Active Service Companies

In previous posts I've made several references to the "Active Service Companies" of the King's Own (Royal Lancaster Regiment). An explanation is overdue!

The Second South African War, or Boer War, fought against the Boer republics of the Transvaal and the Orange Free State, began badly for Britain. Several disastrous military reverses were suffered, highlighting gross deficiencies in the Army's structure and organisation. Hurriedly, the government rushed additional troops to South Africa from all corners of the Empire and gradually began to get the upper hand, but a lot of damage to national prestige had been done and Britain's standing in the eyes of other world powers was somewhat diminished. Public opinion at home was a mixture of outrage and dismay that a group of colonial settler-farmers should be inflicting such humiliation on what was then the world's greatest power. Consequently the political situation was rather grave.

On the outbreak of war groups of Volunteers had, perhaps somewhat optimistically, offered their services, but these were rejected, mainly through prejudice, the prevailing military opinion being that the men of the Volunteer Force were little more than "toy soldiers." However, the politicians belatedly realised that there was a large body of semi-trained men available for ready deployment to assist with the operations, and that utilisation of them would both help to assuage the public's discontent and, more importantly, tap into their patriotism. Consequently, the offers were reconsidered and in late 1899 the War Office issued a call to the Yeomanry companies and Volunteer Force battalions affiliated to the various county regiments to supply Active Service Companies to serve in South Africa. Subsequently it is estimated that as many as 20,000 Yeomanry and Volunteers served in South Africa, with contingents also being supplied from Canada and Australia.

Over the next two years the 1st Volunteer Battalion of the King's Own (Royal Lancaster Regiment) and, after it's formation in 1900, the 2nd Volunteer Battalion as well, provided four drafts of Volunteers, with men being drawn from the detachments at Lancaster, Morecambe, Barrow-in-Furness, Ulverston, Dalton-in-Furness, Millom and Hawkshead. There were three separate Active Service Companies despatched to South Africa and one Relief Draft to strengthen the First Active Service Company.

The criteria for selection of the men were rather strict, and led to a lot of would-be volunteers being rejected on the grounds of health, age, and proficiency. One notable area of concern was the requirement to be adept with the standard Army rifle, an area in which most Volunteer detachments had only developed rudimentary skills due to the obvious civilian training restrictions placed on them. The number of men rejected was high and the unlucky ones would have felt this rejection quite keenly, especially when set against the great swell of public emotion which accompanied the formation and despatch of the Active Service Companies; the men were feted royally, both when they departed and when they returned.

However, many Volunteers were accepted and were formally enlisted into the parent regiment as regular soldiers, on regular pay, for a fixed term of one year with the Colours, being posted to the strength of the 2nd Battalion upon arrival in South Africa.

Although no Volunteers were killed in action, two men, both Lancastrians serving in the First Active Service Company, died of disease, and several others were invalided home through sickness. At the end of their period of engagement some chose to remain in South Africa, accepting regular appointments in the King's Own, or joining local civilian and military organisations. Most of the ones who returned home would have continued to serve as Volunteers and would later have transferred to the new Territorial Force when it was created in 1908. Some of them would go on to serve in the First World War; at least four of the Volunters are known to have been killed in that conflict.

The Furness contingent of the First Active Service Company, photographed at Bowerham Barracks, Lancaster on May 10th, 1900, wearing their Volunteers' uniforms. The only definitely identified Volunteer is Ulverstonian Private James Penny, who is ninth from the left on the third row up. However, Colour Sergeant P. Tyrell may be recognised from his rank badge, sitting sixth from the left on the second row up. He was invalided home in June, suffering from enteric fever (Barrow Archive Office).

Private Wilfred Ashcroft, the author of the diary published previously on this blog, is also on this photograph, although sadly I do not know which one he is.

Any hat will do

Young Herbert Carl Gawith sounded as if he was a bit of a 'ne'er do well', as they say. He and his elder brother, James, were born in Kendal, his family later moving to Dalton-in-Furness. At the time of the 1901 Census they weren’t living with their parents but were instead residents of the Industrial School for Boys, Offerton Lane, Stockport, aged 11 and 12 respectively.

I don’t know the circumstances under which they found themselves there, so far away from their home, but it wouldn’t have been through choice. Boys sent to Industrial Schools were usually classed as vagrants, living on the edge of the law, or in many cases living beyond the law. Whatever the reason, they were what would be termed ‘juvenile delinquents.’

Despite the pleasant appearance of the building as shown in the photograph, I’ll bet it was a tough establishment. The discipline regime in such places was notorious; order and a sense of responsibility wasn’t so much instilled into the young inmates as beaten into them.

Coming from such a background Herbert would probably have assimilated into the disciplined life of the Army quite easily when he joined up in 1907. He seems to have taken to soldiering, because rather than serving 3 years with the Colours and a further 9 years on the Reserve (to give him a pension after 12 years service) he appears to have remained a full-time soldier after enlisting. On the outbreak of war in 1914 he was serving in India with the 2nd Battalion.

The 2nd Battalion didn’t move to France straight away; India was far too important to be left unguarded and release of the Regular troops stationed there had to wait until newly-formed units could be transferred to take over the garrison duties.

When he did arrive in France with the Battalion on January 15th, 1915, it was as part of the 83rd Brigade in the 28th Division. Service in and around Ypres and Northern Flanders then followed. At some point between then and May 8th he got wounded, seriously enough to warrant evacuation back home for recuperation. His Service Records have not survived but the May date is a reasonably certain cut-off as on that day the 2nd Battalion was wiped out, the men either dead or taken prisoner.

Following his recovery he wasn't posted back to the 2nd Battalion, but was transferred to the 8th Battalion, co-incidentally the same battalion in which his younger brother, Frederick, was serving. However, during the time he was recovering from his wounds he had his photograph taken again, as can be see from the fact that he is wearing 'hospital blues', the temporary uniform given to patients in military hospitals. He's also wearing a hat bearing the badge of the South Lancashire Regiment, not the King's Own (Royal Lancaster Regiment). Quite why he is wearing another badge is a mystery. There are no records that I can find that suggest he ever served in the South Lancashire Regiment, either before the war or during it. It could just be that he needed a hat for the purposes of the photograph and borrowed it from a fellow patient.

That aside, he was wearing the badge of the King's Own (Royal Lancaster Regiment) when he was killed at Longueval on July 18th, 1916. I wonder how many more 'reformed' citizens like Herbert Gawith were churned out of the Industrial School system only to end up being churned into the mud of the Somme battlefield?

86% correct isn't too bad, is it?

Since the advent of the online database of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission the researching of local war memorials has become a common theme among amateur military historians. Some have published part or the whole of their efforts on the Internet (myself included), while others are content to merely compile a 'Roll of Honour' for posterity.

I have always been very cautious about listing a man where I entertain any doubts as to the accuracy of my identification. I always manage to resist the urge to 'fill in the gaps' unless I'm more or less certain that I've got it right. A few, although thankfully not many, are less circumspect and seem to give in to this temptation.

Does it matter? Yes, I think so. If, by researching the names you intend to specifically perpetuate their memory, then if you've got the wrong man you may as well not have bothered in the first place, no matter how well-intentioned the motive.

I'll illustrate this with a couple of memorial photos provided by my friend Ian Lewis. They are from the Dalton-in-Furness Conservative Club. One is the original, compiled immediately post-WW1, the other is a more recent addition.

The original Roll of Honour as displayed in the Conservative Club. It gives names, ranks, and regiments, including battalions.

The new Roll of Honour displayed in the Conserevative Club, complied with information provided by the online Commonwealth War Graves Commission database.

In the original, Private Edgar Hall is noted as 4th Battalion, King's Own (Royal Lancaster Regiment); in the new Roll of Honour (presumably compiled by one of the Club's members) he is identified as 11868, Private Edgar Hall, 1st Battalion, King's Own (Royal Lancaster Regiment), killed on October 8th, 1915, and buried in Sucrerie Military Cemetery, Colincamps.

It seems highly plausible, doesn't it? A simple transcription mistake made back in 1919 (or thereabouts) when '4th' was mistakenly written instead of '1st'. Edgar Hall isn't a very common name, when all's said and done, and the only other 'Edgar Hall' recorded by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission as serving in the King's Own (Royal Lancaster Regiment) at the time of his death was a bank clerk from Bolton-Le-Sands, near Carnforth.

Time to consult other sources, say, local newspapers from late-August, 1916:

Pte. EDGAR HALL.

         Official intimation was received on the 18th inst. that Private Edgar Hall, “A” Company, 1/4th Battalion King’s Own Royal Lancaster Regiment was killed in the recent advance in France. Private Hall was 26 years of age, and the only son of Mr. J. R. Hall, a director of the Carnforth Hematite Iron Company, Ltd. He was educated at Miss Pickford’s School, Carnforth, and the Royal Grammar School, Lancaster, and only went out to the front about two months ago. At the time of his enlisting, he was a clerk in the Manchester and Liverpool District Bank at Dalton-in-Furness where he had been for about ten years, and was held in high esteem by his employer, colleagues, and many other friends by whom his death is lamented. He was the secretary of the Dalton Cricket Club, and also secretary of the Warton Lawn Tennis Club, and a member of the Dalton V.T.C.

I know next-to-nothing about the Edgar Hall of the 1st Battalion who is buried in Sucrerie Military Cemetery. I do know that he wasn't the Edgar Hall who is commemorated on the original Roll of Honour in Dalton-in-Furness Conservative Club. That Edgar Hall was killed at Guillemont on August 8th, 1916, serving in the 1st/4th Battalion.

However, I can happily report that the other six men named have been correctly identified.

A deadly little strand of DNA

The First World War claimed 16 million lives. The influenza pandemic that swept the world in 1918 (and continued until 1920) killed an estimated 50 million people, perhaps even twice that number. It was termed the 'Spanish Flu', although that name was a misnomer as it probably originated in the Far East.

It emerged in two distinct phases. In early Summer, the first phase appeared without warning. This was termed the “three day fever” and victims tended to recover after a few days, with a low mortality rate. In Autumn, it was a different story. Some victims died within hours of the first symptoms, others after a few days. The medical profession was at a loss to identify and control this pernicious disease and it was indiscriminate, being rampant in both urban and rural areas alike.

Naturally enough, soldiers were not immune to its depredations and to-day the headstones marking the graves of the many servicemen who died in late-1918 and early-1919 can be seen in the churchyards and cemeteries of the United Kingdom. On investigation, most of them are found to have been victims of the pandemic.

Men of The King’s Own (Royal Lancaster Regiment) fared no better than anyone else. One such example was 49980, Private Joseph Murgatroyd, of Dalton-in-Furness.

He hadn’t been a soldier very long, having been conscripted in early-1918. He’d just completed his basic training at Harwich with the 3rd Battalion and had been granted a home leave prior to being drafted out to France.

He most likely contracted the virus in camp at Harwich or on the long train journey back to Dalton-in-Furness. Either way, he fell ill almost as soon as arriving home and was dead within a few days, pneumonia being cited as the cause of death, although it was without a doubt the Spanish Flu’.

Contemporary newspaper accounts describe his military funeral, courtesy of the local detachment of the Volunteer Training Corps - the 2nd Volunteer Battalion, The King's Own (Royal Lancaster Regiment). One hyperbole-riddled report suggested there were “thousands” present, although that was likely an exaggeration. In hindsight, it was probably occasions such as that which further contributed to the spread of the disease; the more funerals they held, the more they would need to hold.

Joe Murgatroyd never did get to fight against a visible enemy. He was felled by an altogether more deadly foe - the H1N1 virus. With the Armistice being called three days after his death, the timing must have made it particularly painful for his family, and thousands of other similarly bereaved  families up and down the land.

In the bag

Stan Hall had grown tired of being an assistant librarian at Millom and enlisted in the Regular Army. Following a few months learning how to drill in an ‘efficient and soldierly manner’ at Lancaster’s Bowerham Barracks he joined the 1st Battalion. The outbreak of war found him stationed at Dover, the 1st Battalion forming part of the port garrison.

On the morning of August 26th, 1914, he was quietly having his breakfast in a field in northern France when all hell broke loose. The Battle of Le Cateau had begun.

There are various accounts of what happened that day, some contradictory. The fact is, it was chaos, and few knew at the time what was really happening in any great detail. Stan survived the initial onslaught but, along with around 350 others from the Battalion, he was taken prisoner. By his own account he was captured, unwounded, on the 27th, at Cambrai. Whether this was correct is now anyone’s guess; the date could have been confusion on his part; the location certainly was, as Cambrai lay to the north-west and the Battalion retreated south. Most probably it was where he thought he was captured, not knowing the geography of the area.

British soldiers being marched into captivity (1915)

His relatives didn’t receive news of his capture until November, such was the time it took for the information to filter through the channels of the Red Cross. In captivity his health deteriorated to the extent where, in February, 1916, he was repatriated under a prisoner exchange scheme. On arrival back in the U.K. he was interviewed about his experiences as a prisoner of war, the information gleaned being used by the authorities to assess how well the men in captivity were being treated.

Reptriated British prisoners of war (1916).

A transcript of his interview has survived in the National Archives (Catalogue File WO/161/98 pp 325-327). It makes for fascinating reading.

Interview No. 326.

Home Address: 29, Settle Street, Millom, Cumberland.

Name, Rank and Regiment: Hall, Stanley, Lance Corporal, No. 10983, K.O.R.L.

Place and Date of Capture: Cambrai, 27 Aug. 1914.

Nature of wound, if any: Nil.


Journey. Aug. 27-28. 1914.

Witness was captured at Cambrai in the course of street fighting when two companies of his regiment were out-numbered in the dusk. His overcoat and money were taken from him on capture and were not restored.

He was taken in a motor-wagon to Halle, and then by train to Germany. The journey lasted 37 hours. Bread was issued, but it was difficult to get water. Prisoners travelled in carriages. The guards on the journey behaved well, but the civil population spat on prisoners when the train stopped.

Sennelager I. Aug. 28, 1914 – Aug. 27, 1915.

Accommodation.

Witness was housed in a stable which contained two stoves, but was cold since little fuel was supplied. A palliasse and two blankets were provided. Washing accommodation was poor, six bowls for 120 men. There were in addition horse troughs and two taps. Soap could be bought after the first few weeks. There was a bath-house where a bath could be obtained once in six weeks or two months. Sanitary arrangements were very defective, open trench latrines near the building.

Two huts were set apart as a hospital for the sick, in which there were a few bedsteads, but not enough to accommodate all the patients. If a man could walk at all it was difficult to obtain admission to the hospital, and little treatment was given when there. The doctor had been a prisoner in France and took no trouble. Witness was sent to this hospital for a fortnight since he was losing flesh and was given extra food to put on weight. The extra food consisted of about 1 ounce of white bread a day. Witness appeared to be in an advanced stage of phthisis.

Food.

The food is described as “terrible,” insufficient and bad, sometimes unfit to eat. Coffee only was issued in the early morning before the men went to work. Dinner consisted of a bowl of soup of some description, very watery at first, but somewhat thicker after. Bread was issued in the evening, with a piece of sausage or pickled fish. For some months past the bread ration has been about one slice per man, 10 to a loaf. There was a canteen where soap and margarine could be bought at fair prices. Food was received from England, sometimes in bad condition in consequence of having been packed in tins. Witness started that wooden boxes are preferable to tins.

Clothing.

Witness kept his own clothing and only received two shirts and a pair of drawers from the Germans. He did not ask for more as he had some sent from home.

Exercise.

There were at first no facilities for exercise in the camp, but the men walked 6 miles each way through swamps to work at agricultural labour. No payment was made. Witness heard of attempts to make prisoners work on munitions. Prisoners invariably refused, and were said to have been punished for their refusal by imprisonment and deprivation of food. The first commandant, from August 1914 to June 1915, was a martinet, who hated the English and treated them worse than other nationalities. He was succeeded by an under-officer who accorded better treatment and allowed boxing, concerts &c., which the former would not permit. Smoking was allowed outside the bungalows. Indoor games were permitted if the prisoners had them.

Religious services were held for R.C.s every day, but not for other denominations until the under-officer, who was appointed as commandant in June permitted an English corporal, who was a divinity student, to hold services. This corporal was also allowed to continue his studies for ordination.

Discipline.

Nothing special to report under this head. Notices in English were posted on doors prohibiting smoking in huts and setting out regulations for keeping hours. Breaches of the rules were punished by making a man stand in the sun or tying him to a tree for two or three hours. No complaint of cruelty.

English were harassed more than the French. If an offence were committed and the perpetrator could not be discovered, all the prisoners were paraded, the French were allowed to fall out in a few minutes, but the English were kept standing for some hours.

Illnesses.

There were no epidemics.

Postal Arrangements.

Letters and parcels came regularly and were opened in the presence of the prisoners. Newspapers and matches were not allowed. Prisoners were permitted to send four postcards and two letters a month. Postcards were received quicker than letters.

American Ambassador came to the camp but did not visit witness’s bungalow. Everything was tidied up under orders before his arrival, but no improvement followed.

General Conditions.

The food was bad till May, but got a little better after that time. On returning from work, men often had to wait three or four hours in rain to draw rations.

Irish prisoners were not allowed to mix with the English. Witness knew nothing of Sir Roger Casement.

In September 1915, witness saw a doctor at a factory where he was engaged in unloading wagons and was ordered to hospital.

This man’s most serious complaint related to the food on which men were expected to work. A long working party worked from 6 a.m. top about 3 p.m. A short working party worked from 6 a.m. to 11 a.m. Coffee was issued at 5.30 a.m., but no solid food was provided with it, and unless a man had kept a portion of bread from the previous day’s rations, he had absolutely nothing to eat until he returned from work. To this the witness attributes the illness from which he is now suffering.

Dortmund. Sept. 1915.

In September 1915, while at Sennelager, this man got attached to a working party at Dortmund, in the hope of getting better food. He was there employed in unloading wagons. He was seen by the doctor at the factory who ordered him to hospital. He was sent to Rennbahn No. 2 Camp for four days, and there examined by a Russian doctor, who prescribed “No work.” He was, however, made to work the day before he left. Next morning he was ordered by a German doctor to the Münster Lazaret. The journey took two hours by train and was accompanied by no particular incident. He was in the charge of a nice sentry.

Münster Lazaret. Treatment in Hospital. Sept. 1915 – Feb. 1916.

In October the witness had pleurisy and was in bed for 10 days, and in November he grew weaker and his chest became bad. He was then ordered to bed, where he remained until exchanged. He had little medicine and no nursing. The food was similar to that supplied in Sennelager Camp i.e., insufficient in quantity and inferior in quality. The sanitary conditions are described as “not too bad.” The Russians were treated worse than other nationalities.

Clothing.

Hospital clothing was supplied. From September to February he had one hospital suit and two changes of underclothing. The sheets were changed once.

Postal arrangements described as “all right.” He returned to England in his own clothing.

Opinion of Examiner as to intelligence and reliability of informant.

The witness is intelligent and, in my opinion, reliable.

Digby L. F. Koe

10^th February 1916.

A month later, on March 23rd, 1916, Stan Hall died.

The Ashcroft Diaries: Part 4

Here's the final instalment of Wilf Ashcroft's journal. It ends abruptly on April 19th, 1902. He gives a clue as to why he didn't continue with it - his book was full - but I feel that someone so committed to recording his activities and thoughts would have been able to overcome that obstacle without too much difficulty. Whatever the reason, it's a pity, because I find this sort of narrative so much more interesting than the higher-level accounts penned by the military historians.

The newspapers did continue to print letters from other men in the Active Service Company and in due course I'll publish a selection of them.

Saturday, April 7th. – Our men have been on watch all night, and it is time this boat was cleaned up a bit, as she is filthy, and it will show the crew how it should be. I get out of it all with being orderly at mess, but have to wash up and clean tables and decks ready for inspection. There is no butter served on this boat, and no milk in the tea, so it is pay, pay, pay, to the crew for our own grub.

Sunday, April 8th. – We arrived at Port Elizabeth at six o’clock on Saturday night, and anchored outside about one and a half miles from the shore. It is a little place, and not much to see. It is the first time our chief officer has been this way, and as the captain is very ill we have to go very slowly. It is a bad coast, so it is safer. We set off for East London at 4.30 this afternoon, and we landed only about 16 men at Port Elizabeth.

Monday, 9th April. – We arrived here this morning at 7.30, and we are about half a mile offshore. We are landing about 400 men of different regiments. We will likely sail again tonight. The “Avondale Castle” is here, and she is a fine boat, and looks a lot better than this miserable ship of ours. You will have read the report about this badly managed boat, and I hope they get fined again. Although I am not taking any harm, and will look after myself. There are a lot on this boat been in several engagements, and are going back. I wish this book had been three times as big, and then I could have kept it and told you how I went on to the front. I must cut it short, and write letters occasionally, and then you will know.

April 9th, 1900 s.s. “Nile,” East London, South Africa. – Dear Mother, I am writing a few lines, hoping you are all well, as I am in the best of health, and can eat anything that comes on the boards. I tell you it is no Mayor’s dinner or supper either, but it comes on, and is soon put out of sight, and no complaints. It is a very poor boat, as you will know before you get this, but I won’t be sorry when we leave her, as we have only two days more on her, and then we will be at Durban, We will proceed to Pietermaritzburg and then to Ladysmith. This is a very nice place to look at from where we are, half a mile from shore or more, and I can only see anything through glasses, and that is not much. We landed here this morning about 7-30 or 8 a.m., and will sail tonight. There are a lot of men staying here, and are just leaving this boat. I tell you they are ready for anything, as they have 100 rounds of ammunition and two days’ rations, and have to go to Bloemfontein from this station. That is a nine mile march; they are the Bedford and Norfolk and Lincoln Militia, and they are a proper rough lot. I pity the Boers as they meet. We have just heard that Lord Kitchener has lost 1,100 men, but cannot think it is true, as there are no papers to read. I have filled my diary book very near, and will send it on later. I wish it had been bigger. You will read all particulars in it, and know how we are enjoying ourselves. We got served out with hammocks last night, and it was the first time for four days and nights. There were no blankets, and we did not want any. I slept like a king till six this morning, and could have slept all day if they would have let me. I have no stamps, but are as well without, as a letter will come just the same without. We are better accommodated on this boat than on the “Tagus,” and two of the men are just settling matters in the way of a fight. They could not keep their feet, as the decks are so slippery in hob nailed boots, and they are just about done up. If you write you must not forget the number, and this is how to address it:- Private Ashcroft, (No. 7305), 1st Volunteer Company Royal Lancaster Regiment, Field Force, South Africa.

Tuesday, 10th April. – We stopped in harbour all day and night, and will set off on Wednesday. There a lot of men left us, and I am not sorry, as the Militia are a coarse lot. Now there are only volunteers left on board.

Wednesday, 11th April. – Left here this dinner time, and set off for Durban. I am told off for watch from 12 till 4 in the morning and night, and it is a lot better on deck. I wish we were off this boat as I am sick of sailing.

Sunday, April 15th. Elandslaagte Camp. I am writing a few lines to let you know that I am quite well, and hope you are the same. We are in camp in this place, where General Symons was killed, and we have been sleeping with arms and ammunition by our side, as we are lying in wait for the Boers coming this way at any moment. I wish they would come, and we would attack them and show them the way. I daresay you know more about the war than we do, for we have seen nothing yet, and don’t think they will let us know much. I have been put in the signallers, and will know more about the war than the other men. The other signallers have been shot or wounded. I was talking to one of our signallers at Pietermaritzburg, He was doing heliographing, and a bullet struck the glass, and he was shot in three places.

Wednesday, April 18th. I am writing this morning to let you know that we were out doing the attack in fun, and I was glad when it was over, as it is so hot. Carrying 150 rounds of ammunition is no fun to carry about and run over rough kopjes and through long grass up to our waist, and through trenches and barbed wire fences. There are about thirty thousand troops camping around here, with over 15 miles of a front, and we are in the centre and have big guns on all sides. There are 15 of us in a tent, and we have to make the most of the small space and have everything ready for our hands. I have to go to the outpost tonight, and there are 20 of us Volunteers told off every night.

Thursday, April 19th. This morning I came in off outpost, and it is a very risky job, as we have to keep our eyes and ears open. I was posted at a colliery where the Boers had been and blown it up, and they had made a smash of it. There are two collieries, and one is working after it had been blown up, as they had a spare engine. We had to lie down among slack coal and make ourselves as comfortable as possible, and take a nap after we came off sentry, as we have only one hour on at a time, and all sorts of funny sounds come along the veldt as Kaffirs, dogs and cattle come straggling along. It began to rain, and made us very miserable, as everything was wet and black, and it is just the time the Boers are expected, and you have to be ready any second. The captain came round and he was soon challenged, and he asked me to keep my eyes open for any signal from a suspected farm, and I saw them signal “C.O.,” and reported it to him, and he sent a patrol to see what it meant, and they could not find out what it was, but are keeping it under supervision, and I pity the man who gets caught. I could see the flashes from the Boers in front, about six miles away, and reported that, and they are supposed to be moving big guns and are getting ready for a move. I hope you get this, and let me know if you received my diary. I had a good wash in water like mud, and cannot get more, as the river for good water is four miles away. I am sending you a bit of fern, like maiden hair fern; there are thousands of different varieties.

"........& 13 others wounded."

War Diaries are, of necessity, brief, and tend only to give the minimum of detail needed to establish a unit’s activities on a particular date. The fate of officers is usually recorded but ‘other ranks’ most often do not merit a mention, except as a tally. To my mind this has the effect of desensitising the reader to the events being described; ordinary men simply become statistics.

The 1st/4th Battalion’s War Diary entry from December 18th, 1915, gives the following detail:

At 11 A.M. 2/Lt Ward while demonstrating to class of beginners use of Grenade Hand No.1 exploded grenade, with result that he was badly wounded, one man killed & 13 others wounded. 2/Lt Ward died in evening at Corbie.

So, we know that the unlucky Second Lieutenant Ward died of his wounds but the other fatality and the thirteen wounded remain anonymous.

The ‘one man killed’ can be identified via various databases as 2452, Private James McQuade, of Barrow-in-Furness, but who were the others, and what became of them?

Fortunately, other sources are available to illuminate the human tragedy behind such scant detail. The following report is transcribed from the ‘Barrow Guardian’ of March 25th, 1916:

DALTON SOLDIER BLINDED.

A KING’S OWN SIGHTLESS BUT CHEERFUL.

RAN WITH EYE IN HIS HAND.

SHRAPNEL GOES THROUGH PRAYER BOOK.

        Sergt. William Kirkby is the first of the King’s Own Royal Lancasters to lose his sight in this terrible conflict. He is now at his home, 13, Cobden-street, Dalton, and when a “Guardian” reporter saw him last Tuesday he was agreeably surprised to find Sergt. Kirkby in a particularly happy frame of mind, and quite cheerful. There was nothing dull or pessimistic about this gallant fellow, who will carry his reminder of the great European war to the end of his days.

        He said he had been in the war zone nine months before the explosion of a bomb on December 18th, which caused such serious injuries that at first his life was despaired of. He remembers being struck in the right eye and on putting his hand to the place the eye dropped into the palm. He ran some hundreds of yards in that state until he fell through exhaustion. He also had a wound in the head, from which the doctors took a piece of shrapnel. He was removed to hospital, and though receiving every skilled attention the sight of the left eye gradually waned and left him sightless.

        On arriving in England he was treated with all care at the Second London Hospital, and is now well on his way to convalescence. He agreed that his recovery was marvellous and spoke in high terms of the treatment he received from the medical staff and sisters in the various hospitals, and also of the Red Cross Nurses. The soldier spoke in eulogistic terms of Captain Barrett, of Millom, and the other officers, non-commissioned officers and men of his battalion.

        His cheerfulness can be exemplified in his remark: “Well, I’m not so bad as thousands of my comrades. I am glad I’m alive. I have every opportunity for getting on in the world. I am going training to the Blind Institute at St. Dunstan’s, Regent’s Park, London, and hope soon to pick up a trade.”

        Mrs. Kirkby, who is delighted to have her husband home again, showed me a piece of shrapnel which had gone through Sergt. Kirkby’s clothing, past 30 rounds of ammunition, pierced through his infantry training book, his prayer book, and map, and lodged in his pocket wallet, going through letters and papers in the wallet, making a hole in the forehead of his brother’s photograph, also through the bust of his father’s photograph.

        Sergt. Kirkby has a brother, Pte. Ben Kirkby, now in France serving in the same regiment.

Sadly, the family was to experience further tragedy four and a half months later when Ben Kirkby was killed at Guillemont.

Maybe one day the other dozen wounded men will be identified................

Déjà vu

Alfred McNair Dykes had joined the King's Own (Royal Lancaster Regiment) in December 1893. During the South African War he served with the 2nd Battalion, first as a Lieutenant and then as a Captain, participating in the relief of Ladysmith and witnessing first-hand the carnage wrought by the Boer artillery on the exposed and ill-prepared British positions at Spion Kop, a battle in which he was severely wounded. Fourteen years later he was now a Lieutenant Colonel, commanding the 1st Battalion, a position he had held since August 1st, 1913.

Alfred McNair Dykes, photographed in Dundee, South Africa (King's Own Museum).

The 1st King's Own were part of the 12th Brigade in the 4th Division. They'd missed the epic action at Mons, having only landed in France on the 23rd of August. Three days later found them camped in an open field outside the nondescript little French village of Haucourt-en-Cambresis with rifles stacked and eating their breakfast. Their orders were to cover the left flank of the retreating British II Corps commanded by Lieutenant General Horace Smith-Dorrien, who, more in desperation than anything else, had decided to turn and give battle to the Germans along the line formed by the road running between Cambrai and Le Cateau.

At this point it would be easy for me to just copy out the relevant passage from Cowper's Regimental History; it would also make tedious reading. Instead, I'll let one of the 'poor bloody infantry' describe what happened:

Wednesday [26th].- Moved about midnight, and marched till daybreak. Just marched up hill onto ridge and halted for breakfast, when we came under terrible rifle fire, machine guns, and shrapnel from enemy concealed about 600 yards away. German rifle fire very inaccurate, or we would have been annihilated. Got order to retire. Had to run about 100 yards, in full view of the enemy, to cover in sunken road. Bullets whizzed past on all sides, but reached the road in safety. Retired in extended order down slope to road. Shells were bursting all round. Our own artillery had not yet got into action. Entrenched ourselves just behind road. Kept up continual fire at enemy on skyline about 1400 yards away. Shells still bursting uncomfortably near, but many went into ground without bursting. Enemy’s fire ceased about two o’clock, and I was with a party that advanced back to the ridge to try and collect the wounded who had been left in the morning. Got shelled again, and had to retire. Went out with three others and officer to draw fire. Laid down in cabbage patch, and stayed there a couple of hours under shell-fire. Retired down road to village, where church had been converted into a hospital for the wounded. Great artillery duel in progress. Towards dusk the Germans, who outnumbered us by three to one, began to advance. Party of infantry entered village. Bayonet charge under Capt. [Sparenborg], who was killed, but the Germans who survived fled down the street, but were met by a company of [Lancashire] Fusiliers, and not one escaped. Had to leave seriously wounded in church, which was blown up by the Germans. Got separated from battalion.

The man that wrote the above passage in his pocket diary survived the debacle; Alfred Dykes didn't. Apparently he was one of the earliest casualties of the maelstrom of artillery and machine-gun fire which descended upon the exposed and ill-prepared 1st Battalion, felled while shouting encouragement to his men. His last words were reported to have been 'Men, if you want your lives for God's sake extend,' and 'Good bye boys!'

History had repeated itself. You'd think he might just have learned a lesson at Spion Kop, wouldn't you?

His labours done

All Commonwealth war graves in churchyards and cemeteries scattered throughout the U.K. bear the regimental or corps badge of the man or woman commemorated. Often though, in the case of First World War dead, they were actually serving in the Labour Corps when they died and the badge shown is that of their ‘parent’ unit, the one they had served in before being transferred to the Labour Corps. The reason for this (I believe) is that in many ways service in a Labour Corps company was regarded as having made a lesser effort compared to having served in one of the conventional units - in effect, 'badge snobbery.' This is a misconception because, as John Starling and Ivor Lee so admirably demonstrate in their book, No Labour, No Battle, the industries of the men of the Labour Corps were pivotal in supporting the activities of the rest of the Army, both at home and abroad.

Generally speaking, the men serving in the Labour Corps were of a low medical category, either by reason of age, infirmity, or having been previously wounded severely enough to preclude further front-line service. One such example of the latter category was Sergeant John Brewer, of Egton-cum-Newland, near Ulverston.

He’d enlisted in the 4th Battalion at Ulverston at the end of March, 1914, and, with a grammar school education under his belt, made rapid progression through the ranks, having already earned his sergeant's stripes by the time the Battalion moved to France on May 3rd, 1915.

The newspapers describe him as having been wounded by a sniper exactly one year later, on May 3rd, 1916, when serving in the trenches near Aveluy. However, the 4th Battalion War Diary does not corroborate this, stating that they were out of the line and in training on that day. More likely is that he was actually wounded while out on patrol on the 7th, co-incidentally at the same time as Lieutenant Bowman, the subject of the previous entry on this blog.

Whatever date he was wounded, it resulted in him losing an eye. That was the end of his front-line service and, after evacuation to the UK and recuperation, he was posted to Oswestry, initially to assist in the training of new recruits to the second-line battalion.

His Service Records do not appear to have survived the bombing of the Army Records Office at Arnside Street in London in 1941, so it isn’t possible to be precise about his subsequent transfer to the Labour Corps or to state what unit of the Labour Corps he was posted to, although it would have come under the Western Command Labour Centre, based at Oswestry. However, he was never allocated a new 6-figure Territorial Number in early 1917 and so could not have been still serving in the King’s Own at that time. What is clear from the few surviving records is that on transfer he was renumbered to 232551 and remained serving at Oswestry, still with the rank of sergeant. His entry in ‘Soldiers Died in the Great War’ also lists him as Labour Corps.

Tragically, his wound ultimately proved fatal and he died in hospital at Oswestry on July 31st, 1917, by a sad co-incidence the very same day when a lot of his former comrades in the 1st/4th Battalion would lose their lives near Wieltje on the opening day of what was to become known as the Third Battle of Ypres. He was 23 years old.

He was buried in Ulverston Cemetery, being accorded a military funeral, and in due course an official headstone was erected by the then Imperial War Graves Commission, one bearing the badge of his former regiment, the King’s Own (Royal Lancaster Regiment) rather than the badge of the Labour Corps. The headstone to be seen to-day looks to be a reasonably modern replacement as the inscription is very crisp. However, a variety of limestone has been used that does not lend itself to providing a great deal of contrast on the lettering, making photography difficult.

Somewhat peculiarly the Commonwealth War Graves Commission does not record his 'secondary' service in the Labour Corps in the database entry for him, as is usually the case. Perhaps one day the pedant in me will attempt to get this oversight corrected.

Aces High

Young Leslie Spencer Bowman was a doctor’s son from Ulverston, but he probably never spent much of his short life there as he was, like so many of his class, packed off to preparatory school at Seascale at an early age before going on to receive his secondary education at Clifton College. However, on the outbreak of war he returned to Ulverston and joined the 4th Battalion, being gazetted as a Second-Lieutenant on December 23rd, 1914.

He went to France with the Battalion in May 1915 and, apart from receiving a minor wound a year later when out on patrol near Aveluy on May 7th, 1916, his service was fairly unremarkable.

Like a lot of young officers he was seduced by the glamour of becoming an aviator and in July he transferred to the Royal Flying Corps. He completed his training in the U.K. and was posted to back to France to join 53 Squadron as a newly-qualified pilot on December 23rd, 1916, a fortnight later being promoted to Lieutenant. He was wounded for a second time on June 7th but recovered quickly enough to be able to rejoin the squadron ten days later.

On June 25th, 1917, he set off in an RE8 on a reconnaissance flight with his observer, Second-Lieutenant James Power-Clutterbuck. Near Le Bizet, while returning from their mission, they were attacked by a predatory German fighter, for whom a lumbering RE8 presented a fairly easy target. The wings broke off under the machine gun fire and the aircraft fell burning to the ground in No Man’s Land between the opposing trenches. Subsequently the British troops in the vicinity managed to recover Power-Clutterbuck’s body but not that of Leslie Bowman, who is now commemorated on the Arras Flying Services Memorial.

Four days after celebrating his 20th birthday he'd become the 56th victim of Manfred von Richtofen, the Red Baron.

The Ashcroft Diaries: Part 3

Another instalment from Wilfred Ashcroft's diary, maintained while he was travelling out to South Africa as part of the First Active Service Company of the King's Own. What strikes me about this and similar writings from 'other ranks' soldiers of this time is the generally high standard of the work and its observant content. True, there are grammatical errors and sentence construction is often laborious (I could be accused of the same thing, no doubt), but, considering that men of his class probably only ever had a rudimentary education I consider it quite remarkable. A common refrain is that educational standards have declined. Maybe, maybe not. What I am sure of is that in these days of email and text-speak, letter writing and diary-keeping is a dying art. Over a century on I wonder if he ever thought that his thoughts would still be of interest to anyone - and so readily accessible to those interested?

Once again, a warning: this was written at a time when the use of racially-slanted epithets was commonplace. I make no apologies for transcribing it unedited so, if offended, then go and read someone else's blog.

Friday, March 30th – There is nothing fresh for me to tell you today, only that we are travelling at the best speed we can, and the average speed is about 17 knots. The captain says he is going to keep it up till we get to Capetown, and it means 370 miles in the 24 hours, as we always slow down in the daytime. It is getting very breezy now, and a deal colder, and more like our own weather at home. Still it is very musty down below, and we are glad to get up in the morning when we wake and it is sometimes between 4 and 5, and we think it late at 6 o’clock. The ship’s bakers are always busy, as they have to bake bread for us all, and we have fresh bread twice a day, but it is very sad and soon go sour; and I am always glad to eat the biscuits as they are hard but sweet and very appetising, and you don’t feel hungry so soon after them. We have beef and rice for breakfast, and mutton or beef for dinner, and cheese or jam and bread for tea, so I don’t think we are doing so very badly. There is going to be a tug-of-war between our team and the West Kent’s tomorrow, and it will be very exciting, as they are all big men. Ours have the best of it as they are the heaviest.

Saturday, March 31st – I have been orderly for our mess today as we take it in turns, and it comes my turn every four days. We have to wash all the pots and scrub decks and tables, and there are eight and sometimes more men at our table, and they make some dirty pots, but we get off parade when we are orderly and have plenty of spare time on our hands. The officers are very strict about the pots, tins and tables, and if they see a speck they will give you a sentence of some sort. There are two of our men on extra drill for dirty tables. They call them defaulters, and make them go round and help the others to scrub and clean their messes. They got ready for the tug-of-war this afternoon, and when the Kents saw our men, they said, “is this a sample of your regiment?” and the officer it was. There were ten aside, and they had to pull three times, and the best out of three won. Our team won each game easily, and they got 8d.each given and have to pull again on Monday and Tuesday. On Monday they pull the Lancashire Fusiliers, and on Tuesday they pull the Yeomanry, and our officers say they can pull anything on the ship. They are going to give them some more money if they win. Our officers let us have a concert tonight for winning the tug-of-war, and it is very nice, and makes you think of good old England and home when you hear the songs and music. It does seem like a long time since we set off and this is only a little over a fortnight. It is surprising how we can sail away for days without seeing a ship of any sort when there is such a lot in this world. Now there is no fish to see, or anything to look at, only the briny deep, and wonder what a mighty power there is in such mountains of water, and our good ship goes up and down over the waves and never says she is tired of running. I will tell you about this mighty ocean if ever I get home again, and then you can have a better idea.

Sunday, April 1st – This is April Fool Day, and when we got up all sorts of dodges were played to see the fool. Some said they could see land and then there was a rush up stairs to see they had been made a fool and came back and tried someone else. One of the men told the guards his officer wanted him at the saloon and he stood outside for nearly an hour, when he bethought himself and went away to his post very much upset. The Yeoman that was out of his mind is better again and is walking around as usual. I daresay he feels very strange. I hope he will behave himself in future, as he is about the wealthiest man on board this ship and lost a lot of money at cards the day before sailing. He got among card sharpers and they did him out of £55. We got paid yesterday and they knocked 5s. 5d. off for barrack room damages at Lancaster. I did not break a thing of any kind but have to help those that did break chairs, beds, or pots. There is no gambling on board ship now, and it is a good job. The men that get caught get severe sentences and two of the Yeomen were caught and they are picking oakum and it will teach them to obey. Most of them think they can do as they like because they are gentlemen and want their meals first and water as well but have to wait their turn. Some of them are just the opposite and will do anything for us from Lancaster as they can see what we are and know we are just as good as the best if spoken to right, but won’t stand driving with the inferiors. One of the Yeoman told me that most of their lot had never seen a rifle before they went to the barracks, and did not know how to load or fire it. So you see they have to learn what we know and they should be a bit civil then they would learn a few bits that they will be glad of. They will be landing at Capetown and we are going with the King’s Royal Rifles and Kent and Lancashire Fusiliers to Durban or East London. I hope you are all well at home and give all my kind love and good wishes. I must say no more as it is lime juice time and I am ready for my tablespoonful, as that is our allowance for a day. It is getting very cold at night now and breezes are making this ship pitch and kick like a mad cab horse. We got served out with field bandages today and have to sew them in the right hand corner of our tunics, and so you see we do a bit of sewing and can wash and darn like good men.

Monday, April 2nd – I got up this morning to hear that it was our turn on watch again and we had to go on at 8 till 12 and then at night at the same time. Our men had to pull their team this morning and did it easy. In the afternoon they pulled again and won it and they have to pull tomorrow for the final. If they win they get £1 each given from the officers. Then they are going to pull at Capetown and if they win there they will get more. I have just come off watch, and I am not tired at all, and am writing this when a lot of snoring is going on. We are to post our own letters at the Cape. Our team has just finished the final pull of the tug of war, and won it easily, so we have won one war if no more. They could pull anything at the same game on land or sea. Yesterday they tried pulling 11 men instead of 10 on the opposite side, and our men pulled them twice over the mark before finding them out. They tried to hold on to the rails this morning, but they had to leave go or else they would have been some arms pulled off them. We have just had medical inspection, and all our men passed easily enough, so I think we will do for a bit longer voyage yet if we have to go to Durban. I will be sorry to leave this good ship that has done its passage in less than 19 days. Our tug-of-war team are badly scrubbed with the rope rubbing their arms and sides, and you can tell they had to pull. The average weight is half-a-pound short of 14 stone, and you can see they are not small men.

Tuesday, April 3rd – I got up this morning, as we had to get in full marching order for we will be landing tomorrow, and then we could see as we had lost nothing. We paraded on deck and got dismissed in about half an hour. We are about 350 miles off the Cape, and expect to reach tomorrow at 12.30 p.m.

Wednesday, April 4th – Arrived at the Cape this dinner time, and was surprised at the ships in the bay, some of the finest ships and boats I have seen. We anchored outside in the middle of the bay, as there was no room at the quayside, and we will have to wait until tomorrow for a berth. It is a beautiful bay, and the mountains look well. I hope they will allow us ashore for a night, but I don’t think they will. It is very warm, and there are plenty of sharks and whales swimming around the ship, the first whales I have seen, they are monsters, and they look like boats turned wrong side up when they come to the top to spurt.

Thursday, April 5th – We have just heard that the mail boat with our letters has been run down in the fog. She left here on Wednesday, and they call her the “Mexican.” The boat that ran her down was the “Winkfield,” which was loaded with horses and fodder for the Yeomanry. It is all up with our letters, I think, if it is true. She was built at Barrow, and I worked on her, as she trades between the West Indies and Africa, She is a fine boat, and all the lives were saved, and I hope the mails as well. We are just beginning to know what roughing it is, as we have been given our hammocks in and have to sleep on the tables or deck, in what we wear all day, and it is very hard. I will be glad to lie on the ground when we get ashore. We are going on board the “Nile” today. And they have had four deaths aboard since they set off from Southampton, and they say it is a very bad boat for grub, and I believe it too. It belongs to the same company, and was summoned for poor feeding. I think it has made her worse.

Friday, April 6th – I hope you are all well at home, and got a better bed to sleep on than a hard deck with no clothes to put on, as we are on board the “Nile,” and she is an old boat, and plenty of rats on board, which we never saw on the “Tagus.” We are lying alongside the “Nubia.” She is a fine boat for a hospital, and has a lot of our regiment on board wounded. Our dog’s owner is wounded, and he knew his dog, so we took it on board to see him. There are Colonels and all sorts of regiments on board, and they are nearly all wounded in the limbs. There are 14 of our regiment, and I don’t know how many have been sent home as unfit for further service in the Army. There are thousands of ducks in this dock, and if I had a gun I would have a feed of some sort, as I have forgotten what it is to be satisfied. We got dry bread and tea for breakfast this morning, and it is a shame, as there are a lot of men cannot stand it. It should be looked into, and the owners punished. I can do very well as I am, as I have plenty to do it on, but some of the men have not got a cent to call their own. I have been told off for orderly this voyage, and I will see if I can’t look after number one. I was storing our ammunition last night in the magazine, and was nearly roasted, as it was as dark as pitch. I had to feel where to put it, and each box weighs 80 lb. There were 50 of them, and we had nothing to eat from Wednesday only biscuits and grapes, as they are dirt cheap here. I got 3s. and 3d.worth of chocolate, and the men are catching their food in the shape of young mackerel about as big as small herring. I wish we were off instead of stopping here, as I am wanting to get ashore. They are not allowing us on shore here. We are going to call at Port Elizabeth, and so it will take us about four days. We sail at 3 o’clock this afternoon. We set off at 11.30 instead of 3 this morning and met the boat “Winkfield,” which ran the “Mexican” down, and she had her bows damaged badly. This is a far quicker boat than the “Tagus.” Her speed is 20 knots, but they say she is always breaking down, and broke down twice on her voyage from England. There are some big mountains on this coast, and I would not like to see our ship landed on them. I saw some seals this afternoon, and plenty of all kinds of birds, and they go such a height and then dive straight down. We stop at two places and that is Port Elizabeth and East London, before we get to Durban. Our regiment is at Pietermaritzburg, and they will be glad to see us, as we have hundreds of books and papers on this boat and tobacco for them. I hope they will be well enough to read them, as they are recruiting their health after all their battles. They have been in them all around Ladysmith, and have lost a lot of men, as some told us on the “Nubia.” When some of our men asked for so and so they said he was wounded and stopping at Pietermaritzburg. We are all getting as brown as niggers, and you would think we had been out here six months.

R.M.S. Nile (Boer War Transport No. 82), the ship that transferred Wilfred Aschroft and the First Active Service Company from Capetown to Durban.