fags or fag papers and tobacco, for we cannot buy anything out here. I have not seen a house since we have been here. I would rather have England anytime than be out here. It is hot in the day and very cold at night, but we are A1. I am brown as a berry with sunburn. We are not drawing any money out here, for we cannot spend it if we do, and I have got the same amount in my pocket as I had when I got off the ship. … We have fags given out to us two days a week, so we don’t hurt for a smoke. … We had a fine time coming over here; plenty of food on the boat, and we don’t hurt for food out here.” 1915 Sep. 21st Tue. From the Dardanelles, Private A.E. Dennis, the son of Police Sergeant Dennis, of Albany Road, writes to his parents; “There does not seem much to tell you as we scarcely hear a scrap of news, and I cannot write as many letters as I would like as I am short of writing materials. . . This is a desolate hole to begin. I wish there was a village or town so that we could buy something. It does seem rotten to have money in your pocket and nowhere to spend it. I bet you will smile to yourselves and think how it will grieve me. I expect things are about the same in Leighton Buzzard as if there was no war. I wish some of the people were out here; it would make them pull a long face and alter their opinion. We are now living much better than at first. We even get a bit of bread and bacon for breakfast, so you see we cannot grumble about the food. And we are thankful to get what we do. What a different outlook on things in general a game like this gives people. At times we used to grumble about things at home and think we were hard done by, but now we wish we could be in those same circumstances again. . . I don’t wish you to send a lot of stuff out to me, but if you do, send it in a tin box or it will arrive worthless owing to the heat and the knocking about. If you can send me a tin of fags from time to time I shall be satisfied, and if possible a tin of health salts.” NBT 1915 Sep. 28th Tue. Private Charlie Cox, 6th Beds. Regiment, writes to his parents; I am now on a hospital ship bound for somewhere, and I don’t know where. Don’t worry yourselves, as I am all right. I have been wounded in the foot, but not seriously. You know what things are on an hospital ship, plenty of everything. I shall have a good yarn to tell you when I come home, and I don’t think it will be long. It isn’t half hot our here, and it doesn’t half make you stare to see a seven foot Turk in front of you. It makes you think you are going to have Turkish delight for supper; but don’t worry, there are better days in store. That’s the time when you make your rifle form fours. The Turks haven’t got a bit of heart in them. I shan’t be sorry when once I get home again. When once I get there, I shall sit with my feet under the table, and you will have a job to move me. Get plenty of food in, as I shall want about a ton when I get home!” NBT 1915 Sep. 28th Tue. The life of a telegraphist in the fighting at the Dardanelles is vividly described by Sapper Donald Jackman, who before the war was a member of the indoor staff at the Leighton Buzzard Post Office. He writes to a former colleague at the Post Office; “By the time you received my letter from Alexandria expressing doubts as to my destination, I was probably on the scene of action in the midst of the clash of arms. This is the second Sunday I have spent on land here (he writes from the cliffs overlooking the sea) but I can assure you it is difficult to tell Sundays from other days, although my diary serves to keep me in order. Three weeks from the day we left England we were receiving our baptism of shell fire in the harbour. We were standing by on the Mariton waiting to land, and on the first evening we witnessed fighting by land, sea and air. A Taube came over the harbour dropping bombs, but managed to get away, although it was heavily fired on by cruisers and land batteries. The next day we were shelled by the Turkish batteries, the ship being hit three times and shaken up a good deal. Fortunately no one was injured and some of us landed, the rest going on to Embros for a time. Anyway I was one of the party who had landed and I had a narrow escape the following morning when watering the horses, several people being injured. By this time I had got quite used to the shells and have been under fire ever since. I had not been on land long before I was seized for telegraphs at our headquarters and have been on this duty ever since. We have shifted no fewer than four times since we came here and have had a very hard time, working often 20 hours per day. The ground here is very difficult for operations, being very hilly, rocky and stony, and digging a dug out is a difficult task, but has to be done for your own safety. Should like to see you out here with a pick and shovel, you wouldn’t have any difficulty with your little garden afterwards!” “Telegraphing with shells bursting around is not very pleasant at first, but serves to keep you awake when on long periods of duty. We have lost two telegraphists wounded, one Sergt. Kemp of Sandy and the other Sapper Gardner. The piece of shell which wounded Kemp weighed seven pounds and fell in the middle of our office. Had it been an explosive shell instead of shrapnel, I’m afraid we should all have disappeared. The fighting here is very severe indeed and none of us who witnessed it in this particular quarter – names must not be mentioned – will ever forget it. A bombardment of the Turkish positions on Saturday lasted five hours and must have been terrible in the extreme. The hills which the Turks held must have been a perfect hell, being fired by the thousands of shells which rained on it. . . . I don’t mind the shells so much, but I do dislike to see the wounded coming in; it’s enough to take the heart from any man.” “My present dug out is in the cliffs close to the sea and quite safe from shells, which fall above or come over into the sea. This morning about sixty mules have been killed by shells very close to us. It’s very hot here in the day-time and extremely cold at night. After all, the temperate climate of good old England is much the best. Water is very scarce, no fresh having to be used for washing. Fortunately, being near the sea, we can get a wash fairly often; we average, so far, one in three days. Means of transport are difficult, only pack mules being used. An Indian unit does the transport work admirably. Food is very good considering the conditions, but I shall be glad to get that chocolate which I hope is on the way now. I often wish money would buy something nice. I have plenty of money, but it’s of no use to me. I shall be pleased to get some news. I have had no letters yet and seemed to have gone back to uncivilized conditions. We heard of the Russian victory in the Baltic, otherwise we are quite ignorant of the doings of the rest of the world.” “How are things going at Leighton Buzzard? I understand Sambrook is out here about two miles from us in the trenches. Quite a big percentage of our staff are taking part in what will prove to be one of the bloodiest engagements in the world’s history. It seems to me to be one long continuous battle, shells all day and rifle fire and maxims at night. . . . I shall be able to interest you with my experiences when we get in the old sorting office again.”
NBT 1915 Oct. 5th Tue. The monotony of thirteen long months at the front has been the lot of Corporal William Eggleton, of Leighton Buzzard. He was relieved last week by seven days’ leave, and has been able to spend this with his relatives and friends in Plantation Road. Corporal Eggleton is one of the original Bedfords, and has been on active service from the start of the campaign. His desire while at home to forget for a while the happenings of the “dark days” in France can therefore be well understood. Conversations with his old chums at the wire works, however, have invariably turned to his experiences, and Corporal Eggleton’s description of the incidents and engagements have greatly interested his listeners. He tells of a very lively time that one party of Bedfords had while in the vicinity of a wood. Some Germans were approaching the British lines under the guidance of an aeroplane, and the scouts gave the warning none too soon, for the next minute the Germans were pouring down the hill on to the Bedfords for a surprise attack. “Even at such short notice, the Bedfords were ready as they always are,” says Corporal Eggleton, “and with our bayonets fixed we successfully broke their attack and pursued those who survived it.” Of the many terrible sights Corporal Eggleton has witnessed the worst was at a wayside farm house, to which he was sent for water. The farm had been shelled, and when Corporal Eggleton entered the yard the bodies of dead dogs, cats, sheep, pigs and human beings lay in one heap. After the great hardships endured by the troops in France during last winter, there is little wonder at Corporal Eggleton’s statement that another winter’s campaign is dreaded more than the fiercest fighting. For many days and nights last winter the Bedfords stood in the trenches knee deep in water and chilled to the bone, and often those hardships were increased by a biting rain. One of Corporal Eggleton’s colleagues, when asked whether he had any message to send to his friends in Leighton Buzzard, replied: “No, but for God’s sake, bring us back some music.” When the men at the wire works heard of this request, both employer and employees then quickly subscribed a sufficient sum to buy one of the best accordions in the town. Another Leighton man in the Bedfords, who overheard Corporal Eggleton asking his chums if they had any message to send, shouted along the trench: “Call in at the Bedford Arms and tell ‘em I could do with a bottle of Bass!” So another present will accompany the melodeon back to the trenches. Corporal Eggleton, who is only about 20 years of age, was promoted to his present rank while in France. He has now completely recovered from the wound he received in his hand some time ago, and he left Leighton Buzzard last week in a cheerful mood for another turn in the trenches. NBT 1915 Oct. 12th Tue. Private Percy Howard, who was formerly employed in Mr. King’s hairdressing saloon in Market Square, and joined the Somersets Battalion shortly after they left Leighton Buzzard, has sent a letter to Mr. and Mrs. King. Suffering from the effects of gas, he is in one of the Canadian General Hospitals in France, and writes; “You will see by the address where I am, but I expect to be shifted today. We have had a very busy time here; talk about close shaves, Market square is nothing compared to the battlefields. I said ‘next please’ while the shells and bullets were paying us visits. We had four night marches, on the last two lying out in the rain, when we were marched into action. Never shall I forget it. We got to the firing line where we were relieving about 3.30 in the morning. We had repulsed two counter attacks before daylight, and then when it got light we ‘opened the shop’ in earnest. Business began to hum; we had three attacks again before noon, and each time we drove them back until it got so hot we had to fall back, but I am proud to say that five of us stayed behind peppering away at the Germhuns until we had to shift. We were fired on at three sides, and shells were falling like rain. We had to go through shrapnel, ‘Jack Johnsons,’ etc; how we got through goodness knows. It was fair hell itself, but, as before in Leighton, I am still alive to tell the tale; no ghost stories this time, reality of the worst. We hadn’t time to eat, although I had a good supply of bully beef and biscuits and half a loaf of bread bought in the village where we last stayed. Our boys didn’t fall back for long, just a breath of air, and then at them. I was hors de combat so didn’t take part in it, but they got where they wanted to before they stopped. I have been gassed as well as half buried by ‘Jack Johnsons.’ … I am stony broke but am all right for a box of cigarettes, of which there are plenty, also good food. … Give my respects to all inquirers at the shop. Tell them I have done my bit, I have accounted for a few, how many I cannot tell, but some for certain, especially one big chap at 400 yards. He soon kicked the bucket when I pulled the trigger. Yours sincerely, Percy the Germhunter.” NBT 1915 Oct. 12th Tue. After an anxious wait of several weeks, Mr. and Mrs. Dennis, of 24, Albany Road, Leighton Buzzard, have received a welcome letter from their son, Private A. E. Dennis. He is serving with the Bedfords at the Dardanelles, and writes: “Just a line or two to let you know that I am all right. The weather is not nearly as warm now as it was when we first came out here. I think the winter must be coming on. If so, it will be just as cold as it has been hot. We have just been relieved from the trenches after being in for six days, and are now at a so-called rest camp, but you don’t get much rest out here at any time, as you may guess. I saw a Leighton paper dated August 24th. Well, I suppose we must struggle on and hope for the best. There are better days coming, and we will only make things worse by worrying. . . . The Harrison’s Nursery Pomade you sent is coming in very handy; you see we don’t very often get the chance to have a wash and a change.” NBT 1915 Oct. 12th Tue. How the men of the Somerset Regiment, who were formerly billeted in Leighton Buzzard, went into action during the recent great advance in France, is told in a letter from Private A. T. Sage. From a Liverpool hospital he writes to Mrs. Chandler, of 23, Church Street, Leighton Buzzard, with whom he was formerly billeted; “The address suggests that I am wounded doesn’t it? Well such is the case, your humble having one bone broken, or ‘comminuted fracture of ulna’ - as far as I can decipher the X-ray report. I was tested under the X-ray last night. It looks a nice smash up, too; there will be some hunting to be done extracting chips of bones. I was wounded on Sunday, 27th, morning, 10 o’clock. I was in the hottest and biggest battle of the Western Front. We were marched from ----- for four nights to get to a place to reinforce another Division who had captured it on Saturday, 26th September. They are a Scotch Division and are the bravest I have seen so far, and Kitchener’s Army, too. What price K. of K’s. Army now, eh? We have lost heavily in wounded and killed. We were mown down from sides, and front as well. . . . We had marched nearly all Friday night and laid down in the drenching rain, and actually went off to sleep, too. Well, they woke me up the next morning and told us the joyful news that we should be in action over-night and well we knew it. At 7 o’clock we crossed over the original British trenches and got to the well battered German ones. The first thing we heard was a poor Scottie crying for help, but we could do nothing for him. All the while, mind you, it was drenching and pouring down. He had been wounded first go off. Well, we found our way through dead bodies, German and Scotch, and then found ourselves going through barbed wire entanglements. Those German trenches were full of dead Huns. Talk about sights! Every two yards you stumbled over rifles (German) equipment and our shell cases from the bombardment. We crossed right over the German trenches. The sky was lit up away on the right by a burning village. Meanwhile we were getting a dose of shrapnel and explosive bullets. (These are forbidden in the rules.) The explosive bullets don’t half knock your flesh to pieces if they cop you. Well, we advanced in rushes of 50 yards all night till the main road was crossed. That left us about 400 yards from the beaten Huns’ position, and we dropped down there and slept till 4 a.m., under heavy fire and raining like the deuce. That was where I left Jack Rawlings. It was the last I saw of him, Gingell and Hillman. How they fared I don’t know. Well, we got to a hill by dawn and we were at once subjected to a terrific bombardment. I saw not a few of my mates killed by high explosive shells. Talk about being terrible; I was absolutely drowned with dirt and small bits of shrapnel by at least three shells, which burst rather too close for my fancy. I was just waiting for sudden death, that was all I could think of, but they stopped after a while, thank God, and we got back to our shelter and rise in the ground. Then we got machine guns into us, I was wounded soon after. That’s how I came here. My left arm is wounded and one bone smashed; a souvenir from Germany.” NBT 1915 Oct. 12th Tue. An interesting letter describing the recent heavy fighting in France has been received from Sergeant W. G. Hoghen, of the Lincolns. He was formerly billeted with Mrs. Potter, of Albany Road, Leighton Buzzard, and writes from a London hospital; “You will be surprised, no doubt, to find that I am back in England so soon. We were in the great advance. I went on all right until mid-day on Sunday, when I stopped a piece of shrapnel in the right hip; not much to shout about, but I had to walk and crawl four miles over German and British trenches to the first aid station at -----. I met Jack Barratt at Noeux les Mines with a bullet in his arm, but he said he had not seen any of the other Lincoln boys. George did not go into action with us as he was in hospital with a poisoned hand or foot; I’m not sure which he said. . . . I never saw anything like last Saturday. The dead were piled up in heaps, and the trenches were practically filled with dead Germans. I had the pleasure of bayoneting a couple and shooting quite a lot. Mr. -----, that young Lieutenant who used to arrange the concerts, came back with me badly wounded, and we lost many of our officers either killed or wounded. When I came away Major Bullock was with the boys in the front line with his revolver hung round his neck and a rifle and bayonet in his hand, shouting, “Come on boys, give them hell.” He had not been hit at all. . . . I feel a lot better than I did, but I have to have a piece of shell taken out yet. I have one piece which came out on its own. Gott strafe der Kaiser.” NBT 1915 Oct. 12th Tue. Some of the Lincolns and Somersets, who were billeted in Leighton Buzzard last year, have had ‘a battle on their own account’ with some Germans. The enemy were trying to hold a wood with a machine gun, and how the Lincolns drove them out and advanced is told in a letter from Private A. J. Hudgill of the D. Company, Lincoln Regiment. Writing to Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, 25 Stanbridge Road, Leighton Buzzard, he says of the action; “I must now tell you the story of our little fight on Sunday, September 26th. We left our field, where we had bivouacked on Friday night, early on Saturday morning, and we reached some of the trenches after walking about eight miles. That was where we first saw the big guns. Within another hour or so we saw a lot of wounded Scotch Highlanders, who had been in the trenches for some considerable time, and who helped to shift the Germans from their trenches. The poor fellows looked completely tired out, and were covered with mud from head to foot. We could see the trenches which the Germans had been in since last May some distance in front of us. It took us all day to get to them because there were some thousands of troops all along the road. It was seven o’clock when we got there, and then we had a rest for a little while. The Germans were sending us a few shells, and it was quite interesting to hear them going over our heads with a buzz. When we started we advanced in the direction the German trenches had gone, and about 12 o’clock on Saturday night we encountered some with a machine gun in a wood. We drove them out with the aid of the Somersets, and advanced a little further where we made a trench and stopped. They were shelling all night long, and in the early morning as well. We had lost a few of our battalion by the morning. We made a good start on Sunday and succeeded, with the good work of A and B Companies and our machine guns, in driving the Germans back a little bit further. By this time our heavy artillery were dropping their shells a bit short, but they soon had the order to fire further. The Germans then made an attack on our left and someone sent word down for a retreat along the line, but their attack was not successful. We came away from the firing line late on Sunday night and there were wounded and killed lying about all over the place. Some of our chaps have been gassed, and I myself caught a little, but not very much; not enough to cause me to go into hospital. I must think myself very pleased I am alive by the way the bullets and shells were buzzing by me. It is a trying sensation to see the poor fellows lying about and you can’t do anything to help them. I think it was one of the biggest battles there has been out here yet. I hope and trust we can keep them on the retreat as it will make a lot of difference to the war.” NBT 1915 Oct. 12th Tue. Three letters received towards the end of last week report that another Leighton Buzzard man, Corporal William Brandom, of the Bedfords, has given his life for his country. The first arrived on Wednesday morning, when Mrs. Chamberlain, of 5, Mill Road, received a letter from her son, Private Frederick Chamberlain. He is in the Bedfords, and his letter contained the following passages: “It fills me with regret to tell you that poor Bill Brandom was killed on Thursday. He was shot clean through the heart and so did not suffer. Will you go and break the news gently to Sally. Also tell Mr. Major that poor Jack is dead as well. He had the top of his head taken completely away, and so did not suffer, poor boy. There was no one else from Leighton hurt or killed in this Regiment.” The next day Private Chamberlain wrote to each of Corporal Brandom’s sisters - Mrs. Draper, of Baker Street, and Mrs. Horne, of Long Row - conveying the sad news of their brother’s death. Corporal Brandom was aged about 26 years, and when the war broke out was serving with Private Chamberlain in the Beds. Regiment in South Africa. The battalion was then hurried home and transferred to France. Not long ago Corporal Brandon was home on a few days’ leave from the front, where two of his brothers, Private Levi Brandom and Private George Brandom, are serving. The Jack Major referred to in Private Chamberlain’s letter is the son of Mr. and Mrs. Major, of Bedford Street, whose death was reported last week. No official confirmation of either casualty has yet been received. NBT 1915 Oct. 12th Tue. Private William Samuel Whybrow, the son of Joseph and Millicent Whybrow, of 36, East Street, Leighton Buzzard, was wounded in the leg during the great advance, and from a hospital near Birmingham sends the following letter to his mother; “I expect you will want a few details. Well I am quite cheery where I am at present. I only arrived here this morning (October 2nd), but I am quite comfortable. My wound is not a bad one; it is a gunshot wound right through the top part of the thigh, just missing the bone. The doctor says I am lucky, and after what I have seen here, I think I am too. So much for the wound. No doubt you will have read in the papers of the big advance we made. We were at . . ., and had been holding the trenches for seven days. We came out for one night to give our overcoats in, and then went back again. We stopped in some reserve trenches during the bombardment while the front line went over. When they went we had to scratch up. I got my wound going into the third German trench. I had got about 100 yards from the second line when a chum and I both got stopped. His was through the right arm. With his support and the aid of a stake I got back. Since then I have been in field ambulances and a long train ride to Rouen. I stayed there a few days, and was then put on a boat for England. And here I am in Birmingham, and after a change of clothes and a good wash I feel very comfortable. I have had a good breakfast, the first for seven months.” (As Lance Corporal Whybrow, of C Company, 1st Battalion Beds. Regiment, he died on Friday, February 7th, 1919, aged 24, and is buried at Leighton Buzzard.) NBT 1915 Oct. 12th Tue. Serving with the 129th Howitzer Brigade, Gunner A. B. Phillimore writes from France to his aunt; “I am quite safe and well. . . . We are kept at it all the time now, first here and then there. We have not much time to spare and are glad to get to bed. I cannot tell you much news about myself, for to tell you the truth you at home know more than we do. The weather still keeps very wet. I daresay you were glad to hear of the French and English successes. You can bet we will be in Berlin before long and home for Christmas!” NBT 1915 Oct. 12th Tue. Private F. G. Bentley, of the Somersets, lost the sight of one of his eyes in the great advance. He was billeted in Leighton Buzzard with Mr. and Mrs. Harry Turney, of 29, Market Square, and writes to them; “Just a line to let you know I have arrived back in England. We were in that last big battle at Loos and had a severe shaking up. I got off with losing my left eye, but I think I am lucky to be back again, for it was terrible. We were in some of the thickest fighting and the weather was very miserable, for it was raining nearly all the time. There were plenty of souvenirs in the way of shells, bullets and gas, for the Germans used all manner of things against us. As to the other boys, I don’t know much about them, because I was amongst the first to get wounded. A pal in my ward is writing this for me as I cannot see to write properly, yet, and I am not allowed to read.” NBT 1915 Oct. 19th Tue. On Saturday morning, Mr. and Mrs. George Major, of 32, Bedford Street, received from the War Office an intimation that their 22 year old son, Private John Major, 6845, 2nd Bedford Regiment, had been killed on Saturday, September 25th at an undisclosed location. (Mrs. Major was his stepmother.) A report has now officially confirmed the news, and enclosed was an expression of regret and sympathy from Lord Kitchener. Before the war Private Major was in the Special Reserve, and joined the 3rd Beds. Regiment on mobilization. When the 2nd Beds. Regiment returned from South Africa he was transferred to them, and although he was not in the famous retreat from Mons, he fought in practically every big action that followed, and was still fighting when he met his death. Twice during his twelve months in the trenches he was wounded, once by a bullet in the neck and again by shrapnel in the leg. At the time he was shot another Leighton boy, Private Fred Woolhead, was wounded by a bullet through the thigh, and the two chums promised that if either was killed, then the other would send the news home. In fulfilment of this promise, three weeks ago Private Woolhead wrote the following letter to Private Major’s parents; “I got wounded before he got killed, but another mate of mine who was against him said he never murmured. They turned him over and he was gone, poor fellow. It nearly broke my heart when I heard of it, as you know we were great pals.” In a letter to another relative, he says that Private Major was shot through the head. Mr. and Mrs. Major have an elder son, Private Will Major, of East Street, who has been invalided home from France, and transferred from the Bedford Regiment to the Northampton Regiment. NBT 1915 Oct. 19th Tue. After spending two months fighting the Turks at the Dardanelles, Private Alec Bates, of South Street, Leighton Buzzard, has been invalided home. He arrived wearing trousers that were worn out at the knees, and bespattered with the blood of wounded comrades. His ill-fitting top coat had been borrowed from a now dead comrade, and his belt had belonged to a former R.A.M.C. man, having formerly been taken from the body of a dead Turk. Private Bates speaks of the task at the Dardanelles as a very uphill one. The Turkish forts, he says, are like our Gibraltar, and with the Turks themselves as good fighting soldiers, the task of beating them is no easy one. In spite of all the difficulties, however, the progress made by our troops has been steady if somewhat slow. One Sunday, Private Bates took part in one bayonet charge, during which several Turkish prisoners were taken. Those he saw included many men above our military age limit who, when hard pressed, appeared eager to give themselves up. When the Turks saw that the British troops meant business, the iron discipline of their German officers was forgotten, and in broken English they shouted: “Germany no good, Turkey finished, English very good.” The Turkish snipers, he says, are smart, and the many women in their ranks give a good account of themselves. Private Bates is loud in his praise for the Australian and New Zealand troops. They are used to a similar climate, and are therefore able to meet the Turks “on a level.” Many times their deadly marksmanship has had a telling effect on the enemy. A greater pest than the Turks - who rarely open fire unless challenged from the British positions - are the flies which, although only as large as the ordinary English housefly, can give a painful bite. He says “When we had a piece of bread and jam, and jam is very precious out there, we had to wave it about while eating it, for if you allowed the flies to settle on it, it would be quickly devoured for you.” Private Bates has known sixpence and even a shilling to be given for a penny packet of cigarettes. Notwithstanding their hardships, the Leighton Buzzard men at the Dardanelles keep up a good spirit, and Private Bates left his chums very cheerful. The monotony of trench life is very often relieved by a local “Tommy” announcing the latest news from Leighton Buzzard. A few days before Private Bates came away, one Leighton man solemnly announced that the Market Cross had been moved from the top of the High Street to the bottom, to fool the Zeppelins. So far the Turks have not used any poison gas shells. NBT 1915 Oct. 19th Tue. Formerly stationed in Leighton Buzzard, Sergeant A. P. Roberts, of the Lincolns, has sent Mr. and Mrs. Thos. Gibbs, of South Street, Leighton Buzzard, an interesting description of his visit to some captured German trenches. This was after the great advance, and from a field hospital he writes; “We have been fairly busy since landing in France, which is about a month ago. We were on the march for about two and a half weeks, and then into action, on Saturday night, September 25th, where I am not at liberty to state, but probably you read the papers about a fortnight ago, and saw where the fighting was the fiercest on our front on Sunday and Monday. Well, we were in the thick of it and also the rest of our division and a good many others. . . . Poor old Roy went down, but whether he is killed, missing or wounded I cannot say. We have had no news at all about him. We lost a lot of officers, N.C.Os. and men. . . . I am glad that my brother and I got through without a real scratch, although, John, my brother, had a bullet into his rifle and a bayonet thrust on it, and was unconscious for several hours with gas. I was fairly lucky, getting off with a little gas only. I am at present in a field hospital with my foot, some silly thing or the other the matter with it, but I reckon to be out in a day or so because it is getting quite well again. We took, or rather they were taken by various Scotch regiments, two or three lines of German trenches, and I had the pleasure of exploring one or two of them. They are fitted out just like houses. The dug-outs are boarded all round, with pictures on the walls, and a lot of English uniforms hung up. I suppose it gives the scoundrels a little satisfaction to think that the owners are hors de combat, so they keep them as mementos. There were cupboards, sofas, chairs, tables and various things one finds in a well furnished house, such as electric push bells, to say nothing of wines, cigars and cigarettes by the ton. It was plain proof they had intended to stay for the winter, but they had a rude awakening to find the British knocking at their front door. The Huns are good fighters, there is no doubt about that, but the British are better. The Scotsmen are simply marvellous fighters. They fight independently when they have lost their officers, and go back for a snack of food to the village which is four miles away from the fighting - and by the way, the village is being bombarded all the time - and then go right into the thick of the fighting as though they were just going back to work in civil life. They take the thing as though they were brought up to it from birth!” NBT 1915 Oct. 19th Tue. Corporal D. Bromley, a dispatch rider in the Royal Engineers, who was formerly billeted with Mr. and Mrs. Folmer, 16, Albany Road, Leighton Buzzard, has sent the following description of his experiences after the great advance; “The attack began by a continuous shelling of the German trenches for three or four days. Then on Saturday morning the Scots charged and captured the first two lines of trenches pretty easily. They advanced on towards the village of ----- where the hottest fighting took place - it was hand to hand - and after they had taken the village they went on to Hill --- and captured it, but had to retire again through lack of support. We were standing by waiting for the line to be broken, but they had to put our division in the trenches. It was about 1 o’clock on the Sunday morning when I got into the captured village. There were heaps of dead Germans in the streets. I was the only dispatch rider to stay there, and was there for two days and nights, a time I shall not forget. The Germans shelled the place the whole time, the Church was knocked down and there was not a whole house standing in the place. The only things left standing are two iron towers. The Germans sent a lot of shells into them, but they had no effect. The towers were used as headgears for coal mines, and were very high. They made a good lookout post as they could be seen for miles around. The worst part of the bombardment was on the Sunday afternoon just before our attack which re-captured the hill. Our headquarters were blown down. We happened to be in a cellar so no one got hurt, but we nearly got gassed as the Germans were using gas shells. We had a lively time of it altogether, and I enjoyed it as there was plenty of excitement. There were lots of German snipers still in the village hiding in cellars. They shot at us as we went by. One fellow only went to fetch some water and was shot. We had them cleared out. Parties went round with bombs and if the snipers did not come out when called we chucked them some bombs as souvenirs, and they got blown to pieces. There were women and girls still in the village. They had been living in the cellars for months. One woman was found in the trenches. The Germans could not have expected us to advance so they left a lot of rifles and ammunition and other things behind. Some guns were also left. I have a helmet and bayonet for a souvenir. I left the village on the Wednesday morning and was glad to get out of it, it’s nothing but ruins. One road that I had to go along had two snipers watching it. One had a machine gun and was shooting at everything that went by. I had to head down and run as hard as I could, and I could hear the bullets swishing by. I don’t mind shell fire, but snipers are a little too unpleasant for your health!” NBT 1915 Oct. 19th Tue. Formerly billeted in Leighton Buzzard, one of the Somersets tells of the barbarous treatment of some wounded taken by the Germans; “When German troops find any British wounded they finish them off either by gas poisoning, the bayonet or the rifle. Three of the Black Watch, who were severely wounded in a charge against the German trenches at --- were pulled into the Hun trenches, stripped naked, and then made to go back to their comrades. When on the way a machine gun was turned on them, and needless to say they were murdered before their comrades’ eyes. I have seen too many terrible sights, such as the work of an explosive bullet. If you get hit in the head with one you don’t get an ordinary bullet wound, but off comes your whole skull. There is no escape for any limb which is hit by them. One advanced dressing place with wounded inside was shelled with asphyxiating shells.” NBT 1915 Oct. 19th Tue. In a letter to his mother, Mrs. Louisa Parker, of 105, Prospect Place, Heath Road, Leighton Buzzard, Corporal J. Parker, tells how a party of Bedfords in France narrowly escaped being blown up in a mine explosion; “We are in the firing line again and the Germans gave us a nice time about six o’clock or so, sending a few shells over. It seems as if they know the Bedfords now. We had a lively time on Sunday morning. We were busy down the mines when the Germans blew one up and it was a bit thick, I can tell you. No more for me, I hope, for they shook the mines in a bit, and we had to contend with the gas and sandbags falling on top of our heads. The Germans advanced to take our position, but our little party of the ‘old boys’ stopped their little game. It was like hell, for rifle grenades, bombs and shells were flying about, but we stuck to it and made a trench, and I built a parapet. Our men behaved well, and the officers of the regiment praised us for what we did, and they also mentioned ‘the tall Corporal’ and two of the men for what we did, but I hope there will be no more mines go up when I am there for they are awful. You cannot fancy what it is like when one goes up. It does seem as if our luck is not to get hurt, for we only had a Sergeant and one man of our brave party wounded by shrapnel.” NBT 1915 Oct. 26th Tue. From a hospital at Rouen, Driver B. Dennis, who is attached to the 8th Somersets, writes to Mrs. F. J. Read, 19, High Street, Leighton Buzzard, with whom he was formerly billeted; “Just a few lines to let you know that I am still living, but I have had the narrowest squeeze of my life. On the 25th September we were in that charge at Loos, and it was a hot corner. My two mates, Reggie Morcom and Sam May are wounded. Sam was shot through the arm, and Reggie was shot through the thigh. They are in Lancashire now, and I ought to have been there as well. I was knocked out of the saddle and picked myself up somewhere about 30 yards from the wagon. Both mules were killed and my wagon went ‘up in the sky,’ and pieces killed some more chaps who were near, but I got off lucky with only two wounds, one in my arm and one on my chest. I had about 20 scratches when I came out; our transport officer didn’t know me as I was cut about so. All my clothes were torn to ribbons, and I was in such a state that I had to be sent straight away to get looked after properly. I landed here in a hospital, but Sam and Reggie were not wounded so badly, and when they got to the hospitals here they were all full, so Sam and Reggie were sent to England. I have got over mine now. All the scratches have gone and the wound in my arm is getting better, although it is going on slow. About the end of this month I shall go back again, and by that time they will be getting on with it.” NBT 1915 Oct. 26th Tue. Last winter, Lance Corporal J. T. Goodhand was billeted with Mr. and Mrs. S. Rivers, of “Ferndale,” George Street, Leighton Buzzard, and from France has now sent them the following letter; “Just a few lines from one who has always had pleasant memories of his stay at your home. Memories like that helps one to endure the many hardships one has to put up with out here. You will doubtless have heard of the Brigade going into action and also how costly it was in the nature of casualties. . . . Mr. Wells is all right, and it was from him that I learned that poor Harry was wounded in the leg. He was asking Mr. Wells for a match at the time. We have done nothing in the way of fighting since then, but expect to go in the trenches very shortly now. We are billeted in a village now just behind the firing line and can hear the guns quite plainly. The billets here do not compare very favourably with those we had in Leighton. I am in a cart shed at present, which is ventilated at least in fifty places, while my ‘bed’ consists of a bundle of straw and a top coat. For a table I generally set my billy-can on a cart wheel, but we are always happy in spite of many inconveniences we have to contend with. And then we are much better off than thousands of poor chaps who are in the trenches, so we have no cause for complaint. I am longing for the time when the campaign will be a thing of the past, and then I shall come to Leighton for a holiday.” NBT 1915 Oct. 26th Tue. Lance Corporal Frank Kiteley, of the Army Ordnance Corps, is serving with the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. He has been wounded at Gallipoli, and writes to his parents, Mr. and Mrs. D. Kiteley, of The Bridge House, Hockliffe Road, Leighton Buzzard; “I am on a hospital ship, but there is no need to worry as I am not hurt seriously and shall, I hope, by the time you get this, be nearly, if not quite well. Last Friday I was hit by a piece of shrapnel shell on my right side, bit it did not go through the skin; lucky for me. At the time I thought it had done no harm, only bruised me a bit, but on going to the clearing hospital the doctor told me I had fractured some ribs and would have to go to Malta Hospital, where to-morrow morning I hope to be.” Before joining the colours he was employed as a clerk at Messrs. Brown and Co’s. Iron Foundry. NBT 1915 Nov. 2nd Tue. Private Arthur Bambridge is well known in Leighton Buzzard, where he lived before the war with Mr. and Mrs. H. J. King, of Grove Road. He has now sent them an interesting letter from France where he is serving with the 3rd Army Auxiliary, M.T.; “We are having same fine weather out here. I am in very good company. At the present time there is a small party of us detached from the company and working with the French soldiers. We find them jolly good pals to work with indeed, and they feed us well. You ought to hear us trying to talk to each other. It causes some fun I can tell you. We are sleeping in a ‘grand hotel,’ with one window and one door, and plenty of straw on the floor. What with rats running over your feet, and the guns roaring all night long and shaking the walls we get a good night’s rest! But I have got quite used to it now and sleep as well as if I was in my little bed in Grove Road. I had a walk round some of the trenches yesterday, but there was nothing going on at the time. I have seen a place where there are a lot of the Oxon. and Bucks. Light Infantry buried. An aeroplane is just passing over this place but I think it is English so we are all right.” NBT 1915 Nov. 2nd Tue. Private A. E. Dennis, the son of sergeant Dennis of the Leighton Buzzard Police Force, has sent two further letters from the Dardanelles, where he is serving with the Bedfords. On October 4th he writes; “Just another line or two to let you know that I am in the best of health. I have not received your parcel yet, but I expect it is still on the way. There has not been much doing out here just lately. Things have been very quiet except now and again when we have had some little scraps. I suppose Leighton is looking about the same. I hear you have plenty of soldiers there. The weather here has changed again. I think the summer must have returned, so you may guess we have plenty of flies. They are more nuisance than the Turks. We have had a special treat to-day - bread and fresh meat - and we soon made short work of it. It was a change from bully beef and biscuits as you may guess.” Two days later Private Dennis adds; “You ask me if we get plenty of water now. We get much more than we did at first, our daily issue being about three to four pints per man, so you see we do not do so badly now. The food we get generally consists of bully beef and biscuits and rice, but we have had fresh meat twice this week. Please send some cocoa, as we get nothing but tea out here, and some tablets because sugar is a thing we cannot get much of. . . . We had a small draft of wounded come back to us yesterday and we have had some fresh officers, but not many.” NBT 1915 Nov. 9th Tue. How the Germans tried to trick a battalion of British troops into retiring, when the great advance was at its height, is told in a letter received by Mr. and Mrs. Charles Cook, of Church Street, Leighton Buzzard, from their son, Private Albert John Cook. He is serving as a signaller in France with the 7th Battalion Suffolk Regiment, and writes; “Thanks so much for your parcel, also matches and the Leighton paper. . . Have been having a pretty lively time lately. On Tuesday night, the 12th, we left our resting place about 7 p.m. and marched to the trenches, arriving about 1 a.m. There I lay in the trench to sleep till 2.30 and after that had to fix a telephone wire out to B Company. I got that fixed up by 3 a.m. and then just had time for some bread and cheese and a cigarette before going on duty on the ‘phone. I was on the ‘phone from 6 to 9, sleep 9 to 10, and ‘phone 10 to 2. At 12 o’clock our artillery commenced their attack with a terrific bombardment of the German trenches, and the Germans replied as best they could. Pieces of shell were flying everywhere, and one piece struck my mess tin and smashed the side in. It seemed a marvel that anyone could live through it all, but we managed to escape, and at 2 o’clock the infantry commenced to advance amid a perfect hail of bullets. Then we began to see the awful sights of the wounded being brought in. I had a busy time, and I think everyone worked like three men. When I was not on the ‘phone I was carrying up bags of bombs. Soon news came down that our men had got into part of the German trench, and then happened one of the most notable incidents of the day. Capt. Henty was lying wounded in two places and Captain Torley had taken the command. When the men got into the German trench one of the Germans shouted out in English ‘Retire.’ This was taken for an order and was passed along the line. Capt. Henty heard it and jumped upon the parapet and shouted ‘Captain Torley, Captain Torley, you must not retire; there is no such word as retire.’ Captain Torley was killed then and did not hear it, but the men heard it and pushed on, and the position was taken. Captain Henty died soon after. B Company had the heaviest loss as they led the attack, and at the end they had no officer or sergeant left, and the company was being commanded by a L.-Sergt. Well, when we had taken the trench it was the signaller’s duty to run a telephone wire out to the new position. We tried to do it three times, and each time the wire was cut to pieces with shells, and we had to wait for a bit. During the night the Germans tried hard to get back their position, but they failed at every attempt. The Suffolk’s have good reason to be proud of their achievement, as it had been twice attempted by another regiment with no good result. The Germans have made several attacks to try and drive us out since then, but have not been successful. Once our men advanced about a thousand yards, but were driven back six hundred, so it was only a slight gain. I have had several exciting experiences. On Wednesday night some of us were fetching water, which is brought to a place about three miles off by the water carts, when we had a taste of the German gas shells. I had my smoke helmet on pretty quick, so except for getting my eyes a bit sore, it didn’t affect me much. Sunday was a particularly lively day. I think the Germans must have taken in an extra supply of shells. In the morning I was making some oxo, and I expect they saw the smoke of my fire as they put a shell over and filled my tin with dirt, and I had to be content with dry biscuits and jam for Sunday morning breakfast. In the afternoon I was reading the ‘Leighton Buzzard Observer’ when a few small pieces of shell came over my shoulder and made holes in the paper. I have enclosed pieces of the paper and shell for you to see. Later on I was walking the trench when a shell exploded so close behind me that it flung me against the side of the trench and bruised my elbow. It was a wonder I was not hit that time. Pieces seemed to fly past my ears, shoulders and arms, and I could hardly believe I was not hurt. Indeed I did feel pretty shaken up. That night my friend, Signaller A. Perry, was hit in the right shoulder while going for water. We had only been making comparison at dinner time between our dinner then and a dinner at home; our dinner that day consisted of biscuits and cheese, so altogether I shall remember that Sunday. We expect to get relieved on Tuesday night. It is now seven days since I had my boots off, and every night we sleep, or try to, in the open trench with only a ground sheet and overcoat for a bed. I am sorry to say, I lost my pincers in the fighting, so if some of you like to get me another pair like them for a birthday present I should be very grateful. G. - wants to know if I would like a waterproof cap cover, but I am afraid my cap would be a disgrace to any respectable cap cover, and I know it would never be able to hold a cap cover on. I generally use it for a pillow for sleeping on. I would not object to an air cushion for a present. You can’t see my clothes for mud, but I hope to get some new ones soon. We have been trying hard to take a quarry which the Germans held here, but haven’t managed it yet. They have ten machine guns in it, so it will want some taking, but of course we shall manage it soon. If we can only get near them with a bayonet they will never wait to feel the steel. . . We captured a redoubt last night after some stiff fighting. Last night the Germans attacked us in enormous numbers, but they were mown down in heaps and had to retire with great losses. We left the trenches about midnight and are now several miles from the front line.” (Private Cook was killed in action on the Western Front on Monday, July 3rd, 1916. He was aged 27, and although born at Leighton Buzzard enlisted at Lowestoft.) NBT 1915 Nov. 9th Tue. An officer of the 8th Lincolns tells an interesting story of how the battalion, who were formerly billeted in Leighton Buzzard, lost so many men during the great advance. He says that on Saturday, September 25th, the 8th Lincolns found themselves on the hill facing Hill ---. About an hour before dawn they moved up into the trenches dug during the night by another regiment, and about 10.30 the Germans attacked with great ferocity, and the regiments on the right and left of the Lincolns were driven back leaving the Lincolns isolated and completely cut off. Some regiments might have thought it wiser to have “taken up a strategic position,” or in other words retired. The Lincolns were not inclined that way. Seeing that the enemy were surrounding the right sector by occupying a wood between them, the Colonel led a charge and was the first to fall. Then a bombardment started; all high explosive shells and very accurately aimed. Presently the enemy got up on three sides, and it was madness to put one’s head above the parapet. There were no communication trenches, and the only way to the rear was across the shell swept ground. The writer of the narrative was able to crawl to a place of safety, but of the rest the list of “missing” given elsewhere must be left to tell its own story. NBT 1915 Nov. 9th Tue. Sapper Dennis Jackman, who was attached to the Leighton Buzzard Post Office Indoor Staff before the war, has sent an interesting letter from Gallipoli, where he is serving as a telegraphist. Writing to Miss L. D. Griffin, of Linslade, he says; “You seem to be giving the R.F.A. a fine time at Leighton; well, give them a good time while you have the chance, it’s rough enough when you get away from England. Fletcher Brotherton has been sent back to our company again, and is sharing my dug-out at present. Isn’t it strange how we keep coming across our friends out here? A little music now would be a most welcome change to the whizz of falling bullets, the shriek of bursting shrapnel or the heavy ‘bass’ of the cruisers, which is the only form of music we get, excepting when a small bird dares to rise up among all the turmoil and give us a few notes. But all things come to those who wait, so that after a time I shall have the pleasure of hearing some of the old songs again I hope. The Yorks and Lancs have soon got into action then. . . . I have had several letters from Leighton just lately, and everyone seems to have read my letter to Dick Butcher. I am much better than when I last wrote. The weather here has turned much colder, a most welcome change, as I think we all feel more fit for the fight. Also the flies are beginning to clear off, which is indeed a blessing. You cannot imagine how annoying they are. Whilst having a meal they swarm round you and seem to think the food is as much theirs as yours. The rations have improved slightly of late as we get bread and fresh meat a little more frequently. Also water is getting more easy to procure, and we can get a fairly good supply if we walk about 1½ miles for it. Occasionally I get down to the sea for a bathe, but it does not do to go too often as one makes a very good target for a sniper, two or three for a machine gun, and a small party for shrapnel, and of course we do not wish to act as a target very often. At present we seem to be at a standstill. We get some very fine scenery from our terrace on the hill, the sunsets being especially pretty. Am afraid I cannot give you my position as the censor disapproves, but you can gather from some of Ashmead Bartlett’s descriptions in the daily papers almost where I am. If not engaged in the action described I have been within seeing distance. The country is rather pretty, all hills and valleys covered with shrub, but of course very difficult for fighting purposes, the Turks taking some moving from their positions. They do not seem to worry us much, but they occasionally give a demonstration of shooting by firing straight up into the air for about half an hour. This seems to amuse them, and does not hurt us, although the spent bullets fall pretty thickly around our quarter. News from France has been quite cheerful of late; let’s hope the advance continues. The Balkans seem to be going against us, but I don’t think they can worry us very much, although it may make things a bit more difficult out here. Mr. Chapman (who was also at the Leighton Buzzard Post Office before the war) is still well.” NBT 1915 Nov. 16th Tue. Several postcards have been received in Leighton Buzzard, which show that several of the men in the 63rd Brigade, whose names appear among the missing in the official casualty list, were taken prisoners by the Germans. Corporal Harry Hartley, of the 12th West Yorks. Regiment, has sent a postcard to Miss Amy Hobbs, of 28, Stanbridge Road, from the following address: Camp: Gefangenelager 2, Munster (Westphalia), Block 3, Room 7. He writes; “I am taking the liberty of writing to you to let you know that I am a prisoner of war, rather unfortunate, but I shall have to keep smiling and hope for a speedy release. I can’t tell you much about the engagement I was in, but I fancy our Battalion has been cut up. I’m thankful to be alive.” A similar postcard from the same camp has been received from Sergeant Ryan, also of the 12th West Yorks. Regiment. He is in Block 2, Room 3, and writes to Mr. and Mrs. W. Croxford, of Daisy Cottage, Vandyke Road; “Just a line hoping you are all in the best of health, as we are. You will see by this postcard that we have the misfortune to be prisoners of war in Germany, myself and Lupton. We don’t know how Claxton, Brennan and Richmond are, but we think they are safe. I am writing to a few personal friends to see if they can help us in the way of a little English food and comforts as we only have what we stand up in. We do not want any fancies, only plain food to help us out. We appeal to you as friends, hoping you will be able to help us a little . . . Kindest regards from Sergeants Ryan and Lupton.” NBT 1915 Nov. 16th Tue. Two further letters describing the life of our troops in Gallipoli have been received from Sapper Dennis Jackman, of the Leighton Buzzard Post Office indoor staff. He is a telegraphist at the Dardanelles, and writes to Miss L. D. Griffin, of Linslade; “Another Sunday morning in my dug-out finds me writing a few more letters. The mail service to me has not reached anything like perfection yet, and the letters only come in gradually. . . Even in this wild place we run across friends sometimes. The other morning I was returning from the well - we have to walk nearly two miles for our drinking water - when I came across two Leighton fellows of the 5th Beds. Shortly afterwards I was talking to a fellow on a telegraph circuit who knew Len Baggott, and told me he was wounded in their office about six weeks ago. I also understand Sambrook is out here, but I haven’t seen him. Sergt.-Major Chapman is still all right. Everyone is anxious to get back again; we all seem to have had enough of it. We are in a quieter place now, occasionally getting a few shells bursting near us. This is rather strange as we are nearer the firing line than ever and get hosts of stray bullets during the night. The shells pass over us, we hear them going through the air - but it doesn’t matter as long as they don’t burst near us. We frequently have Taubes over us and have occasionally had bombs from them. It’s terrifying to be near them when they drop as they make an awful noise whilst coming down. At our last office we were ‘slightly’ scared, one dropping nearly on the roof and shaking heaps of dirt upon us. Very little damage was done except that four horses were killed. We were rather amused one day when a French airman, for some reason or other, came down near us. He left his machine and the Turks soon began shelling it. During the afternoon they fired 130 shells at it and didn’t hit it, and I think gave it up as a bad job at the finish.” Writing later from “somewhere in Gallipoli,” Sapper Jackman adds; “I am on duty at the signal office, but am having a slack time this evening. Am still alive and wandering about in our acquired land, much to the annoyance of the Turks who still interrupt us with shells. I was thinking this morning what a lovely time we might (be) having here without war and its effects. At the present time the weather is lovely, slightly cooler than it has been before, in fact, it’s very much like an English September. This morning I took a walk to the beach for a bathe, and enjoyed it, too. Occasionally we can go down in very small parties, although exposed to the Turkish fire. Getting a few blackberries on the return journey, I began to think I was wandering round Old Linslade again. The birds have begun to arrive here in very large numbers, the swallows in particular, who have probably just come from England. They do not seem at all disturbed by the constant roar of the cannon or the bang of the rifles. You can guess how these things bring us back home again. . . . Have had to turn my hand to cooking occasionally - little luxuries for ourselves, you know. This morning I made what was called a jam pudding, consisting of powdered biscuits, a few bread crumbs - the first issue of bread for a week by the way - and jam. The result was a jolly fine pudding, but what a long job - three hours work with the results eaten in a quarter of an hour, and a violent attack of indigestion this afternoon into the bargain. Anyhow, this is how we live and pass the time away. We get about one good meal a week as a rule, that is bread and fresh meat. Even this is not enjoyed very much as it generally makes us all bad for about three days afterwards. The other day I had quite a stroke of luck, getting hold of a Dutch cheese from an Australian. The four in our dug-out had quite a feast for a day or two. You can guess biscuits and cheese are quite a luxury for us. Of course, you can imagine we all make good washerwomen. I have had one ‘washing day,’ having a bath and doing the washing in about three quarts of water. The result you can imagine. Everything labelled when finished to prevent washing again; it’s a good job in one respect we have no lady critics here. . . What fine news we have had from France lately; quite a smart piece of work. Look for a quick finish before very long. I’m sure it will come.” NBT 1915 Nov. 16th Tue. On Thursday morning Mrs. L. J. Dennis, of 24, Albany Road, Leighton Buzzard, was informed by the Territorial Record Office, at Warley, that on October 18th her son, Private A. E. Dennis, 2/5th Beds. Regiment had been admitted to the Nasrich School Military Hospital, Cairo, suffering from enteritis. Any further information as to his condition or progress would be notified at once. By the same post a letter dated Oct. 31st was received from Private Dennis (who is a son of police sergeant Dennis). He has been at the Dardanelles for some months, and writes; “I am getting on fine, and no doubt I shall be away from here in a day or two now and I expect I shall go to a convalescent home, so you see I shall have a good rest altogether. It is still very warm out here, although I hear that they are getting snow in Gallipoli. It is a very nice place here, and as we sit outside on the balcony we can see the Pyramids. It seems a long time since I left home, more like three years than three months, but I expect it is because I have been about a bit. I see there is talk in the papers about abandoning the campaign in Gallipoli; well, all I can say is that the Turks are holding us quite easily with all the troops that are there, and now that the wet weather is coming on we will have a job to hold on. If they don’t send out more troops the job will last as long as the one in France.” Private Dennis enclosed a photo of a group of patients, including himself, to show that he is making good progress towards recovery. NBT 1915 Nov. 23rd Tue. Mrs. J. W. Peach has recently received some interesting letters, from soldiers who were billeted with her during last winter and spring. Sergeant J. Marriott of the Somersets is an orderly room clerk, and writes; “We are billeted out here; that means clean straw for nearly all, but I have the luck, as usual, and repose on one of the ambulance stretchers (used for frightful work only a short time back), in my office. The work is as heavy as ever, but interesting. I was near the great fight, though I did not go up to the attack. That job was left to a Scottish Brigade, with the usual toll of losses inevitable in a frontal attack. I saw the field next morning, a shamble. Our boys supported and we suffered; you will see how much by the casualty list. It is a rotten job, ticking off the boys one knew and loved, but one’s senses get blunted, thank Heaven, though I cannot get over the loss of my friend, Harry Slater, and shall not for some time to come, and I don’t know about poor Locke. I saw him just before the scrap. I was on the road under shrapnel fire all night, and slept, too. No more harm than a lump of shrapnel through one of my stationery boxes. It spoiled a nice packet of envelopes, but my head would have been a more serious matter. Our transport and headquarters were shelled out of four different fields next morning, finding refuge in a fifth at last, where the wicked ceased from trembling. You would have laughed (I did) to see our unhappy transport drivers limbering up and clattering off down the road like a flock of geese in search of a safer place. We go up again soon, but I can’t say when or where. Shell fire doesn’t seem to me, at any rate, the nerve shattering business one is told so much about. I think the faint, sweet whisper of long range rifle fire far worse. When the bullets get nearly spent, the sound is like music almost, but terrifying nevertheless. G. Basson is safe at the base 120 miles back, the haven where all Orderly Room Sergeants are at rest. The Orderly Room Clerks (poor me!) go to the front and bear the burden and heat (plenty of both on the march) of the day. There’s more life up here though, but perhaps withal a little too much of the other thing.” Private A. W. Dowse, 8th Lincolns. Transport Section, writes; “We have been in action, and now we have retired to billets for a short rest. Things are not the same as they used to be in Leighton Buzzard, a bit more rough and ready, but none the more for that we are bonny. I have only one fault to find at present, the sweets and chocolate are very dear out here. I should expect Mrs. Morgan knows about Ted being missing. All the other five are safe at present. Please excuse the writing mistakes, and I thank you very much for the cigarettes and writing paper.” NBT 1915 Nov. 23rd Tue. Mr. R. T. Mallett, of Bridge Street, Leighton Buzzard, has been informed that his son, Lance Corporal Ronald Mallett, has been officially complimented for distinguished conduct during the great advance in France. The intimation reads; “The Bedfordshire Regiment, Second Battalion, - 13506, Lance Corporal Mallett, R., has been brought to the notice of the Officer Commanding the Battalion for his good conduct in the field. Displayed great coolness and courage during advance on 25/9/15, encouraging and directing his men until he himself was wounded. H. S. Poyntz, Major, Commanding the Second Battalion, the Bedfordshire Regiment.” Lance Corporal Ronald Mallett joined the 2nd Beds. Regiment as a private and has been at the front in France since about the end of January. He was in action in the fighting at Neuve Chapelle, Festubert and Givenchy, and in the great advance his Battalion fought at Loos. He was wounded in the neck by a bullet, but made an unusually quick recovery and returned to his Battalion at the front. He has many local friends, to whom news of his commendation for bravery will give much pleasure. Another son of Mr. R. T. Mallett, 1st Lieut. Laurence Mallet, is with the 9th Warwicks at the Dardanelles, where he is in charge of a machine gun only sixty yards from the Turks’ entrenchments. NBT 1915 Dec. 7th Tue. The local friends of Police Constable Frederick Howard, who was attached to the Leighton Buzzard Police Force before the war, and went to the front as a reservist in the Grenadier Guards, will be glad to learn that he is now recovering from his wounds. From the cottage hospital at Market Drayton he writes; “I am looking forward to spending a more pleasant Christmas this year than I did last. We were in the trenches at Festubert, waist deep in mud and water, and to make things ‘better’ the Germans attacked us dressed as Indian troops, but their ruse failed. . . . My wounds, which have been a broken nose and a few cuts, are nearly healed now, and I expect to leave here shortly and rejoin my regiment after Christmas.” NBT 1915 Dec. 7th Tue. Mrs. Graveley Willis has been asked to state that the 12th Battalion West Yorks. Regiment is in urgent need of warm things, to wear in the trenches during the winter. Many Leighton Buzzard and Wing people have kindly recollections of the Battalion during its stay in the district, and in spite of the many calls on everyone, she trusts that the appeal may meet with a good response. She will be glad to receive contributions either of garments or money, and will undertake their transmission to the Battalion. North Street, Leighton Buzzard. NBT 1915 Dec. 21st Tue. In a letter to Miss Doris King, 14, Grove Road, Leighton Buzzard, Lance Corporal F. J. Hinkley, of the 12th West Yorks. Regiment, gives a graphic account of the heavy fighting during the great advance. He was billeted in Leighton Buzzard last winter, and writing from the Edinburgh War Hospital says; “Our battalion got badly cut up last September. I had an awful time. I got seven wounds, and three hours after my brother got five wounds from a machine gun at Loos. If you remember, it was a terrible battle on the 25th September, the worst this war has seen so far. I managed to pull through after the charge on the 25th, and we were attacking all night, and about four o’clock on Sunday morning, the 26th, as we were digging ourselves in, a bullet hit my bandolier and exploded 10 rounds of my own ammunition on my stomach. Goodness knows how I missed being killed. It broke two small buckles on my belt, sent a clip and a half and a bullet into my left thigh, and made a hole just about big enough for a tea cup; four places on the right thigh, and on the stomach, and something through the left forearm caught the nerve, and I have never been able to straighten the fingers since. I have been having electricity for about five weeks, but of no use. I am afraid I shall have to have another operation yet. I am being X-rayed again today for the third time. Well, I did not mind the wounds so much, but it was getting away. My brother and a pal carried me away, where I lay about four hours amid the bursting shells. I lay till I lost all hope of ever getting away, when all at once I heard a shout, and that was when they commenced to gas us, so we had to retire. They simply mowed us down, but they got their share. They are real cowards, they will only fight at a distance; get to close quarters and they are done for; they can’t stick our bayonet, we are too smart for them. It is all ‘mercy comrade,’ when it comes to that, and you can be sure they get it! Well, about them gassing us, our lads had to retire, so I thought my time had come. Anyway I thought I would risk it so I rolled over and went into the open fire. I was hopping a bit and jumping, and crawling, any way to get out of it. It was more than anyone can describe. The lads were dropping right and left. The Huns were not more than a couple of hundred yards away, but I got through without being hit again. I had thrown everything away then. When I got out of rifle fire, after the Guards’ Division came up, they got them on the run. There was shell fire to contend with, of course, and we were shelling their old trenches. Oh, it was wicked. Every now and then a shell came ‘whizz,’ and dropped, blowing chaps into the air into hundreds of pieces. I have a bit of shrapnel that dropped close to me. I have also some explosive bullets, and the ones they reversed to make bigger wounds. Well, by the time I had done I had about three miles to walk to a dressing station. I was just about done up when picked up by an ambulance and taken to Vermilles, and I stopped at the Base Hospital a week and landed here 3rd of October. I look like being here for some time yet.” NBT 1915 Dec. 28th Tue. Private Andrew Kirk was with the Royal Warwickshire Territorials billeted in Leighton Buzzard just after the war broke out. As one of a party of returned prisoners from Germany, he arrived in England about a fortnight ago, and is now in a Scottish hospital. Writing to his parents, who live near Nuneaton, he has given a vivid account of his experiences. In the letter, which his parents have sent on to Leighton Buzzard for his local friends to read, he says; “I was wounded and taken prisoner by the Germans a few months after we had been in France. I was shot through the left leg and was in the hospital until last April, when they removed me to a large prisoners’ camp in Saxony. There were a number of other English prisoners there, who I imagine were taken during the retreat from Mons, and about a thousand of the French. I am now quite well and happy and ever so pleased to be in dear old England again. I am not a cripple; please don’t think that because I hope soon to be as well as ever. I think I am very fortunate in being able to get away from the land of black bread, pig’s swill and many other unpleasant things. I don’t think things are going very well with the Germans now. Their soldiers are fighting on a small ration, little or no pay, while families and dependents are half starving. The country there is in an awful state owing to the shortage of able-bodied men, food and money. Every man who can walk at all is in grey, whether he is physically fit or not. There is no doubt about it, Germany’s men and munitions were at one time vastly superior, and what prevented the hundreds of thousands of German swine, intoxicated beyond all reason, crushing our little Army, God alone knows. Whether there were angels at Mons or not I don’t know, but I’m certain there were plenty of human devils. Well, when we got there we knew by the length of ground we were holding that we were facing a task about four times greater than it should have been. Fortunately the greater part of our front line was held, but where we were they broke through and I had a taste of a German prison. I suppose the reason we kept them back was because our men were the better marksmen. Did the Germans face the bayonet? Not much! When our bayonets were fixed they would not come any nearer than a hundred yards. There was no chance of fighting it out where I was, and several of our men were taken prisoners with me, but I have not seen them from that day to this. I don’t think the Saxons cared about fighting at all, and we did not hate them as we did the Prussians. … Now that we are superior in men and guns we shall win all right. The poor people are sick of the whole thing in Germany, and the news about the riots is not untrue. The country is in a hell of a way and I could write for a week about what I know, but this line finishes all I intend to say about the war. Now about home matters. . . .” NBT 1916 Jan. 4th Tue. Formerly stationed in Leighton Buzzard, two of the Yorks & Lancs men have sent an interesting letter to the Rev. R.T. Anderson, pastor of the Lake Street Baptist Church. On December 20th they write of their experiences; “Just a few lines to you and the members of the L.M.M. We have been in the trenches eight days from the 9th to the 17th of December, and had a rough time, too. From 3 to 5 on Thursday morning we were shelled the whole time, our own Artillery were at it, too, and made splendid marksmanship. The German losses were 80 killed, the number wounded we do not know, while we had 3 killed and 36 wounded. Some prisoners were brought in, and among them was a little boy of about 15 years of age. We have some amusing experiences, especially when the boys are cooking the meals, for then the Germans send their whizz-bangs over and the dirt gets into the stew. Of course, we do not mind that so much, as a little dirt will not hurt us, but sometimes the pan itself is blown over and the contents disappear altogether. We feel that is rather rough, for then we have to wait until tea time, and when we put the kettle on they try to find our fire, but we take care not to set it up in the same place as we did the pan. Sometimes the Germans shout across, ‘Have you any bully beef, Jack?’ One night we called out, ‘Would you like some cigars, Fritz?’ and the answer came back ‘Yes,’ and we gave him five rounds rapid fire, and in reply they put the machine guns on us, and so the game goes on. Well, Mr. Anderson, I and my friend Mr. Lunn hope to see you all again, and we thank you for the splendid way you appreciated us. We spent some happy Sunday afternoons at the L.M.M. and hope to do so again. We shall never forget those meetings, especially do we keep in memory the hymn ‘Fight the good fight;’ that is what we are now trying to do. With best wishes to you and the L.M.M., and a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all. We remain, your true and sincere members, T. Gabriel and W.H. Lunn.” NBT 1916 Jan. 18th Tue. From ‘Somewhere at the Front,’ a native of the town, Private Henry Bunker, 2nd Beds. Regiment, writes; “I am very glad to tell you that we are all well and going strong. We had a very nice Christmas, although the weather was so wet. As we were lucky enough to be out of the trenches we did not mind the wet, and had a very nice time on our own as you may imagine. Yesterday we had the great pleasure of seeing some of the boys of the 1st Batt. They go in the trenches again to-night, but are as happy as they can be. Now just a word to the slackers. If they could possibly see one half of what we have seen of the Germans and their doings, they would not need asking twice. Although Lord Derby has got so many of the young men, I know that there are hundreds who are quite eligible and fit, and yet hang back. Why? Because they do not realise that this is a war to the very knife. If they could have been at Loos, and seen the boys shedding their heart’s blood they would have seen and realised how badly men were needed. If we had had more men we should now be beyond Lille, or at least have held that town. The slacker need not flatter himself that all will soon be over, for it won’t finish yet. A man will do well to join some such regiment as my own, the Bedfords, which has earned a fine name at Ypres, Neuve Chapelle, Hill 60, Festubert and Loos, and many another fight. We have seen the Herts. Terriers and they are doing fine. I am very glad you think we all deserve appreciation for what we have done and are doing, but it is just that little unfairness on the part of the slackers that nettles us. Just send us some more men. We have got plenty of guns and ammunition, and will see this fight through to a fine finish, with the old flag still flying.” (Private Bunker was killed in action on the Western Front on Tuesay, July 11th, 1916. He is commemorate on the Thiepval Memorial. ) NBT 1916 Jan. 25th Tue. Miss Edith Dickinson, a daughter of Mrs. Dickinson, of Heath Road, Leighton Buzzard, was amongst a party of British doctors and nurses which accompanied the Serbian Army in its retreat. She arrived back in England a few days ago, and has now told of her experience. With a Miss Holland, she was attached to a hospital organised by Mrs. Stobart to treat the Serbian sick and wounded, Miss Dickinson being a chauffeur orderly, and Miss Holland having charge of a dressing station. The fall of Belgrade marked the opening of what proved to be several days of terrible hardship. Their hospital was inundated with maimed and wounded Serbians, who had been overwhelmed by the superior equipment of the enemy. Due to hand to hand fighting many wounds were caused by sabre gashes. When the retreat began the wounded in the hospital were left in the charge of the Serbian doctors and Austrian orderlies. The party consisted of some 50 British doctors, nurses and orderlies, and as they were leaving a German air raid was taking place. They entrained for Salonika, but the rail lines had been torn up by the Bulgarians, and after travelling some of the distance by car they had to continue on foot. Wagons containing stores had to be abandoned, and eventually they had only what they carried or wore. The enemy were only a few miles away, and the leaders of the party decided the best course would be over the Albanian mountains to the Adriatic Sea, but the inhabitants were fiercely hostile to the Serbian army, many hundreds of whom they had massacred. Eventually the route chosen was a muddy track, along which trudged thousands of refugees and the remnants of the Serbian army. Along the way were hundreds of bodies of humans and horses, and for ten days the party wended its way over the mountains through blizzards and rain storms. Travel could not be undertaken at night because the track was often little more than a mountain ledge. Food was extremely scarce, and many of the prisoners who accompanied the party starved. Fortunately, the party had retained some of the hospital stores, including bovril and condensed milk, and when a nurse discovered a tin of margarine everyone who shared the find declared it to be delicious. As the altitude increased, and with having to wade through many streams, the clothing of the party froze hard. Some of the nurses only had light summer dresses and shoes, totally unsuitable for the journey, but Miss Dickinson had been fortunate to have been issued with breeches and top boots. Often they had to trudge knee deep through mud and slush in nearly 40 degrees of frost. However, when descending on the Adriatic side the climate became warmer, and having sailed across the lake of Scutari, after a tramp of two days the party reached San Giovanni di Medua. From here they crossed to Brindisi in a small Italian vessel which had arrived with food for the Serbian Army. However, at first the authorities had not been too keen on allowing the party to land at Brindisi, since, in the words of Miss Dickinson, “we looked simply wretched. Most of us were ragged, muddy and dirty, not having been in a bath for weeks. On top of this we were distressingly thin, and our feet were showing through our boots.” The party then entrained for Paris, and thence to Havre and England, where Miss Dickinson would be engaged in Belgian Relief work in London. Before going to Serbia, Miss Dickinson and her sister, Hilda, had been engaged in Red Cross work in Belgium. This was at a time when the German invasion was at its height, but compared to her more recent experience she dismisses this as a ‘mere detail.’ NBT 1916 Feb. 1st Tue. Captain Wagstaff, of the 1st Beds. Regiment, is a prisoner in Germany, and writes to his relatives in Leighton Buzzard; “Our Christmas here was so different to last year, when we had no parcels and precious little of anything else. --- sent me two little Christmas trees, and we had them on Christmas Eve for all the British; there were toys for them, tops and whistles, and we had such fun. We began with hot punch, as we were allowed special ‘wine’ for the day and that was the best way to drink it. Then the tree was all lit up with candles and then we made a snapdragon with raisins, and we finished with bobbing for apples in a tub of water, Colonels and everyone. It helped us so much. Then we sat around the tree and talked about you all and wondered what you were doing. We had our big meal on Christmas evening, a selection of all the best things anyone had in their parcels; we secured a white tablecloth and some serviettes for the occasion and the centre was occupied by a large jam pot (concealed), full of artificial carnations --- had sent me, and on a table centre made by ---. It took four people an hour before we found out how to fold the serviettes. It was too amusing to see them at it. The table really looked human again until the crash came, when the old cutlery came out, black handled three pronged forks and knives to match, a large and a small lead spoon each, and a soup plate and one other. But we overlooked that, and I can’t thank you enough for the good things we had. We managed to get a ten pound turkey through the canteen, cooked in the kitchen by the ‘chef’ of the biggest hotel in Bordeaux; the chestnut stuffing we made ourselves in the room from a recipe in Pears’ Encyclopaedia, rather changed; the rest of the meal was all from parcels. Each of us had a menu with our regimental colours on it. I don’t know how we should have got through the day without this to think of and arrange for.” NBT 1916 Feb. 15th Tue. Private James Adams, of the Beds. Regiment, whose wife and family live at 72, Plantation Road, Leighton Buzzard, was killed in action on the Western Front on Friday, February 4th, 1916. Dated February 7th, in a letter to his widow the Chaplain of the 90th Brigade, the Rev. R. W. Ballerne, writes; Dear Mrs. Adams. It was my sad duty on Saturday to read the Burial Service over the body of your husband, who was killed by a shell in the trenches the preceding night. I know that words of sympathy can do little to help you to bear your loss. But I wish to tell you that I can feel for you in your sorrow, and I pray God that He will give you comfort and strength in your grief. Your husband is buried in the military cemetery close behind the firing line, and a cross will be placed to mark his grave.” Born at Billington, Private Adams was aged 35, and came from a military family. He leaves a widow and four children, and before the war worked in Mr. G. Garside’s sand pits.
NBT 1916 Feb. 15th Tue. Trooper Tom Chappin, of the Herts. Yeomanry, formerly of 57, Vandyke Road, Leighton Buzzard, writes to his brother, Mr. W. Chappin; “We have been to several of the finest cities in Egypt, and have also had some very rough times on the desert. We have had a lot of trouble with the Bedouin Arabs, the devils, but I think they found our machine guns too hot for their liking. I just had time to think of you all at Christmas as we were giving the devils it hot, as you will see by the paper I’m sending. My word, we have had some narrow squeaks. They are the finest horsemen I have ever seen, but we gave them a run for their money. I have got a nice little trophy from one that we captured; a bracelet, which I hope I shall be able to bring back. Now we are back in Alexandria. How I should like you to see us in the evening in our camp canteen. It is a picture never to be forgotten. Nearly every regiment is represented, especially colonial. They sit around the rather primitive tables, formed mostly of beer barrels, etc., drinking out of every kind of utensil. New Year’s Eve out here is a general beer up, we had a Christmas pudding divided amongst our unit; it was grand, and the sirens and bells on the liners in the harbour made such a din at midnight you could hardly hear yourself speak. We did not get any money when at Lemnos, so it came in very handy when we arrived in town as we had not had a good feed for weeks, and the cafes here are rather decent if you go into an English one. The weather has been terribly hot, but now we are getting our fortnight of rain, and I may say it does rain. According to people out here this is all the wet season they have. It seems hardly credible we have had three months of winter. I have never felt better in my life than since I have been in Egypt, but I have seen some terrible cases of dysentery and cholera; in fact several of our boys have been sent back home. The horses we have out here are the finest to be had, all Arabs. Our camp is quite close to the harbour, and some of the finest boats in the world find their way in here. The finest sights at night are the hospital ships lighted up. They are nearly all P. & O. liners, and have rows of green lights with big red crosses mid-ships. When out at sea they look grand. We have five in harbour now. The shops and buildings here are quite equal to London, especially the cafes with all the people sitting outside in the evening, and with the string band going inside it is gay.” NBT 1916 Feb. 22nd Tue. Mr. J. Child, a comrade of the Private Percy Bodsworth, has written to Mr. and Mrs. Bodsworth, of 28, Old Road, regarding the death of their son; “It is with great regret and with my deepest sympathy that I have to inform you of the death of Percy. He was killed yesterday, Feb. 10th, by a large shell, while performing his duties as a stretcher bearer, and I and all his chums consider that he died a hero’s death in that he gave his own life in the attempt to render aid to his wounded comrades. It appears that a large shell fell on a dug out containing a machine gun crew, knocking it in, and wounding some and burying all. The stretcher bearers of whom Percy was one immediately ran down to the dug out to render aid to the wounded. Percy must have been leading, for when he got there another shell burst in the same trench, killing Percy at once and shattering the nerves of his mate who was following him. I don’t think Percy would have felt any pain as he appeared to have been so close to the shell that it was practically impossible for anything but instantaneous death to have taken place. Percy was very well known amongst the company, and we are all very sorry to lose him. Even though it must be a terribly hard blow to you and exceedingly difficult to realise, yet we who have worked and fought with him for the past ten months would assure you in all sincerity that we are proud of him, so we know that you will be later on.” NBT 1916 Feb. 29th Tue. Signaller Frederick Ernest Perry, the son of Mrs. Perry, of 11, Queen Street, Leighton Buzzard, has been reported missing, presumed killed, in Gallipoli. She has written to Lt. Col. Brighten asking for any further news, and has received this reply; “Dear Mrs. Perry. I have just received your letter and I fear I cannot give you any further information than that which you have, namely, that your son was wounded on 15th August, and has been missing since. It is no use giving you any further hopes. I am afraid you must make up your mind that he is dead. He was known to be hit badly, and I imagine the same thing must have happened to him as happened to many others on that day, that he was hit again and killed as he lay on the ground or while he was trying to get away. If no further news has reached you by now, I have no doubt whatever in my mind that that is what happened to him, and I am only sorry that I can give you no further details. As you know, he was one of my own Headquarters Section, and he had been sent to Brigade Headquarters with a message from me. From this errand he never returned. Believe me that you have my sincerest sympathy, and you have the knowledge and comfort that he died at his post. Yours very truly, Edgar W. Brighten, Lieut. Col., Commanding 1/5th Bedford Regiment.” (Aged 21, Private Perry was killed in action on Sunday, August 15th. He was born at Newton Longville, but was a resident of, and enlisted at, Leighton Buzzard.) NBT 1916 Mar. 14th Tue. Since escaping in June from his homeland, the Belgian musician, Charles Piron, has been living in Leighton Buzzard, and delighting local audiences with his playing. He has now received an appeal for a waterproof from a compatriot in the Belgian army, who writes; “I am in the muddiest hole you could dream of - mud up to the knees, and now snow. Is there possibly some ‘fairy godmother’ in your district who would be kind enough to send me a waterproof? It is very necessary; we are exposed to all weathers. Please try to find me this ‘rara avis.’ I am of middle height. I don ’t ask for anything luxurious, but khaki coloured if possible.” Before the war the man was a prosperous tobacco merchant, but is now penniless and serving in the Belgian army as a volunteer. His friend, Monsieur Piron, has a son in Germany as a prisoner of war. He himself had a narrow escape from execution, for the day after he fled to Holland seven of his friends were shot as spies. NBT 1916 Mar. 21st Tue. The recent appeal for a waterproof, by Monsieur Charles Piron, has been answered. In reply he writes; “The appeal of a Belgian soldier, to which your esteemed journal has kindly given publicity, has been heard. The same evening generous residents of Leighton Buzzard placed at my disposal two gifts, the first the rubber waterproof and overalls of a motor cyclist, and the other a splendid waterproof. I have therefore been able to send the second gift to a very deserving young soldier, Michel Counet d’Aywaille (Ardenne Belge). This young man - he is only 19 years old - without waiting to be called up, and impelled solely by patriotism, ran away in February, 1915, from his native village in company with eight companions, to join the Belgian Army. When they were crossing the Dutch frontier at Canne, between Liege and Maestricht, they were surprised by a German patrol, which fired on the group. Four of them paid for their courage with their lives; the five survivors reached Dutch territory, and from there they came to England, where they entered the Belgian army. As you have so kindly opened the columns of your newspaper to this appeal, I cannot let pass this opportunity to acknowledge publicly in my name and those of my compatriots, our gratitude to you personally and to the generous givers. We Belgians, particularly those from Wallonie, knew nothing of, or rather did not understand Great Britain. Since the early days of my stay in England I have had reason to appreciate at its true worth the generosity of the British people, and especially of British ladies, - a generosity which is characterised by the sincerity, the discretion, and the great delicacy with which it is dispensed.” NBT 1916 Mar. 21st Tue. Cyril Seedhouse was born at Tavistock House, Grove Place, when his father was in business at Leighton Buzzard. Noted as the most daring of despatch riders, he transferred to the Royal Flying Corps, and on one mission was flying at a considerable height above the enemy lines, with his observer, Hugh Cox, when their aircraft was attacked by two Fokker aeroplanes. However, Second Lieutenant Seedhouse manoeuvred so skilfully that the observer was able to get in ‘some useful shooting,’ and one of the planes was driven off. The second then attacked, and during the fight Cox noticed that his pilot had suffered a bullet wound in the back. Yet he continued to out manoeuvre the enemy machine until it broke off the action. By now Second Lieutenant Seedhouse was barely conscious, but he nevertheless managed to pilot the aircraft nearly 20 miles back to his aerodrome, where it was found to have suffered significant damage. He has now arrived at a hospital in England, and the Royal Flying Corps has expressed a deserved admiration for his example. NBT 1916 Apr. 4th Tue. Private Reg Pooley, who is serving with the Beds. Regiment in Egypt, writes of an interesting day’s outing with an English speaking Egyptian friend, who is teaching him Arabic; “We started by tram to Cairo, which took one hour for about twelve miles. It was a lovely ride, only costing 1 ps., that is 2½d., so you see trams are cheap. Then a tram to Heliopolis, which is only 18 miles from Cairo, costing two rs. Arriving there about 10.30 we had a long donkey ride over the town. Heliopolis is one of the places where there are many English people living, so it was like England for a time. We had a seven course dinner in the town, then took train to A---, which is also a nice place. After a good look round the town we took train to Cairo, thence to my friend’s house, but before we went there we took a carriage and had a drive round the principal streets. His house is a very nice one, not like the English, as it has a flat roof which we sat on for some time talking, etc. Then he took me into a small room beautifully furnished where he introduced me to his three lovely wives. Of course, they would not look at me. I don’t know if I was not good-looking enough, or to please their big man, which they called ‘my friend.’ He told me to take a seat, the only one in the room, as you may know they do not sit as we do. They sit on the ground with their legs tucked under them. Of course, I don’t know a word of their language so as to speak to them, so had to tell my friend what I wanted to say to them. I don’t know if he told them all I said, for it took him a long time. We said good-bye to them, but that took a long time also, for they did not like their big man leaving. I wondered if they wanted me to stay, or if they scolded him for bringing me to see them. That was the best day I have had since I have been in Egypt. To-day I have been playing football not a mile from the Pyramids. While we were playing one of the airmen of the R.F.C. came over us and gave us an exhibition of flying for about half an hour. He kept flying over the biggest Pyramid as well, so we had a good afternoon’s sport. I am writing this after coming from the picture palace which we have in our camp. The band was made up of four black men, who knew as much about music as my boot. The pictures thrown on the sheet had French words, so I know as much about them as before, but it helps to pass an hour or two.” NBT 1916 Apr. 11th Tue. M. Jos. Pennartz, the Belgian volunteer for whom an appeal for a waterproof was recently launched, writes from the ‘Armee Belge , en Campagne’; “I am discharging a pleasant duty in thanking you for having published, in your newspaper, my appeal (through my esteemed friend M. Ch. Piron, for a waterproof. The kindly phrasing of your article, deepens my gratitude. As I have said on many occasions, an appeal to our English Allies is never made in vain: we have always received from them, in these critical times, remarkable sympathy and generosity. Our English friends may rest assured that the debt which the Belgians owe to England will be a sacred one. We live in the confident expectation and with the one hope of re-conquering our beloved country and with the help of the British nation assuring her future peace and prosperity.” NBT 1916 June 13th Tue. Corporal Aubrey Williams, of the Somerset Regiment, writes to Mrs. G. Hull, of 1, Bassett Road, with whom he was formerly billeted; “You will be pleased to know that our Battalion has been mentioned in Sir Douglas Haig’s dispatch for good work and raids. We are all very proud of it. I myself have been awarded the Military Medal, so I have something else to be proud of. All the officers of my Battalion congratulated me, and our Captain gave a speech this morning when we were on parade. He said all the Battalion were proud of me and he also said I deserved it. I felt as if I would like the ground to open and let me in out of the way. I never can stick hearing anyone praise me.” NBT 1916 June 27th Tue. Mrs. Linney, 28, St. Andrew’s Street, Leighton Buzzard, has received a card from her son, Albert, of the Beds. Regiment. He states that he has been admitted to the West London Hospital, Hammersmith, and is suffering from a wound in the right arm. How this was inflicted is described in a letter from Private Natt. Burnell, of Leighton Buzzard; “I hope the news I am going to tell you will not cause any anxiety; I am sure it need not. I and a mate had just been out in front of the barbed wire to fire the gun, and as we were returning to the trench we met Albert and his section, who were going out to inspect, and if necessary, repair our wire. I had got into the trench and gone several yards when a German machine gun opened and was immediately followed by a groan from our wiring party. Albert and another chap had both been hit. Albert, we found, had had a bullet go straight through his right arm, just below the elbow. The bone was not broken. The other fellow must have got three in the same hole, just above the right elbow. Before he left the trench to go down to the dressing station I asked if I could do anything for him, and he said: Yes, write to mother and tell her about it. And tell her not to worry; I shall be all right. That is the whole affair. So out of all the Leighton chaps in the old original --th, old Natt is the only front liner left. I know exactly where the gun position of the swine who hit Albert is. I fired over 400 rounds at him the same night, and I will stick to his flash all the time we are up here.” NBT 1916 July 11th Tue. Mr. W. Potter, an assistant to the Clerk of the Leighton Guardians, recently heard that his younger brother, Corporal N. Potter, of the Worcester Yeomanry, had been killed in action near the Suez Canal. His parents, who live at Dudley, went into mourning but Mrs. Potter remained convinced that he was alive, and forbade a memorial service. Letters of sympathy from the King and the War Office were received, but then dated May 11th a letter from the ‘dead’ soldier was received, stating that he was a prisoner of the Turks at Hamidiah, Damascus. He saw much fighting in the Gallipoli campaign, and had several narrow escapes. A brother is serving in Salonica with the Royal Engineers. NBT 1916 July 18th Tue. Mrs. Turney, the sister of Corporal Frederick Charles Ruffhead, has received a letter from the Reverend G. Jarvis Smith, Wesleyan Chaplain to her brother’s Battalion of the Beds. Regiment; “I am pleased to be able to tell you that I was able to get on the field just after the battle and to find his body and give it a Christian burial. He died a hero’s death, and while I was reading the service my voice was drowned by the noise of the guns and the shells which were bursting around us. I have carefully marked the spot where he fell, and a cross will be erected soon.” Serving with C Company, 7th Battalion, Bedfordshire Regiment, aged 33, Corporal Ruffhead, was killed in action on the Western Front on Saturday, July 1st 1916, and is commemorated on the Thiepval Memorial, Somme, France. He was single, and before enlisting had worked at Brown’s foundry. NBT 1916 July 25th Tue. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, of Bassett Road, have received news that their son, Private William Holmes, of the 2nd Beds. Regiment, has been killed in action in France. This letter has been received from a fellow stretcher bearer; “Dear Mrs. Holmes. It is with deep regret that I have to inform you of the death of your son William (9345), who was killed on 11th July. Your son was a fellow stretcher bearer and a better chap could not be found. At the time of his death he was helping to carry a wounded man away when a shell burst amongst them, killing William and the wounded soldier instantly. It is very hard for a mother to lose so brave a son, but try and let the knowledge that he died doing his duty for King and country console you. Remember ‘greater love can no man show than lay down his life for his friend.’ On behalf of the stretcher bearers please accept our deepest sympathy in your sad bereavement. I remain, Yours respectfully, C. Pateman, 7347.” Aged 24, Private Holmes had been in the Army for about 8 years, and was serving in Africa when the war broke out. He had twice been wounded. On the first occasion a bullet entered his chest, and was extracted from his back. Later, in an engagement in which 500 men were lost, he was wounded in the hand, and whilst being removed a bullet entered his arm. A letter to his mother from the Chaplain of his regiment reads; “I must write and tell you how your son met his death. He had carried a wounded man with other carriers almost to the hospital through heavy shell fire when a shell burst beside the party, killed your son and the Wesleyan Chaplain Cooke, who was carrying one end of the stretcher, and wounded the patient and the relief bearer. I buried your son and the Chaplain together just by where they gave up their lives saving a comrade. It is a death to thank God for, and one any mother can be proud of. Still, I do feel much for you and the big loss you have to endure.” NBT 1916 July 25th Tue. Miss Landucci, 10, North Street, Leighton Buzzard, has received a letter from Private J. Kerrigan, of the Somersets. He was formerly billeted in the town, and is now in hospital at Glasgow with a bullet in the jaw; “We went in the trenches five days before going over the top, sticking all the bombardment and shells. On the first of July about half past seven, every gun was going on our front, and the officer shouted to us; ‘Come on, boys,’ and so all of us got up cheering. No sooner were we on the parapet, than heaps of the fellows were knocked down dead and wounded in the trench, but I kept on with my machine gun on my shoulder through the terrible fire and reached the Germans’ first line of trenches safe, crossed it, and was following the Germans still further nearly to their second line of trenches when I was knocked over. I lost my senses for about ten minutes and when I came round found myself bleeding furiously, so I lay flat, got my bandage out, shells and bullets bursting all around me, and I bandaged myself up and crawled back the best I could, expecting to be killed any minute. I reached our trenches safely, and made my way down to the dressing station, but by that time I was thoroughly exhausted. I was attended to by the doctor, and that is all I remembered of France until I found myself in Oak Bank Hospital, Glasgow, only too glad to be once again in Blighty.” NBT 1916 July 25th Tue. Mrs. Halsey, of Bassett road, Leighton Buzzard, has received a letter from Sergeant F. Blakeman of the Beds. Regiment, informing her of the death of her husband; “We and all his fellow comrades send you our deepest sympathy in your great bereavement. We all feel the loss very much. Poor George and I had always been the best of friends ever since we had known each other, and he was always happy and always the same, and did his best to cheer the lads up. I am sure I have never had a better N.C.O. I could trust him anywhere, as I knew he would always do his duty like a man. I am certain fear never entered his head, and I know the section he was in charge of loved him and would have followed him anywhere. It was on July 8th when he was killed. We were holding a certain trench when a shell dropped right in the part where he was with his men, and I am grieved to say that it killed him and two more men. It was instant death to all of them. I buried him and the other poor fellows on the battlefield not far from where they were killed, and I made a cross with their names on it to mark their last resting place. I am heartily grieved for you and all his people. He died a hero’s death, fighting for his King and Country.” (Serving with the 7th Battalion, Bedfordshire Regiment, Lance Corporal Halsey was killed on the Western Front on Saturday, July 8th 1916, and is commemorated on the Thiepval Memorial, Somme, France. He had been born at Bushey, in Hertfordshire.) NBT 1916 July 25th Tue. A report states that 30 year old Sergeant Joseph Ginger, serving with the 7th Battalion, Bedfordshire Regiment, has been killed in action on July 1st, 1916. He was born at the Bell Hotel, and his parents once kept the Golden Bell. His mother, Rosina, now lives at 31, Dudley Street, Leighton Buzzard. The two friends with whom he enlisted in the Bedfords have all now been killed. A carpenter by trade, Sergeant Ginger was a keen footballer, and not only captained the town team for several years, but also played for Aylesbury United. He had been a member of the local fire brigade, whose members at a meeting of the brigade wore black arm bands as a gesture of respect. NBT 1916 Aug. 1st Tue. Mrs. Charles Cook, of 42, Ashwell Street, Leighton Buzzard, has received unofficial news that her 27 year old son, Signaller Albert J. Cook, of the 7th Battalion, Suffolk Regiment, was killed in action on Monday, July 3rd, 1916, in the fighting for Ovilliers. Corporal Banyard writes; “He was my best chum out here. The whole of the signal section send their deepest sympathies.” Having written last week to say Signaller Cook, was missing, on Monday he then wrote that he had been killed, dying at a dressing station to where he had been carried after a mortal wound to the head. Private W. Garner, of the Norfolk Regiment, states that he was near him to in the trenches when he fell. He suffered no pain and was given a proper burial. Born in Leighton Buzzard, and well known as an amateur conjuror, after an apprenticeship Albert had set up in business in Aylesbury Street, Fenny Stratford, but it was whilst employed in Lowestoft that he enlisted in the Suffolks in August, 1914. He had seen some heavy fighting, and had gone through the battle of Loos. Mr. and Mrs. A.J. Moore, of 43, Mill Road, Leighton Buzzard, have received a letter from their son, Private J.C. Moore, of the Beds. Regt. He is in hospital in Norfolk suffering from severe wounds, and writes; “I am getting on very nicely considering my wound, which I think will take a long time to heal up. The shell broke my left leg, and laid all the instep open, about five inches long and three inches wide. My right heel was also laid open, and I got a piece of shell in the left shoulder, but I can tell you I was lucky to get away at all. We were up at Fricourt at the time, and we had nowhere to get under cover. It seems nice to be this side of the water, and not having to dodge those lumps of lead and iron.” Private Moore has been in the Army for nearly two years, including one year serving in France. Two brothers are also serving in the Army, and one has been discharged as medically unfit. NBT 1916 Aug. 1st Tue. Private Charles Henry Hills, the only son of Mrs. Hills, of the Sun Inn. Leighton Buzzard, enlisted from Wagga Wagga, Australia, and on May 3rd arrived at Gallipoli. There he was blinded on June 7th by an exploding shell, and has now returned to Australia to start poultry farming. While in England he learned typewriting, and has written to his relatives regarding his welcome back to Australia; “The people of Wagga Wagga are very good to me and are anxious I should settle in the town as they say everything original goes to Sydney and Melbourne. I have been in the papers several times and the keenest possible interest is being shown in the poultry farming experiment. The difficulty of obtaining the necessary ground to start on is engaging the attention of all the best men in Wagga Wagga and so I am sure to get the best for my money ---.” Charles does not have to pay, as this is being covered free by various men, and the C.E.M.S. is putting up a hut. In an interview with the Sunday Times, Sydney, he says; “I can tell you I have never had such a good time in my life as I have had since I have been blind”, and a great consolation for his loss was that he ‘got’ five Turks before the shrapnel burst. Having been in 19 hospitals, he was eventually taken to St. Dunstan’s hostelry in Regent Park, which had been established during the war for blinded soldiers and sailors. In fact Charles would occupy the very bedroom as the Kaiser when, shortly before the war, he had stayed at the house, which was then the home of Lord Londesborough. NBT 1916 Aug. 8th Tue. Private John T. Stanton, West Yorks. Regiment, writes to Mr. Moore, of Mill Road, with whom he was billeted; “On the 13th it was the West Yorks’. turn to have a go, and we did splendidly. We marched to within 500 yards of the German trenches, and then lay low while our Artillery bombarded them. Then at a given signal we marched to within 50 yards of his trenches, and then what a shout and a charge with the bayonet! It was glorious. We pinched two lines of his trenches and made him run about a mile. I came out without a scratch. Then on the 17th I was just relieved from sentry work, when a shell burst close by me and I was buried with the lot and nearly suffocated. My pals dug me out, and although I was in pain I would like to have got near the German gunner who sent that shell. I have hurt my spine and two ribs, but the doctor says there is nothing broken and it will not be a long job. I am severely bruised from head to foot, but am very pleased to be back once again in England.” Private Stanton is presently in hospital at Weymouth. NBT 1916 Aug. 8th Tue. From a convalescent camp at Boulogne, Sergeant H. Guess sends a letter to his mother in Back Lane, Leighton Buzzard. Suffering from shell shock, he writes; “I am sorry to have to tell you that I have had a very rough time lately. We were in the big advance in support to the Norfolk Regiment. We took a village easily, for the Germans would have nothing to do with us, and three hundred of them surrendered to us as soon as we started - some of them Prussian Guards. It was ‘grand, but hell.’ The artillery fire was terrible, for hardly a worm could live under it. It is marvellous how the Germans stood it. I will tell you how I got hurt. We got the village and we had to hold it. The Germans started to shell us, and it was awful. I got badly buried with a big shell, and I am suffering from ‘shell shock,’ but am getting on all right. My Company Sergeant-Major got wounded near me, and I bandaged him up. We could not get the wounded away owing to the shell fire, and he was liable to be killed, so I volunteered to get him away. I carried him about 600 or 700 yards, and the Germans were shelling us all the time with Jack Johnsons, but I am pleased to say I got him away safely. The doctor sent me to hospital for shock, and I am now down at Boulogne in a convalescent camp, which I can tell you is very nice. Some of the German prisoners told us that it was worse than Verdun. I am glad to say I am alive, I am now soon going to a nice bed. It will be a change after having hardly any sleep for a week.” NBT 1916 Aug. 8th Tue. Mrs. Grounsell, of George Street, Leighton Buzzard, has received news that her brother, Private Sydney Shepherd, Beds. Regiment, has been killed. The Company Sergeant Major writes; “It is with the deepest regret that I have to write to you these few sad lines to inform you of the death of your brother, who fell on the night of the 27th July. I have lost a good, true and steady man, always ready to do his bit without a grumble. He was one of my best men. Hoping this will be some consolation in your bereavement, I am, madam, yours sincerely, W.J.W. Ward.” Second Lieutenant Guy B. Reed writes; “I am only too sorry to have to write you this letter. Your brother was in my platoon, and always a good worker for me, as the Sergt.-Major has told you, and it is with great regret that I have lost him. May I offer you my sympathy. Your brother is buried near here with some of his pals, and a cross will be erected on his grave.” NBT 1916 Aug. 15th Tue. From ‘somewhere in France’ a Leighton Buzzard soldier writes; “We are back for a few days in reserve and only go up in the trenches on fatigue, after which we hope to go back for a rest, which will be one of the most acceptable I have ever had. We moved up from reserve on the evening of June 30th, of course, at dark, so that we could not be observed. We stayed in a field till 5.15a.m. on the morning of July 1st, when we had hot stew, tea and a ham sandwich, issued to every man. After getting rid of this we moved up in the trenches under the most infernal din you ever heard. We had to take the best cover we could get until the appointed time, wondering all the while when one might get knocked out. About 7.20 the rum came round, and just as that arrived a mine went up. At 7.30 our officer said: ‘Another three minutes to go.’ The three minutes went past, and over went the first section of our platoon, followed by the second half a minute later, which included the officer and myself. We had only just got through the barbed wire, when the officer fell, leaving me in charge. On we went for about 200 yards, under the most terrible fusillade of machine gun bullets and shells, when we came to a little dip in No Man’s Land. It was absolutely impossible for us to get along, so we dug ourselves in as best we could. This was about 8 o’clock in the morning. Of course, it was quite impossible to get back in daylight, so you may imagine we had none too pleasant a prospect before us. All day long they shelled us with every conceivable kind of artillery, and naturally managed to hit quite a good number. Just as dark was falling they swept No Man’s Land again, with terrible machine gun and shrapnel fire. Fortunately all the wounded with us were able to get along by themselves, so naturally we sent them off first while we ‘stood to’ in case the Germans should try to leave their trenches and capture us. As soon as we thought the wounded had had time to get in, we made off ourselves, and I can tell you we hopped it, and just arrived back in our own trenches before they started another bombardment, for which I have never been more thankful in my life.” NBT 1916 Aug. 15th Tue. Mrs. Eggleton, of Leighton Buzzard, has unofficially heard that her son, Sergeant William Eggleton, of the Beds. Regiment, has been killed. His comrade, Private F. Bell, writes; “It is with great regret that I write the news that your son William was killed on 30th July. Perhaps it will be a comfort to know that death was instantaneous. I and a good many more have missed a great pal. You have my sympathy and also that of the whole Company, for he was liked and respected by everybody. He died a soldier’s death fighting for his country. I will let you know more when I get settled down. Yours sincerely, Pte. F. Bell.” In another letter, Sergeant A.W. Joyce, of the Beds. Regiment, writes; “Pte. Bell has already written you concerning the death of your son William. I feel I must write you and say how sorry we all are. A better and more conscientious fellow I never knew. Fearless in the hour of danger, courageous in the most trying of times he was loved by all who knew him. I have known him ever since he has been out here, and I can say that at all times he has proved himself a soldier of the finest qualities. The whole of my platoon send their sympathy.” An employee of the Wire Works before the war, Private Eggleton was called up as a reservist, and was killed the day after his 21st birthday. Three of his brothers are in the Forces, and news has arrived that Private Frederick Eggleton was wounded in France on July 24th, and is in a French hospital. (The son of John and Sarah Eggleton, of 69, Heath Road, Leighton Buzzard, as Lance Sergeant Eggleton, was killed aged 21 on the Western Front on Sunday, July 30th, 1916, and is commemorated on the Thiepval Memorial, Somme, France.) In a letter to his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Moore, of 43, Mill Road, Private J.C. Moore states that his injured foot has been operated on, and he is progressing favourably. He has been wounded in both legs and a shoulder, and is in hospital in Norfolk. Sergeant A.L. Green is in a London hospital, and despite the wounds in his right arm has written a short letter to his parents in Stanbridge Road. Mrs. William Going, of 7, Barrow Path, Leighton Buzzard, has been unofficially informed of the death of her husband, Corporal William Going, of the 1st Battalion, Bedfordshire Regiment. In a letter, the Captain of his regiment writes; “I should like to express my deep sympathy with you and your family in your great loss. It must be some consolation to you to know Corpl. Going died having bravely and well done his duty. W. Barnett (Capt.)” (Corporal Going died of wounds received on the Somme on Monday, July 31st, 1916. He was born at Wilburn, and having served 12 years in the Army, was called up as a reservist at the outbreak of war. He leaves a widow and child. Mr. and Mrs. Going, of Mill Road, Leighton Buzzard, have officially heard of the death of their son, Private Frank Going. A comrade writes; “We are all very sorry to send you such bad news about your son Frank. We shall all miss him very much as he was a good pal. He was buried by a shell about 5 o’clock yesterday afternoon (July 27th). We dug him out as quickly as possible, but he was beyond human aid.” (Serving with the 1st Battalion, Bedfordshire Regiment, he was killed in action in France on Friday, July 27th.) NBT 1916 Sep. 5th Tue. Robert and Fanny Richmond, of Heathwood, Leighton Buzzard, have been officially informed that their youngest son, Captain Harold Stedman Richmond, of the 9th Battalion, King’s Royal Rifle Corps, was killed in action on Thursday, August 24th. He was aged 26, and writing from Picardy his commanding officer states; “The battalion had been ordered to clear the enemy out of a wood. Your son’s Company was the leading Company of the Battalion. They advanced simply magnificently under his leading under heavy shell fire and machine gun fire. When just on the German trenches, Capt. Richmond fell shot by a rifle bullet, death being absolutely instantaneous, but your son’s fine leading had enabled the Company to attain their objective. I fear that nothing can make up to you for your great loss, but the knowledge of how much he was appreciated here by all of us may make you feel proud also perhaps. I hope so. Your son was a born soldier; his men trusted and followed him; his Company was chosen as the leading Company because he was leading it. He fell at the head of his Company, and I think he himself would have wished to die so. I saw him just before the advance; he was absolutely confident of success and so cheerful. We lost many officers that day, but no one will be more missed than him. I should certainly have recommended him for a decoration had he lived.” Another officer writes; “He was a great friend of mine. We came out together with the Battalion and for a time were in the same Company, and I got to know him well and intimately. He was killed leading his Company in an assault on the enemy trenches, and it is a high testimony to his leadership that his Company followed him, as one man without a sign of hesitation, under a destructive fire. I have never met anyone in the new Armies who was a more natural soldier and leader of men, or showed a greater devotion to duty. I hope these words do not appear conventional; they only feebly express his qualities and character. I do not think we shall ever find anyone who will quite fill his place either as a friend or soldier. It is difficult for me to attempt to offer you the sympathy I feel, but I know in your great sorrow the legitimate pride you will have in the knowledge that he died as the most gallant soldier has died, leading his Company to an assault which was successful, will be some consolation.” Captain Richmond had been educated at Berkhamsted, and obtained a scholarship to Brazenose College, Oxford. After obtaining a B.A. he went into the Malay Civil Service, and was at Batu Gagah when the war broke out. He volunteered for active service, and became a full Lieutenant in December 1914. Gazetted to the King’s Royal Rifle Corps, he went to France in May 1915 at less than an hour’s notice, and was severely wounded in the jaw on July 31st. He returned to France on February 17th, 1916, and was gazetted Captain in June 1916. His two brothers are serving in the Forces. NBT 1916 Sep. 26th Tue. Mr. and Mrs. Winmill, of Church Street, were officially notified by the Canadian authorities on Friday that their son, Private Cyril Winmill, Canadian Contingent, was killed in action in France on September 9th. Then in the evening they received a field card from him dated September 19th, which read; “I am a little weak, otherwise I am all right. If you have been notified that I was killed, it is a mistake. We had a hot time and took some trenches, and I was slightly wounded in the shoulder by a piece of half spent shrapnel. If it had hit me with full force, no doubt I should have ‘gone west.’ I was sent to an English hospital instead of a Canadian, and so I was down as missing. We made a fine charge - couldn’t hold the boys back, and I happened to be in the first wave over the parapet, getting hit in the enemy’s second line. We had lots of cigars from Fritz’s dug-outs, and sure he lives high over this way.” Private Winmill emigrated to Canada a few years ago, and joined the Canadians in August 1914. He has been wounded twice before. NBT 1916 Oct. 3rd Tue. Mrs. Wernham, of 12, Regent Street, Leighton Buzzard, has received news that her son, Lance Corporal James Wernham, off the 2nd Battalion, Border Regiment, has been killed in action in France. An Army chaplain writes; “Your son was caught by a sniper when posting a sentry early on Sunday morning, Sept. 24th. He was hit in the head and died very soon. He was thought highly of in his company and will be missed. He was killed in the actual performance of duty and I am sure that will comfort you in your mourning. No mother would be proud of a son who stayed at home in these days. I buried him on Sunday evening in a pretty little cemetery, and a cross will mark his grave.” Born at Newbury, Lance Corporal Wernham was called up at the outbreak of war as a Beds. Reservist, and went to France in October 1914. He was wounded in the wrist at Neuve Chapelle, to be transferred to a Border Regiment on his recovery. Sent to France, he was promoted to Lance Corporal some two months ago. He was formerly employed as a stonemason by the late Mr. Mims. NBT 1916 Oct. 10th Tue. Miss M. Underwood, of 19, Friday Street, Leighton Buzzard, is a munitions worker, and one day put her name and address inside the top of a fuse. She has now received a letter from the sergeant who fired the shell at the Huns, telling how proud the Army is of the work the girls at home are doing; “Dear Miss Underwood, Please excuse the liberty I am taking in writing to you, but finding your address inside a fuse, thought I would let you know that it arrived out here. I cannot say where it is now, as it was fired into the Hun lines a few hours ago. The Battery has been out here since the war first began, so we have been through the mill a little bit, and nothing gives us greater pleasure than to send souvenirs over to Fritz with the compliments of our munition workers at home, and I can assure you that we are not giving them much rest at present. All of us out here are very proud of the way our girls at home are keeping us going, but we can still do with millions more rounds of ammunition. At present we are paying back we owe them from the days of Mons, Marne, and Aisne, and I think we are doing it fairly well. I mustn’t forget to thank you for the good wishes; next time I fire I will send a few compliments over to Fritz for you. I must finish now, wishing you the best of luck and hoping you will make thousands of more rounds, and remain, yours truly, G. Randall (Sergt.), R.F.A., B.E.F.” NBT 1916 Oct. 17th Tue. Mr. and Mrs. G. Horne, of 11, Hockliffe Road, have been officially informed that their son, 24 year old Private John Horne, of the 1st Battalion, Bedforshire. Regiment, was killed in France on September 27th. A letter from the officer commanding his Company reads; “Your son was killed in a very unfortunate manner. We had just come out of the firing line and were resting in camp a few miles behind, when a German aeroplane dropped a bomb on the hut in which was your son and many others of his Company. Two other fellows were killed and eighteen wounded. The aeroplane came over about 11p.m. Your son suffered no pain, and we buried him in a little cemetery close by. His loss will be felt by all ranks; he was a good fellow and always cheery.” Second Lieutenant A.A. Creasey writes; “Private Horne was in my platoon and was with me in the advance on the Somme on the 25th September. After having come through the attack without a scratch, it is greatly to be regretted that he should meet his end in such a manner. The victims of the air raid were buried in a cemetery about a mile and a half from the village of Maricourt.” Private Horne was killed on the day before his 24th birthday. A Beds. Reservist, he had served for four years in the Army before the war, and on the outbreak was called up and almost immediately sent to France. NBT 1916 Oct. 17th Tue. Mrs. Wernham, of 12, Regent Street, Leighton Buzzard, has received letters confirming the death of her son, Lance Corporal James Wernham, in action. A comrade writes; “I am taking the liberty of writing to you, which I think is my duty. Your son James and myself have been very close friends since he was transferred from the Beds. Regiment at Felixstowe. I was transferred from the Norfolk Regiment at the same time. In the early hours of this morning (Sept. 24th) whilst on duty, the Boches were firing away, and I regret to say, he fell. I could not leave my post to see if he was dead at that moment, but every possible assistance was there, and he passed away in a very few seconds. During the latter part of the morning we buried him. If you should want to know anything more about him I will endeavour to find out. Yours, sincerely, S.J. Seago.” Second Lieutenant G.W. Fuller, Border Regt., writes; “May I add a few words to sympathise with you in your sad bereavement. I have not seen much of your son, but what little I did I always noticed what a bright, pleasant fellow he was, and such a help to his comrades. I deeply regret he was so unfortunately hit, but it will be some consolation to know he did not suffer at all. He was buried with all honours in a little cemetery behind the lines.” Colour Sergeant Major G.W. Chuley writes; “I much regret to have to inform you of the death of your son. He had been with us for quite a long time and was a most promising N.C.O. Respected by comrades in the Company, his loss is felt keenly by us all, and we respectfully beg to offer our sincere sympathy in your great loss.” NBT 1916 Oct. 24th Tue. The Major commanding the battalion in which the late Second Lieutenant Cecil Green served writes; “He was most gallantly leading the attack when he was hit, and died later in hospital. He was a splendid officer, and we all liked him immensely, and will very much miss him. He was an extraordinarily plucky fellow; even when he was lying hit with a very bad wound in the abdomen he was perfectly cheerful and wished to get up and have a walk.” (Serving with the 6th Battalion, Oxon and Bucks Light Infantry, he had died of wounds on Monday, October 9th, 1916. Aged 29, he was the son of William and Anne Green, of 16, Grove Road, Leighton Buzzard.) NBT 1916 Dec. 26th Tue. Despite being well above military age, a well known gentleman in Leighton Buzzard felt that he should help with the war effort, and to his local relatives has sent an account of his Y.M.C.A. work behind the firing line; “My first impressions? Well, as a matter of fact, impressions don’t count. Hundreds of ’em, all jostling into one another until naught is left but a bewildering fog, and chaos and confusion. By the touch of a magician’s wand, so to speak, one finds oneself transported to another world. Men innumerable, horses innumerable, motor lorries, transports, motor bikes, Red Cross cars, huge columns of fodder for both man and beast; heavy gun fire in the near distance; some coming, some going, from whence they come, or whither they go, Heaven only knows. It is too vast to be comprehensible. In short, no photograph could portray, no pen describe, no words could tell, not even the wildest imagination could conceive what passes, day by day, in panoramic procession, before one’s eyes. Some day, may be, when familiarity breeds contempt, one will be able to size it up a little more coherently. And now from the fanciful to the practical side of things. Time will not permit to any more “descriptive” matter, this shall follow later, if you care to have it, sufficient for the day shall be a brief epitome of “the daily round.” First of all, I must tell you I am extremely fortunate in having a good billet; in other words a bed room, containing a small, but comfortable bed and little else! This is situated some four minutes walk from the “hut.” There I rouse from my slumbers prompt at 8a.m.; breakfast at 8.30 sharp. The meal is not an elaborate one - five days out of the seven just a savoury omelette (well cooked), a cup of excellent coffee and a roll; the latter made out of the semi white brown flour a la regulation. Twice a week my good landlady digs up “poisson frais” usually a herring or a mackerel. Nine o’clock sees me on the way to work. Arrived on the scene of my labours the first job is to dust and sweep out the billiard room and reading room - two decent sized apartments some 22 ft. square each. This takes a good hour, and, on the stroke of ten, we open for business. The billiard room is going all day without a solitary break, at the fixed price of 4d for each half hour. Having deposited my tools, ie., broom, dust pan and duster, into the place to which they belong, I sally forth - up town - to purchase the rations necessary for the day. Let me explain, “we are four” in this hut, and do our own cooking, washing up, etc. Thank goodness one of the four - a Congregational minister from Margate - is a most excellent chef and a capital fellow to boot, so the welfare of our little “tummies” is practically assured. Ten forty five sees me on the return journey with a savoy or cauliflower, under one arm, a bag of potatoes under the other, the head of a fowl or some pork chops hanging out of one pocket, and a selection of groceries or other small sundries bulging the other pocket. These goods duly deposited on the kitchen table, I take my place at the canteen counter in lieu of the “chef.” Cups of tea, buttered rolls and buns, dolly cakes, tobacco, cigarettes, shaving and toilet soaps, bachelor’s buttons, chocolates, boot blacking, cough lozenges and sundry other things, too numerous to mention, are the staple articles we deal in; business is ever busy and the takings at the end of the day represent a good round sum. At 1p.m. the counter is closed for two hours. This allows us to take our mid-day meal (1p.m.) in comparative peace, also to “wash up” and take a short stroll if the weather is favourable. Three o’clock sees us on duty again, with a steady run to closing time (8p.m.). Tea is on the table at 4.30, and we generally entertain one or more visitors. At 5.40 one of us marches to the ticket office of a most excellent cinema, open each evening from 6 to 7.30p.m. Here is generally a big rush, especially on Mondays and Thursdays, when fresh pictures are on the screen. Local cinema owners would be green with envy to see some of our audiences - full to the doors. On the close of the pictures there is the final big rush on the canteen, and the money rolls in, thick and fast, as bullets from a machine gun. At 8p.m. prompt we call “Time.” I take myself to the billiard room, give the table a good brush down, cover up, dowse the lights, don my greatcoat and make tracks for the place I now call home. (Heaven save the mark). By 9p.m. I am between sheets, a wee bit tired, but always merry and bright and ready for “tomorrow.” Such then is the daily routine of a Y.M.C.A. worker. Plenty of work; plain grub - and not too much of that, - an easy conscience, no luxuries, mighty few comforts, plenty of gun-fire in the near distance, with an occasional aeroplane fight overhead for surplus excitement, and always in hopes, either of receiving a letter from “Blighty” or meeting some old time pal. The table is now wanted for tea, so I must ring down the curtain.” NBT 1917 Mar. 20th Tue. Aged 34, Lieutenant Frederick Robert Richmond, the son of Robert and Fanny Richmond, of Heathwood, Leighton Buzzard, was killed by a shell near Bouchavesnes on Tuesday, March 13th. A brother officer writes; “He accompanied me on the evening of the 13th inst. with a working party and on our way up to the trenches he was killed by a shell, at a point about a mile north of Bouchavesnes. Death was practically instantaneous and the calm noble expression in his face showed he knew nothing of it. I share with you the loss of one of the finest of men and bravest of soldiers it has ever been my fortune to meet, and may God give you and your family strength to bear the loss of your dear one. He was highly respected and loved by both officers and men, and his death is a great loss to the battalion. He and I have shared a dug-out for some time and we promised each other to write to our friends should the worst happen. We hope to be able to get him back to-morrow to the nearest military cemetery and give him a decent funeral. I hope to attend and I will write and give you particulars of his last resting place. I extend to you, Mrs. Richmond and family on behalf of myself and the officers and men of D company our most heartfelt and deepest sympathy in your great loss which is our loss as well.” Educated at Berkhamsted School, he then became a pupil of Messrs. R. Bond and Sons, Ipswich, and was later employed by Messrs. Cumberland and Sons, Luton, and then Cumberland and Hopkins, auctioneers and estate agents, Leighton Buzzard. When Mr. S. Hopkins retired, he then became one of the partners. Having been Sergeant in the Cadet Corps at Berkhamsted, he served in the Suffolk Garrison Artillery whilst at Ipswich, and following the outbreak of war, with his cousin joined the Public School Battalion as a private. After initially refusing any promotion he was made Sergeant and then Company Sergeant, before the battalion went to France in November, 1915. Last March, after much active service he returned to England to take up a commission, and after training at Oxford joined the Durham Light Infantry as 2nd Lieutenant. In September 1916 he then again went to the front to join a Pioneer Battalion. A man of fine physique, he was the moving spirit of the Leighton Buzzard Tennis Club, and one of the founders of the Leighton Buzzard Amateur Operatic Society. Of his two brothers, one was killed last year, and the other is in Mesopotamia. NBT 1917 Apr. 17th Tue. Trooper Arthur C. Hull writes to his parents, Mr. and Mrs. G. A. Hull, 36, Dudley Street, regarding the German retreat; “The past week has been the most exciting time of my life. Last Saturday we were out on a field scheme when suddenly a dispatch rider came along with the order to return to camp at once and move off in marching order up the line, as the Germans were retreating. How excited we all were to think that after two years we were going in. We have been after the Germans ever since. Where the German trenches had been our artillery had wrought terrible havoc. It is absolutely indescribable; everything was battered to atoms. As for the roads round about - well, there were no longer any. After we had got through the trenches we came to open country, where the roads, the bridges, railway lines, villages and everything had either been blown up or burnt. Even the trees had been chopped down. It was a terrible scene of desolation. After scouring the country round for miles we came across the Huns and got a few shots from and at them, and my troop took our one and only prisoner so far. We have been on the go ever since, scouting the country to find Fritz, and I reckon in a straight line he must have retreated a good twenty miles on this front. Of the dozens of villages we have passed all are razed to the ground except two. The Germans had collected the remaining civilians from all the other places and dumped them in the town. In one of those towns my own troop were in advance, and were the first Allied soldiers seen for two and a half years. I shall never forget the scene as long as I live. The people were almost mad and the tears of joy streamed down their cheeks. They clutched at our arms as we rode in, and when we dismounted the girls and women absolutely hung round our necks, smothered us with kisses, and held up their kiddies to be kissed. You may smile at this, but I assure you it was too pathetic. The Germans had not damaged the town much, but had burnt the church the previous day. What you have read about the German slave raids is quite right. One dear old soul told me the Germans took with them her husband, her son, and her two daughters. That’s Kultur. Wait till we get up against the brutes. We had to wait at this place until the Engineers came up and threw a bridge across the Somme, and then on we went. We have been doing about fifteen hours in the saddle daily and have had very little sleep. Several nights have been spent in the fields on outpost duty, and two or three nights we have had a few hours’ sleep anywhere we could get. I saw a terrible fight a few days ago between four planes, and one French plane came down. One day four Bosch planes rained machine gun fire on us like water, but their aim was not good enough when we scattered. The furthest point we reached was a small village, where my troop was sent out to search and reconnoitre a few days ago. I was one of a party of eight dismounted men sent to search the ruins. We couldn’t see any Huns, but immediately we got into the village bang came a whacking shell between me and the horses, and then two or three more twenty yards away, but I was not touched except by flying chips of bricks, etc. We went through the village to the other side and a machine gun began to buzz on us. We saw several Uhlans in a wood close by so thought it best to get back when it got dark. The next day another squadron galloped up to the wood, dismounted and fired, but were caught point blank by shell fire and machine guns. Our great difficulty is to get water. The Huns destroyed or polluted every well they saw, and some have had to go back for water every morning. We are all very tired and shall not be sorry to be relieved. We are waiting for the artillery and infantry to come up. I haven’t had my clothes off or had a wash or a shave since we started, so you can guess we are handsome creatures.” NBT 1917 Apr. 24th Tue. Trooper Arthur Charles Hull, 36, Dudley Street, Leighton Buzzard, writes to his parents and sisters, giving further details of the German retreat; “Since I last wrote to you I have been in action a time or two and cannot help thinking how lucky our squadron has been. We were unsupported under most terrific shell fire as well as rifle and machine gun fire the whole of one day in a wood where we outflanked the Huns, and not one in my troop was hurt, although several had their horses killed under them. Once when the shells got too thick I was detailed to take the horses back a bit, and you can take it from me that to ride your own horse and lead five more at a gallop under heavy fire is a pretty exciting job. One of our men has gained the military medal and another was mentioned in orders yesterday. For the second time he had his horse shot under him and himself stunned, and as he did not return he was put down as ‘missing, believed killed.’ But during the night he staggered back to our lines in a pretty bad state. He told us that when his horse was knocked down he lost consciousness, and when he came to, three Germans were busily engaged kicking him in the ribs. Fortunately he had the presence of mind to remain motionless and so they left him for dead.” Writing later, he says; “I have come out of it safely. We left the front line at 2.30 this morning and are now in a village some seven or eight miles behind - one of the few left by the Huns and containing civilians. Poor creatures, they know what Hun culture means, for everything was taken, - food, crops, livestock, many of the girls and any fit men. The people left are being rationed by our army. Somehow or other they have managed to keep hidden some of their national flags and the whole place is decorated. I have been in action several times since I last wrote to you. The narrowest squeak was when three shells burst on the exact spot where half a dozen of us had been standing not half a minute before. It was a terrible experience the first time we were under fire, but afterwards one doesn’t trouble; it is useless to. The shells keep whistling over and around you, and of course you cannot judge where they are going to drop. Our work has been to reconnoitre the country, get as close to the Bosches as we could and then dig ourselves in and hold the position until the infantry could get up. We have had a rough time, for the weather has been rainy and terribly cold. Last night was the worst. I was one of only about a dozen holding a wood about half a mile from the Germans’ wood, and we were sent out with orders to hold it until the infantry arrived, which was not until 2.30 this morning. It was snowing hard all the time and we had no sort of cover, the Germans have chopped down every tree. We got absolutely wet through and a mass of mud from head to foot. We have had a number of casualties and have lost some horses. I hope we stay here for some time. I am in luck. Tom Dimmock and I have a feather bed and spring mattress (ex-German) and have got a little chicken house which we have cleaned out and fixed up with a German stove. It is absolutely ‘it’” NBT 1917 May 8th Tue. Mr. W. T. Croxford, of Leighton Buzzard, sends a thrilling story of a platoon of Bedfords in the face of overwhelming odds. The writer, who is not in the Bedfords, says of their heroism; “Terrible as war undoubtedly is, it has always thrown into relief those qualities of heroism and devotion that are inherent in every man, though in peace time often lacking the means of expression. One of the finest illustrations of this came under my notice during the fighting which occurred towards the end of March. A small company of a battalion of the Beds. Regt., in attacking the enemy, soon discovered that it was considerably outnumbered. One platoon, consisting of an officer, a sergeant, two Corporals and eleven men became cut off from the remainder of the Company. ‘Fritz’s’ custom, on finding himself in such a predicament, is to put up his hands and cry ‘Kamerad;’ not so, the Bedfords. Bedfordshire men are made of better stuff! Taking what cover they could and meeting furious onslaughts of the enemy, these heroes held their ground. One after another was killed, but the others never faltered. Knowing that there could be but one end, they fought with undaunted spirits and with deadly effect. At length, they were silent. When, reinforced and victorious, their comrades arrived, they found them there, still facing the enemy. Two of them, in their stiffened hands, held Mills bombs, from which the pins had been drawn just ready to throw. The ground in front was covered with German dead. I do not expect that any official notice will be taken of this, but to my mind it is one of the most brilliant episodes of the war. Every man was a hero. Every one deserved a V.C. If Bedfordshire, if England can turn out such men as these, she will never lose her high place among the nations of the world. We, who remain, count it an honour to have served and suffered with men of such dauntless heroism, such undying fame!” NBT 1917 May 8th Tue. Mrs. Redding, of North Street, has received unofficial news that her husband, Private Tom Redding, of the Beds. Regiment., has been killed in action. A letter from C.Q.M.S. Clutterbuck reads; “Dear Mrs. Redding. By this time you will have learned of the death of your husband in action. We cannot do much to ease your great sorrow, but it may help you to know that Pte. Redding was always held in very high esteem by his comrades, and, without exception, he was always fearless and courageous, and so cheery. We feel his loss very deeply. It may be some consolation to you when you remember the fact that they who died for England sleep with God, and in the Great Beyond he is now at rest. Again expressing our deep sympathy in this your dark hour of bereavement, and trusting you will be comforted.” Private Redding enlisted in the Beds. Regiment about twelve months ago, and commenced his training at Ampthill Camp. He was transferred to Felixstowe, and then drafted to the Western Front, where he saw only about four months’ active service. He was well-known in Leighton Buzzard, having been employed by Mrs. Janes, of Hockliffe Street, as a milk roundsman for seventeen years. NBT 1917 June 19th Tue. Mrs. Smith, formerly of South Street, has received the following letter; “Dear Mrs. Smith, it is with great sorrow that I am writing to tell you of the death of your brave boy. He was killed in action on April 2nd by a bullet. Your son was buried behind a village called Henin-sur-Cojeul. I had known your son for the last six months, and knew him to be a keen soldier, both cool and brave in action and always cheerful, even under the most trying circumstances. Your son was killed after we had attacked and captured the village of Henin, and although the German snipers were very active he dug an emplacement for his gun, and brought it into action, firing at the enemy who were retreating. I am very sorry you have had no news of your boy till now, but my first letter to you must have gone astray. Yours sincerely, -- -- ---- (Colonel).” Before enlisting, Private Smith worked at the Faith Press, and was a local Scout leader. (Probably this is Private Harry Smith, aged 20, of the Machine Gun Corps, formerly of the Bedfordshire Regiment. He was the son of Arthur and Alice Smith, of London Road, Bulbrook, Bracknell, Berks., and is commemorate on the Arras Memorial, Pas de Calais, France.) NBT 1917 June 26th Tue. It is officially announced that the D.S.O. has been awarded to Acting Captain G. W. Richmond, R.E. Spec. Res. The wording reads; “For conspicuous gallantry and determination while forcing a passage of the river. His coolness and resource were mainly responsible for the successful launching of the pontoons which effected the crossing, and his attitude was an inspiring example to all under his command. He has previously done fine work.” Captain Richmond is the only surviving son of Mr. R. Richmond, of Heathwood, Leighton Buzzard, his two brothers having been killed in the war. He received a commission in the Special Reserve (R.E.) in July, 1914, and joined a few days before war was declared. He became a Lieutenant in September, 1916, and the terms of the official notice, as given above, though very laudatory, are bald compared with the records in the private letters regarding his achievement. The work was carried out under heavy fire, and but for Captain Richmond’s brilliant and successful feat the whole attack would probably have been held up. NBT 1917 July 10th Tue. The Johannesburg “Illustrated Star” of 26th May contains a photograph of Lance Corporal Bernard Frank Whitman, a native of Leighton Buzzard, who, serving with the 7th Battalion, Queen’s Own (Royal West Kent Regiment) died of wounds in France on Saturday, May 5th. Born in Kildare, Ireland, he was a son of the late Mr. Richard Whitman, head porter at Leighton Railway Station for many years, and a brother of W. H. Whitman, who was brought up by Mr. J. J. Clarke, of Church Square, and is now on service in France. Of Lance Corporal Whitman, the “Star” reports; “The death of Mr. Whitman adds another name to the roll of Argus Company’s employees who have made the great sacrifice. He served his apprenticeship in the Johannesburg office, and remained with the company afterwards, proving himself an efficient workman and a loyal colleague. He went through the German West Campaign with the Transvaal Scottish, and answered the call when it came, and went to England at his own expense for training. His loss is deeply felt, but the grief of his relatives and comrades is tempered with the knowledge that he did his duty.” He was aged 27, and the address of his mother, Emily, is given as 207, Bertha Street, Kenilworth, Johannesburg, South Africa.) NBT 1917 July 10th Tue. News has been received that Driver James Frederick Brown, of the 9th Divisional Supply Column, Royal Army Service Corps, died on June 6th in the 2nd Canadian Hospital, LeTreport, France. The funeral took place the following day at the British cemetery, LeTreport. Driver Brown slipped from a lorry some time ago, and one of the wheels of the vehicle passed over his left leg. During his three months in hospital his leg had to be amputated, but mortification and later dropsy followed. Mrs. Brown, who had been with her husband in France for three weeks, attended the funeral. Aged 42, he was the son of Mr. and Mrs. J. Brown, of Queen Street, Leighton Buzzard, and for many years had been a driver on the L.U.E.T. Resident at West Ealing, he joined up at Grove Park in February 1915, and left for France the following May. At 115, Uxbridge Road, Hanwell, apart from his widow he leaves three children. NBT 1917 July 10th Tue. Official intimation has been received that Sergeant Robert J. Beaumont, of the 8th Battalion, Bedfordshire Regiment, was killed in action on Sunday, June 24th 1917. Born in Norwich, he was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont, of Heath Road, Leighton Buzzard, and his wife and children live at Bedford. Being in the Territorials, he went to Egypt when war broke out, and after serving in Gallipoli without a scratch, then came to England ‘time expired.’ However, he subsequently rejoined and went to France last December. An “old boy” of Beaudesert School, he was 28 years of age, and had been recommended for distinction for carrying ammunition to the troops near Hill 60. NBT 1917 July 17th Tue. Many letters of thanks are being received by the Leighton War Hospital Depot, including this from a ‘Poilu’ at Salonika; “I have lived more than ten months in contact with the English, our brothers in arms. I was able to appreciate the gentle fraternity which the misfortunes we are living through have brought about between the French ‘Poilu’ and the English ‘Tommy.’ Every day brings forth some fresh indication of this touching sympathy even to Salonika, where all manner of comforts reach us. It is impossible to tell you of the joy with which we receive these proofs of friendship in this country, where we are so far away and lacking so many things. On leaving Salonika I was sent to Nimes, and there again I was the object of your goodness. If you could only come and see us you would see us as bright as poppies in our red bed jackets, which make us look like pink babies. For all this I want to thank all you good fairies who work for the ‘Poilu’ of France.” The Military hospital, Belfast, writes; The consignment of supplies which is periodically received from your Depot is above criticism, both as regards quality and workmanship. We and the patients are delighted. It saves the nurses an immense amount of work to have surgical dressings so skilfully and carefully prepared.” The 11th Casualty Clearing Station, B.E.F., where many consignments have been sent writes; “Many thanks for the hospital requisites received, which deserve nothing but praise. You are doing a noble work in a noble way. I trust you will continue to do so as long as this awful war lasts. Without your splendid help I fear that our patients would have been obliged to forego some of those comforts which count for so much under the trying conditions of this campaign. May Providence help you to continue to carry on this self imposed task.” NBT 1917 July 17th Tue. Mrs. Mary Pantling, 48, Plantation Road, has received from the Chaplain of No. 7, Casualty Clearing Station, a short note stating that her son, Arthur, has been severely wounded. He adds; “He wishes me to send you his love and to ask you not to worry. He will be sent down to the Base as soon as he is able to travel.” Mrs. Pantling has not received any news regarding another son, Horace, who has been serving in the Sherwood Foresters for 12 months. He has been missing since April 28th. Two other sons are also serving in the Army. (Formerly of the Royal Fusiliers, Private Horace Pantling, of the 10th Battalion, Loyal North Lancashire Regiment, was killed in action on the Western Front on Saturday, April 28th, 1917. Born and resident at Leighton Buzzard, he was 24, and had been a private in the Salvation Army.) NBT 1917 Aug. 7th Tue. Private Thomas Kiteley, the son of John and Emily Kiteley, of 17, Friday Street, was killed in action on July 22nd. He was with the 69th Company, Machine Gun Corps, and in a letter to his parents, a lieutenant writes; “Dear Mrs. Kiteley. With much regret I have to inform you that your son, Pte. Kiteley, was killed in action on the 22nd July, 1917. Please accept this, my deepest sympathy, in your sad loss. May I add that we have lost an excellent and faithful soldier, one who was never found wanting. Although only having been with us a short time, he carried out his allotted task with the heart of an Englishman, in many cases proving a fine example to many of the older soldiers. I must ask you to forgive me for not having written you before, but I was near him when he was struck, losing two other men, myself also being hit, but fortunately not severely. I am very sorry to say I have been unable to find any of his private property, but I hope to in the near future.” Formerly with the Royal Fvusiliers, Private Kiteley was aged 21, and had only been in France for five weeks. Having served his apprenticeship with them, before being called up he had been employed by Messrs. Aveline and Phillips, and was well known in Leighton Buzzard. NBT 1917 Aug. 7th Tue. On Tuesday morning, Joseph and Debra Groom, of 71, Lake Street, received a short note from the Matron of No. 4 Casualty Clearing Station, France, informing them of the death of their youngest son, Frederick, of the 1st Battalion, Hertfordshire Regiment, attached to the 234th Field Company, Royal Engineers. Aged 29, he died on Thursday, July 26th, and only the day before his sister had received a card from him saying that he was all right. He died from shell wounds in the right leg, forearm and left thigh, and being conscious until the end, asked the Matron to send his love to his mother. Being employed at the Wire Works, he had only been released for the Army in January, firstly serving with the Beds. Regiment and then the Herts. Two other brothers are serving in the Army. Born at Stanbridge, he was a resident of Leighton Buzzard, and had been a bandsman in the Salvation Army. NBT 1917 Aug. 21st Tue. Mrs. Major, of 34, East Street, has received official notification that her son, Private Joseph Major, has been admitted to the 2nd Australian Hospital, Egypt, suffering from a gunshot wound. He has sent two letters saying that he is getting on all right, and in a letter sent before his wound he wrote that his battalion were “still busy at the shooting gallery with the Turks, the shots being free in this case, not two a penny!” NBT 1917 Sep. 11th Tue. Mrs. W.S. Deacon, of 30, South Street, Leighton Buzzard, has received an interesting letter from her husband, who is a driver in the Motor Transport A.S.C. in France. He writes; “We have been having very exciting times lately, and have been in some very hot places. As a matter of fact we have never been out of the range of German guns except for a few days after landing here; I have been very close to the trenches, and have seen “Hell” upon earth, but one gets used to it. The most wonderful sight is an attack at dawn. The sky is lit by all kinds of fire, the heavens seem in flames, the earth rocks, and the roar of guns is like thunder from above, and still our boys go on with dash and courage, and win what they are out for. They are heroes all. The Germans are beaten, so far as any hope of winning this war, and they know it. They have mere boys fighting for them. Only the other day I stood beside one young boy who was having his face and hand dressed, only too pleased to be out of it, and too young to be away from a parent’s care. The German rank and file are tired of it all, and I firmly believe they will soon give in, although they are fighting very hard. Their losses are terrible; they have had their day and it is now ours. The Hun is beaten, and he now realises his mistake in rousing the old Lion from his slumbers.” All Mrs. Deacon’s brothers have been serving in the Army since the beginning of the war. Three are in France, and one in Salonika. Her father is in the R.D.C. (In the issue of October 9th, 1917, a reply to this letter is published, expressing ‘advice,’ and a somewhat different opinion); “Sir. You will not be surprised to hear that the local paper, now that the war has got “well going,” finds its way into all sorts of out-of-the-way corners out here, and its contents are thoroughly perused by many local lads. I am one of the weekly recipients, and after I have finished with it, it is handed round to several others. We are, as you may have heard before, a merrier lot than most of our good folk at home think, and roars of laughter may often be heard at times when one would least expect them. But I don’t think a heartier laugh has been heard for some time among us than the one which greeted my reading of the letter in your issue of September 11th, under the above heading, written by Mr. Deacon, of the Motor Transport Section of the Army Service Corps! R.N. BURNELL B.E.F., France.” (The editor replies; “The M.T., A.S.C., always hotly resent any suggestion that they have a “cushy job,” and point to their casualty lists as a proof. The point has been thoroughly thrashed out in the motoring journals, and the general trend has been to show that motor lorry driving at the Front is like the curate’s egg “good in parts.”) NBT 1917 Sep. 11th Tue. Mr. Allen Tattam, the son of Mr. E. Tattam of Leighton Buzzard, is in the trenches, and writes to his father; “I have just had a good time with a genial Poilu at my favourite game of draughts. Some of these Frenchies are rattling fine players. My man was as full of strategy and devices as Wilhelm is ready to creep into peace. Who is at the bottom of this Stockholm business? God knows, you and I want peace as well as these delegates. Let the Government keep this Labour party in their proper places - and they may as well tell the Pope to give his undivided attention to his holy post. We know well the Huns are at the bottom of all these tricks. The war will pan out in our favour before long, and much sooner without any interferences. The beauties are on the trot, they are doubling back for all they are worth. Now let me say - and we all say - We belong to the party to settle the question of war, and if there is any disloyalty at home - for that is what it amounts to - there is the chance of making our men kick. And, after what we have gone through, and intend going through, what would Old Mother England look like if we are upset? At this particular juncture a very firm hand must rule in the Old Country, and severely check those who won’t fight themselves or let others. We alone have the say in this matter. Although an old Bucks Hussar, you see I write as a Colonial in speaking of Mother Country, having joined the very first contingent from the Commonwealth, as thousands of us have done, and thrown up good positions. If we were a bit impetuous at the first to go at the foe, and suffered much from it, we are now hardened and, it is not too much to say, good fighters, for we have been through some of the heaviest engagements. All our flesh and blood are full of continued fight, and we only ask for every assistance available to back us up. After the fearless sacrifices of life, to say nothing of the untold money spent, if we are to be dictated to by a body of cranks, it gives every opportunity of creating discord amongst us, and unless the tide of these faddists is stemmed, we deserve to be annihilated.” NBT 1917 Oct. 2nd Tue. Private Will Clarke, the son of police constable Clarke, of South Street, has returned to his regiment after a second period in hospital. However, he writes to his parents that they need not worry as he was not wounded, only buried, as he was on the Somme. Now recovered he is glad to be back with his comrades, since during his stay in hospital it was bombed for three nights in succession by enemy aeroplanes. NBT 1917 Oct. 2nd Tue. Mr. J.W. Gordon, of Church Street, has been informed that his brother, Second Lieutenant S.G. Gordon, of the Rifle Brigade, was killed in action on September 20th. He was the third son of Mr. and Mrs. G. Gordon, of Granville Street, Peterborough, and joined the Army 18 months ago. He had been in France since July 24th, and was recommended for a commission in October. After a course of training at Keble College, Oxford, he was gazetted on May 29th, and writing to his widow his Colonel says; “All our sympathies go out to you in the sad loss of your husband. He was killed while gallantly leading his platoon in action. He displayed the greatest bravery, and he will be a great loss to me and my battalion.” Three of his brothers are serving in the Forces. NBT 1917 Oct. 9th Tue. Mr. & Mrs. George Butcher, of Lake Street, have received the news that their third son, Gunner John Butcher, of the 166th Siege Battery, Royal Garrison Artillery, has been killed in France. He was aged 34, and his widow has received a letter from Major Disall, who writes; “It is with the deepest regret I have to inform you that your husband was killed in action on the morning of the 26th. He was killed instantaneously by a shell which burst in the Battery, and it may be some small consolation to you to know that he cannot have suffered. On behalf of all ranks, I offer you our deepest sympathy in your sad loss. Your husband was buried this morning (Sept. 27) at ---- Military Cemetery.” The funeral took place with military honours, and besides his widow he leaves three young children, the youngest attaining her fifth birthday this week. Mr. Butcher had been in business in Pantiles, Tunbridge Wells, and his wife learned of his death from a comrade, who stated that he was one of a group of five among whom a shell burst one day last week. All were killed. Shortly before the war Mr. Butcher had extended his business at the Pantiles by taking another shop, and his wife has been running the business, at nos. 60 and 62, in his absence. The upholstery part of the enterprise, in which he succeeded his late employer, Mr. Booty, is one of the oldest on the Pantiles. Having joined the R.G.A. in March of this year, he went out to France three months ago and had been unhurt through much heavy fighting. Mrs. Butcher will now be disposing of the business. NBT 1917 Dec. 25th Tue. Before the war, Trooper C.H. Chandler was employed as porter at Leighton Buzzard Workhouse, and from Egypt writes to the Workhouse Master, Mr. C. Swaffield; “Once more I have a good deal of spare time on my hands, while recovering from injuries to my leg, which I got on the 13th November in a cavalry charge at the village of ----. It is the same leg that I hurt last January at Widford. I have sprained the foot and injured my right groin, but it is going on fine. I am about 100 miles from the line, or by now it may be more, for ‘Johnnie’ is well on the run this time; in fact just lately we have had a job to keep upsides with him. We used to fight him in the day-time, and at night he used to ‘ernche,’ as they say. We started the ‘great push’ on the 27th Oct., and I stuck it till Nov. 13th and my word it wanted sticking, night and day. The worst of this country is we had a job to get water for the horses and men, and several times we went all day without water (and the horses went so long as 56 hours without a drink or their saddles off) on quarter rations, one tin of bully beef and three biscuits for two days. I must tell you about our charge. It happened about 12.30 p.m. on 13th Nov. We had been waiting for it since daybreak - six regiments of cavalry - and at last the order came to draw swords and charge straight through the village, and away we went. We forgot everything, even the shrapnel falling around like rain, and machine guns from the ridge beyond us. It was just one mad gallop straight at him, and I did my bit before my horse fell. I got up and caught a spare horse and tried to mount, but I couldn’t, so I just had to wait for the sand-cart to come along and pick me up. We had a rotten journey to the hospital, three days getting down, but the Red Cross is very good to us. We get plenty of food, cocoa, tea, cakes, chocolates and smokes. I suppose you don’t happen to know when this will all be over? I have had quite enough this last week or two. How are things looking in England? Do you ever get a visit by the raiders there? Perhaps you are too far inland.” NBT 1918 Mar. 19th Tue. Private Percy Avery, a local baker, was a crew member aboard one of the two 600ft. airships, which, during ‘Business Men’s Week,’ sailed over London. He joined the Naval Air Service two months ago, and writes to his parents, William and Alice Avery, of 18, Ashwell Street, Leighton Buzzard; “I have had my first flight in our airship, No. 9, 1,000 horsepower. It was simply lovely. We were up in the air 9 hours, and covered a distance of 350 miles. Our journey was to London, dropping leaflets. We came as far as Willesden, circled all round Wormwood Scrubs, went all over the Strand and Westminster. I can’t explain to you on paper what it was like. I am going up again to-morrow (Sunday), out to sea, by the Wash. I have been very excited since the officer told me I was to go up with them. In a good many places we dropped to 250 feet from the ground, and could see everybody running out of their houses and people stopping their horses and motors to have a look up, because our engines make such a noise.” (Air Mechanic 1st Class Avery, Royal Air Force, died on Thursday, November 14th, 1918, aged 27. He is buried at Leighton Buzzard.) NBT 1918 Mar. 26th Tue. Corporal John Leach, of the Middlesex Regiment, whose wife and children live at 48, Stanbridge Road, has received a parchment certificate for gallantry and devotion to duty, signed by the Major General commanding his Division. This was for an incident which occurred on March 3rd, in a daylight raid on the enemy’s position near Passchendaele, when Corporal Leach had command of a section of riflemen. Following up the bombers, he led them down the enemy trenches and captured two of the enemy, whom he personally escorted back to his lines. Having brought back the whole of his section, he then volunteered to go out into No Man’s Land, in search of one of the men of the platoon who had not returned due to an injured ankle. NBT 1918 May 7th Tue. From hospital at Dewsbury, Corporal Archie Bambrook writes to his parent in Leighton Buzzard, regarding the action in which he was wounded; “The German bombardment started on 21st March. Talk about artillery! I have never seen such shelling since I have been out here. A sergeant and I were ordered to take the gun team up to the battery, and a wagon team to take ammunition had also to group, stand by and await orders. The battery was in action as hard as it could go. Shells were flying about all over the place, and we had two bombardiers killed in the gun-pit, three more severely wounded and two officers slightly wounded. This was at ---. Then we had to retire to ---, where the guns were nearly captured. The German infantry were nearly on top of them, and our gunners took away the breech blocks. Machine gun bullets were pinging all over the place and the wonder is all of us were not killed. After a bit our infantry drove them back, and then we rushed forward and after a struggle got the guns back. We had to keep drawing back, and I can’t give the names of the places we passed through. I never had my boots or my clothes off from the 20th March to the 28th, when I got wounded and they took them off to the clearing station. Talk about being tired! One day there were eight flying machines over the lines letting fly at us with machine guns. Another day the enemy got a balloon up and started shelling us. Our O.C. told us to shift the horses, and as we did a shell caught me. I never heard it explode. Blood was pouring down my leg and I started going off. I made motions to a bombardier and he caught me just as I was falling off my horse. My breath went so short I thought I should die choked, but thank God I am worth several dead ones yet. I did not know any more until I found myself in hospital. I am now getting on, but very slowly.” From another source, Mrs. Bambrook has heard that about fifty drivers and 100 horses were ordered to move a little further back. Just as they were finishing this move a shell fell in the middle of them, and her son was hit in the right breast. The men and horses scattered as more shells began to fall, but his chum, Bombardier Hughes, went back, lifted him from his horse, and laying him down began to bandage his wound. Despite the imminent danger of more falling shells, Bombardier Hughes carried his friend to a trench and fitted a pad to stop the flow of blood. Then help arrived, and he helped to carry Archie to a dressing station a mile behind the lines. NBT 1918 June 25th Tue. News is received that Miss H.M. Dickinson, formerly of Cublington, the daughter of Mrs. Dickinson, of Heath Road, Leighton Buzzard, has been awarded the Military Medal for services in the recent fighting. This was for driving an ambulance at the front, and for rescuing wounded under fire. NBT 1918 July 2nd Tue. Mrs. Holland, of ‘Kinson’, Vandyke Road, has received the following letter from her brother. He is one of the ‘Old Contemptibles’, and since 1914 has served in France continuously; “Yes, we have been having a pretty sultry time out here and so has Fritz. We shall come out top dog in the end, there is nothing surer. We have got to thank the Russians for prolonging the war. Surely mortal men never had to face such awful weapons before, but we will endure to the end. Surely, it is about time they treated the gentle Hun a bit stricter at home. Don’t waste any sympathy on the prisoners you see in England. I know that there are a lot of people at home who think the Germans are to be pitied; it is a pity the Conchies, gloomy Deans, Pacifists who cant about peace on earth and haven’t the grit to try and bring it about, don’t live in stricken France, then they would have the war brought home to them. Think of the good men and true who lie buried in a foreign land. We should be traitors if we let them die in vain. We are having some glorious weather out here now, and the only thing that is polluting the earth is the gentle Hun. Away on our right they are fighting like hell; perhaps it will be our turn next. We are not downhearted, the Kaiser’s hosts will never break the hearts of the Briton.” NBT 1918 Nov. 5th Tue. Serving with the Independent Air Force, during July and August, Lieutenant John Alfred Lee, of Leighton Buzzard, wrote a series of letters to his parents. The following are typical extracts; In an early letter:- “I was pretty lucky in getting put on a raid the morning after we arrived. Observers were a bit scarce; otherwise we might have had to wait a bit before doing anything. … I am not sorry at all to be over here, and it is not at all the terrifying place described by some persons. It is, if anything, rather disappointing. I came out expecting ‘blood, hair and teeth’ all over the place, and instead there is little to see at all. We are living in a quiet peaceful place, only worried by Hun air raids which occur pretty frequently, but don’t do much damage.” In a later letter:- “We did a real good raid to-day, one of the exciting sort wherein we were attacked by fourteen Huns, each with the intent to kill. Our machine was the last one in the rear formation, so we got the whole lot round us. I got three under my tail and four above it. The others tried to attack from the front, but finally contented themselves with ‘stunting’ about each side of us. I gave the top four a pretty hot time, I think; anyhow, one turned on its back and then cleared off, while the others receded to a greater distance. The blighters underneath, however, were awfully hard to get at and did quite a lot of damage. I could see them sticking their noses up and spraying the air with bullets, and could see the ‘tracer’ coming up, pretty close too. Two of our tail bracing wires went with a ping. Then one bullet went by the pilot’s head and smashed the magneto. Another burst carried away the strut which supported the tail, and that member began to wave ominously in the breeze. I think I got the blighter who had done it though, as I saw my ‘tracer’ go into him, and he side-slipped for several thousand feet and cleared off. Several of them followed us as far as the lines, and I could not move them because my gun kept jamming. However, we got safely through, though most of the tail controls were shot away and made landing a rather ticklish job. We found about twenty or thirty bullet holes through the tail and fuselage and about a dozen through the planes. … Altogether, it was a topping raid; we got our bombs smack on a factory and must have done no end of damage.” “We have started our ‘frightfulness’ again. We did a pretty successful raid this morning. Went to ---and put the wind up the Huns by dropping plenty of bombs. On the way we met quite a lot of their scouts, who wisely kept a respectful distance away. The only one who came close was sent earthwards in a spin. … I enjoy myself immensely and find it quite good sport, but we do not get enough fighting to have a really exciting time. You cannot, of course, leave the formation to chase Huns, so you just sit tight and wait for him to come close; then, of course, he goes down every time as he gets four or five guns on him at once. Occasionally we are attacked by a whole mob of Hun planes, when they get quite courageous and come in close. Then they catch it jolly hot and go down in spins and flames. I have not yet been in one of those colossal dog-fight shows, but I think they must have great sport.” “This morning’s affair was not so bad, but of course our engine had to go ‘dud’ soon after crossing the lines, so we had to turn round and get back as best we could. ‘Archie’ was pretty interested in us, but it is amusing to see how far away their shells burst. Sometimes they do get close and lift your tail up a bit, but not often. They make a very weird noise, too, a sort of ‘whoop’ like a door slamming, and then the black smoke goes floating past. It quite startled me the first time I went over. I thought it was the engine or something as we rocked a lot, but I looked round and found endless shells bursting away behind us. This goes on all the time we are over Hunland, so you soon get used to it.” “I have taken part in several interesting raids since I last wrote to you, but not one of them has resulted in a real heavy fight. Huns seem too shy to fight close, and only do a lightning dive past our tail or something like that. ‘Archie,’ at the height we go, is very inaccurate … They come very thick though, and form a sort of barrage with an exploding shell about every twenty yards, but it is usually miles in front or behind. The trenches look funny from above. We can’t see any men, of course, but the ground is absolutely smothered with shell holes. We wander all over Germany, which looks quite a pretty place and might be quite decent but for the people who live there. We are generally marring the beauty of their cultured towns and putting the ‘wind up’ the civilian Hun, who do not like us a bit. Their aeroplanes do not worry us, though the Rhine valley is getting jolly hot now.” “Owing to the dud weather, which looks like lasting for weeks, we are having another spell of inactivity, which gets us horribly fed up. … For lack of general matter I may as well describe the general feeling experienced on a raid. Rising at the most unearthly hour in the morning you proceed to clothe yourself as for the arctic, and thus encumbered wander round collecting maps, ammunition and guns, which you inspect and place in the ‘bus.’ Climbing into your ‘office’ you go to sleep whilst the pilot takes off. Reaching a height of something like 20,000 feet, it becomes intensely cold, whereupon you wake up and stamp about the ‘bus’ to get warm. By this time ‘warmth’ comes to you in the shape of ‘Archie’ and seizing your map you try to locate the offending battery by watching for the flashes of his guns. In the distance you see a speck, another, and finally twenty specks which rapidly take the shape of Hun scouts painted in weird and wonderful colours. You then seize your gun and prepare for action. There is a flash as a brilliantly painted ‘Albatross’ dives past your tail. You shoot, and if you are lucky the Hun continues his dive to earth in flames. At this stage you become dangerously cool and deliberate as in turn you fire at the many Huns around. The others in your formation do likewise, and finally the enemy is driven off, sometimes with severe loss. Several times you may be interrupted thus, and the whole of the three or four hours spent over Hunland are as a rule fairly exciting. On reaching the unfortunate town which is to be the target, the bombs are released. Then you are busy. You have to observe the position of the bursts and note them down. Meanwhile Huns are all round you as this is their favourite time for attack whilst you are engrossed in the dropping of bombs. However you get safely back and have a good breakfast.” “We did a topping show this morning. Went to --- . I think it is the first time it has been raided. We were congratulated by General Trenchard. It was no end of a way into Hunland, and we had to fight about five times our number of Huns both ways. We met at least forty enemy machines and fought them for about four hours without a stop, carrying the fight to the objective and back again, dropping our bombs with complete success. It was quite funny. We were no sooner over the Hun lines than we were absolutely surrounded by Huns of every description. However we set to and gave them a pretty hot time. I can’t think why we did not go down as at least twenty Huns were firing at us at once from above, below and everywhere. The nearest one was about 100 yards away. I managed to put him down in flames and he blew to pieces a few thousand feet below. Several other were shot down, and this must have disturbed their aim, for none of ours went down though most of them were hit. I must have had a pretty near go as a bullet came through the top plane, along the fuselage and through the tail. It would have caught my head nicely if I had not been reaching down for a new magazine. Personally I enjoyed myself, but thinking it over, it must have been dangerous, but even a ‘pukka’ fighting squadron could not come off better.” “Every time we go over now we meet Huns of every type and never less than twenty at once; sometimes forty or fifty attack us. They are improving their home defence system enormously. Their ‘Archies’ are becoming almost a menace. To-day they got our range to a foot and we were blown all over the sky. … This excitement makes a raid much more interesting and proves that we are gaining one of our objects which is attracting the Hun from the North. We have no end of fun out of these raids. Imagine the ‘wind up’ in Frankfort when we dropped our bombs and sent a Hun down in flames in the same place. What must they think when we, the raiders, escape unharmed, having sent down half a dozen of their cherished stunt pilots? They must get horribly fed up. There are certain German squadrons we meet along the Rhine who are at least brave, though probably foolish. Their favourite method of attack is to climb high and drop like a dozen arrows straight through the formation in an absolutely vertical dive, firing all the time. They have to pass between our machines, and we get them so close that many of them never get out of their dive and continue to earth in flames. But even a Hun is not a cheerful sight when in flames and nearly always we are so close that you see the look of terror on the pilot’s face as he jumps clear of the burning mass.” (Serving as an observer with 55 Squadron, Royal Air Force, Second Lieutenant Lee was killed on Sunday, August 25th, 1918, when during a bombing raid on Luxemburg his aircraft, a D.H. 4, A2131, was hit by anti aircraft fire. He was 18, and the son of John and Laura Lee, of 76, High Street, Kempston, Beds.) NBT 1918 Nov. 12th Tue. Private John Godfrey, Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, is in hospital suffering from a bullet wound through the muscle of the right arm. Writing of his adventures to his brother in law, P.c. Cheshire, of South Street, Leighton Buzzard, he says that he was one of sixteen men who went ‘over the top’ in a fog. They had advanced for about four hours when the fog suddenly lifted, and they found themselves faced by over eighty Germans armed with machine guns. However, as soon as the Germans saw the British troops they threw down their arms and surrendered, officers and men alike. Unfortunately a barrage then burst over them, and it was some hours before the captives could be brought in. NBT 1918 Nov. 26th Tue. Aged 27, Private Tom Hyde, of the Middlesex Regiment, whose wife and child live at 28, East Street, Leighton Buzzard, was killed in action on Friday, November 8th. In a letter, the Reverend Clyde Harvey, C.F., chaplain of the 8th Middlesex Regiment, states that he was killed instantly by a shell, and suffered no pain. Born at Leighton Buzzard, he was a son of William and Mary Hyde, of East Street, and had been employed by Mr. W. Willis, a builder, before joining up. Over a year ago he was wounded in the knee, and because the joint stiffened up was sent to Ireland on garrison duty. However, during the last German ‘push’ he was again drafted to France. He left a widow, Margaret, of 28, East Street, Leighton Buzzard, and is buried at Blaugies Communal Cemetery, Belgium. NBT 1918 Nov. 26th Tue. Just as flags were being hung out for the cessation of hostilities, Mrs. Elizabeth Stevens, of 12, Plantation Road, Leighton Buzzard, received news that her husband, 28 year old Sapper Samuel Stevens, of the 157th Field Company, Royal Engineers, was dangerously ill. He had been admitted to a casualty clearing station in France on November 8th, and died on the 13th from pneumonia, following influenza. Besides a widow, he leaves a small daughter. NBT 1918 Dec. 3rd Tue. Mr. and Mrs. F.G. Claridge, Hoddesden Villa, Leighton Buzzard, have just welcomed home their son, Geoffrey. He has been interned in Austria for 4½ years, and is now able to give a full account of his experience. At the outbreak of war he was principal of the Berlitz School at Murienbad, and was told not to leave the school, which was in the same building as the Prefecture, under pain of arrest. He was then allowed to move to Carlsbad before war was declared on Austria, but was not allowed to be out of doors after 8p.m. due to the ‘bad treatment of Austrians in England.’ While he was there, all Russians were arrested, but Englishmen and Frenchmen were not unless denounced by some ‘patriot.’ However, with feelings running high it was dangerous to be overheard speaking English in the streets. From Carlsbad, the English prisoners were all sent in October 1915 to a village ten miles away, where they were allowed to take rooms, but had to live as best they could. Much the same was the case at Waidhofen and Drosendorf, in Lower Austria, where they were placed in civilian lagers in March 1916. Everything was very primitive, and most of the villagers had never seen strangers before, let alone foreigners. The camp was one of the worst in Austria, and those who had the means were very glad to be allowed to live outside. The fate of the large numbers of Russians who were kept behind barbed wire in this camp justifies the worst things that have been said of Austria’s mismanagement and callousness to the sufferings of prisoners of war. Unlike the English, these Russians received little or no help from their Government; their food was simply turnips or boiled cabbage with practically no bread. The strongest constitutions broke down under such privations, and last winter there were so many deaths amongst the prisoners that the village carpenter spent his whole time making coffins. As Mr. Claridge recalled, “Death and disease became so commonplace that one hardly realised the horror of it all. And the worst part of it is that food was cut off from these men before there was any real shortage in the country.” “The name of the Prefect of the district of Waidhofen, Baron Bosizio, on account of the really barbarous treatment meted out to the civilian prisoners in this district under his command till 1916, ought to be recorded. Those unfortunates who were brought to this district soon after the beginning of the war were housed and fed in a manner more suitable to animals than men. Old buildings, such as the castle at Karlstein and the infamous “Schuttkasten” at Drosendorf, without windows, and in generally dilapidated conditions were greatly improved during the course of the war, but the food given to the poor men has never been sufficient to maintain life.” “The Commandant at Droosendorf, Baron Doblhoff, was more or less correct in his attitude to the better class civilians, but I can well remember an instance of the sort of justice he meted out to men whose conduct had been complained of. I happened to be in his office when a farmer brought him a prisoner he employed in agricultural work, with a complaint about the man’s conduct. After hearing the farmer’s version of the affair, the Commandant asked a soldier, who scarcely understood the prisoner’s language, to interpret the man’s account. The man stated that the food given him was not fit to eat, whereupon the commandant ordered him to be put in a cell for three days with a fast of twenty-four hours, “so that he might get a better appetite.” During the war we Englishmen often wondered why no exchange of civilians could be arranged, and were constantly informed that the British Government bore all the blame. We were always being told that we ought to be thankful that we were not treated in the same manner as the Austrians in England. Having a defective heart I repeatedly made applications for a medical examination, and told the Commandant that if I had been an Austrian in England I should have been released long before. The Austrian authorities nearly always found everybody who was not hopelessly ill capable of military service. A short time ago an Englishman died at Drosendorf, who, as he was consumptive, should never have been detained. His release arrived on the very day he died, but his case had been disregarded more than four years. It appeared to us that the Spanish Embassy was far too lax in its efforts on our behalf, and we all considered the Embassy’s protection as existing merely on paper. Of course, I am unable to say whether it was really possible to arrive at any result through such diplomatic means. Englishmen were the only ones really looked after. Voluntary societies or relations sent out parcels of food, and the Red Cross, too, did a splendid work. Fifty per cent of the contents of parcels was stolen. Some packages arrived with only one or two out of fourteen or fifteen articles intact. Others came empty. But what did come to hand was always enough to keep the prisoners from starving, except during one awful three months this year when all parcels were held up by the Austrian Government under a claim for Customs’ duty. It was only under the pressure of threats that certain Austrians interned in England would be put on the diet given by Austria to Russian prisoners that the parcels were allowed to go through. That was a frightful three months. We had to pay as much as a sovereign for a loaf of bread, and £2 for a fowl. No one had the means to go on paying such fearful prices, and there were some desperate occasions when we had practically nothing to eat at all. But in the last few months there was a better arrangement.” The condition of things in Austria was equally desperate. “In 1915 we thought they could not possibly hold out: they put up with things I am sure no other people in the world would have put up with, and still they held out. We simply lost all power of comparison.” The prisoners were allowed to read the Austrian and German newspapers, and occasionally from criticisms in the Labour journals they gleaned something of the truth, but the Austrian ruling classes had unbounded confidence in German military capacity and in ultimate victory, until the German retreat began. They believed that the West front would never be broken. Revolution was also thought impossible, and the outbreaks in Austria and Germany took ninety per cent of the people by surprise. National divisions in Austria were thought to make a successful revolution impossible. The news of the armistice on the Italian front was published immediately by the newspapers, and Mr. Claridge applied at once to the Commandant of the camp for permission to leave. The reply was that he could do as he liked, and it was not long before he got down to Vienna. There had been shooting in the streets the day before but beyond broken windows there was nothing unusual to be seen, except great crowds of people. Soldiers were coming back from the front in the most utter confusion. “No one who had not seen could believe it. … Every possible square inch of the railway trains was crowded. There were soldiers on the roofs, the buffers, the platforms, and even the locomotive itself. On the southern railway the authorities picked up in the tunnels the bodies of 290 men who had been swept off the roofs. The down trains from Vienna to the Italian front were not crowded; and I managed to get a seat. I originally intended to come home by Switzerland, but just at that moment the Bavarians had invaded the Tyrol on the Swiss frontier and it was impossible to get out of Austria through Switzerland, so I took a ticket for Laibach, on the way to Trieste. There are no Germans there, only Jugo Slavs, and they were willing to help me. I got into a cattle truck with a lot of returning Italian officers, but we had not travelled more than an hour when the train stopped and we were told it would not be allowed to go any further. There was no village here, only a camp with a large field full of horses from the Italian front, and the officer in charge told us they belonged to nobody now the Government had gone and we could have what horses we liked for two crowns each. Some of the Italian officers wanted to take them, but as it was possible we might have been accused further on of having stolen them, we approached the local authorities and got permission to take five ponies and carts. We only had to find fodder for the poor beasts. We drove the whole of the day and then were told by the National Guard that they could not allow the carts to go further. The place was in utter confusion. There were thousands of Italian soldiers coming back on foot and innumerable vehicles going back from the Austrian front filled with wounded, and ambulances, guns and motor cars. We saw very large cannon abandoned on the sides of the road and motor cars that had gone wrong had been pushed into the ditch. Returning soldiers were breaking off pieces of wood to make fires. There was a confusion you could not believe possible. When we saw the newly formed Slovenian committee and told them their guards had taken away our carts they behaved very generously. They had never seen an Englishman of a Frenchman before and were very enthusiastic. They gave money to an officer to find horses at any price so that we could continue our journey. We had to sleep on the bare boards of the restaurant that night, but the next morning we drove off. We were then approaching the old front and the confusion got worse and worse. There were fearful scenes. Many of the men would never get home. We were told we would have to take cover as the Hungarians were on the road shooting at people returning. This was a very mountainous part of the way and that night we came at Adelsberg into the Italian outposts, who took care of our ponies and showed us the way to the railway station. There were no trains for Trieste, but there was a train of open trucks full of Italian prisoners returning. We jumped into the first waggon which was full of coal dust and travelled from 9 o’clock at night until ?? o’clock in the morning. It was very wet and I got a fearful cold. The next day we managed to get a passage to Venice on a naval boat. I escaped getting into quarantine by pretending not to know what they said, and rushed off to the British Consulate. The journey to Cherbourg was very slow lasting from Sunday to Friday morning but I crossed to England comfortably the next day.” Despite being resident in Austria for many years, Mr. Claridge has no desire to return to that country. He is an accomplished linguist, and on his adventurous journey home found his knowledge of Russian, German, French, Italian and Czech invaluable. His only brother gave up a banking appointment in Chili (sic) early in the war to join the Army, and went through the Gallipoli campaign, only to be killed in France. The Claridge family is closely connected with this district, although Mr. and Mrs. Claridge senior have only been resident in Leighton Buzzard for about a year. The family has been connected with Stony Stratford for 300 years, and the present representative in that district has seven sons, all of whom have come through the war safely. NBT 1918 Dec. 10th Tue. Mr. Cyril J. Hopkins, the second son of Mr. J.B. Hopkins, of Broad Oak Farm, Leighton Buzzard, has returned to England after four years internment as a civilian prisoner at Ruhleben. Thankfully, he is physically not much worse for his confinement, but has many everlasting memories. At the outbreak of war he was employed in the Berlin offices of A.E.G., the German firm of electrical engineers, but after the declaration of war the attitude of the Germans to Englishmen underwent a sudden and unpleasant change, and the police became very officious. On the 10th of August he was ordered to report to the principal jail, but, knowing that he would probably be kept there, he attended late in the evening, and was told to call again every third day. Luckily he had lived at the same boarding house for 2½ years, and there he was allowed to remain to continue his work. Around the end of October the chief of A.E.G. then announced that he was continually receiving anonymous letters, complaining that British employees were taking the bread out of the mouths of brother Germans, and so the non Germans were all dismissed with a month’s salary instead of notice. A few days later the newspapers announced that as a consequence of the wholesale internment of German civilians in England, all Britishers would be interned, unless the Germans were released by November 6th. Thus on the morning of that date all the Britishers were collected before daylight at various police stations, and, at their own expense, transferred to the main prison at Alexander Platz. Whilst soup plates were provided in the cells, no food was available, and at about mid day all the prisoners were hustled off to the railway station. Everyone suffered bullying from the police, and in fact to such a degree that some of the men were quite badly knocked about. Indeed, it would prove a relief to get to Ruhleben, away from the police and the mob, but the quarters in the racing stables were not even reasonably comfortable, and whilst some of the early arrivals had been fortunate to get military beds, which could be built up in tiers, for the newcomers the beds were dirty and insufficient, and for some it would be months before they could get even a bed or a blanket. Initially six men were crowded into each horse box, but due to exchanges with England this number was eventually reduced to around four. At first food was provided by a Jewish caterer, who was allowed 6½d per head, but soon the daily ration was reduced to one-fifth of a loaf of heavy, unappetising war bread, coffee without sugar or milk for breakfast, and thin potato soup with a little meat in it for dinner. However, on occasion a piece of blood sausage was also doled out. At a time when the Germans had plenty of food, for the prisoners these rations were totally inadequate, and had it not been for the parcels received from England they would have suffered badly. As for recreational pursuits, the camp was very cosmopolitan, and educational movements and handicraft departments were soon established. Indeed, Mr. Hopkins exchanged French and Russian lessons for English, and taught English to an Englishman who had lived all his life in Belgium and only spoke French! Yet to study was not easy, for the inadequate camp heating was only on for short periods of the day, and during the winter in order to keep warm it was therefore necessary to walk about or to stay in bed. The confinement, and the uncertainty as to the future, also helped to deprive the prisoners of an incentive to study, although almost from the beginning English newspapers had been smuggled into the camp, costing at first, 10s, and later 5s a copy. German newspapers were also available, such that the prisoners were actually in a better position to judge the progress of the war than people at home. Also, before it was realised in England they knew that Germany could not win the war, for even as early as September, 1914, when the German newspapers began to report “victorious retreats from the Aisne,” it became apparent that the German cause was increasingly hopeless, since an exceptionally short war had been planned. In fact as Mr. Hopkins wrote towards the final stages of the war, “All last winter the state of things in Germany was almost intolerable, and it was marvellous how the people were encouraged to hold out. We knew the end could not be far off when the Italians defeated the Austrians on the Piave. Even measured by their March and April offensive we knew that the German power was weakening. The British tanks had a great effect. Machine gun nests were no longer impregnable, and the effect was reflected in the attitude of the soldiers. For the last two years many of them were very sick of the war and their great fear was of being sent to the front.” In 1918 news of the coming armistice, and the revolts at Kiel and Hamburg, reached Ruhleben on November 9th, and in the yard opposite the main gate the inmates clustered to watch the soldiers now come and go without saluting their officers. Then on Saturday a Soldiers’ Council was formed, and two of the members at once addressed the camp, assuring the prisoners that it had taken four years to learn that they were brothers! However, said Mr. Hopkins, “We had not forgotten, if they had, that it was the soldiers who handled us brutally in the early days of the war, and I am afraid the speeches were not very cordially received. But we were jolly at the prospect of release. We were told that all our reasonable wishes would be met by the Soldiers’ Council, but we were warned against going to Berlin as people would be shot in the streets after 6p.m. Permission to go to Berlin was given in a day or two, and I spent most of my last week in Germany there. My first impressions after four years’ absence were what a washed out appearance all the people had, and how empty all the shops were. The mob broke into the Berlin gaol and released ten Englishmen from Ruhleben who had been imprisoned for attempting to escape or other “offences,” and offered them rifles and bayonets. When they learnt these men were English they insisted upon shaking hands.” A special but very cold and dirty train took the prisoners from Ruhleben to Sassnitz on the Baltic, and having been handed over to the Danish Red Cross they were then transported to Copenhagen Arriving in Britain, at Leith with crowds thronging the streets they were afforded a “colossal” reception, and were given free transport, free telegrams, free post cards, ‘and free handshakes,’ before being sent on to Ripon for dispersal to their homes. As with all the repatriated prisoners, Mr. Hopkins felt a little bewildered by the sudden change, and - in the words of the popular song - had no desire to see Germany again “for a very, very, long, long time.” NBT 1918 Dec. 17th Tue. Having just returned to England, after nine months of captivity in Germany and Poland, Private Bert Woodman, the youngest son of Mr. V. Woodman, of Lake Street, Leighton Buzzard, has now been able to recount full details of his wartime experience. Enlisting at the age of 16½, he saw a great deal of service in France, and was knocked out by a shell burst last March near St. Quentin. Of the position his company was holding, the Germans had forced their way through on either flank, and he became a prisoner. Helped along by his comrades, he spent his first night as a prisoner on the pavement in St. Quentin, being sent with his party the next day to some huts twenty kilometres behind the lines. Here they were kept for three days without food. The wounded were then put into cattle trucks and taken to a hospital in Alsace Lorraine, although suffering from a bad wound in the back Private Woodman had received no medical attention for over a week. Even when operated upon he had not been washed, still being covered in the mud from the trenches, and when dressings were applied to his injuries they were of paper, which tore easily. On coming round, the ‘tonic’ offered him was a bowl of mangold soup. After a month in hospital he was ordered to get up and walk to the railway station, but falling down through weakness he had to be wheeled to the station on a handcart. In a long and tedious journey he and the other hospital inmates were even taken as far as Hamburg, in an unsuccessful quest to find a hospital to take them in, and eventually they had to go to Schneidermuhl, in German Poland, ten miles from the Russian frontier, where, after six weeks, Private Woodman had his first bath. Not until July would parcels be received, and for four months the prisoners existed on a daily slice of black bread and a cup of coffee for breakfast, and servings of cabbage and mangold soup at mid-day and 6p.m. However, the Germans fared little better, and were angry that the prisoners got parcels while they went hungry. “London is being shelled from Ostend, and the people are starving,” they were told by their guards, “and your Government is only sending those parcels to bluff us and make believe there is plenty of food in England.” Private Woodman was firstly put to work on a farm and then in a sugar factory, but when news of the armistice arrived all the prisoners downed tools. Thereupon the manager appealed for them to resume work, assuring them that they would be treated as civilians and sent home within a week, but when this did not happen they refused to work, and were soon started off to England via ‘Dantzig.’
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