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.

In from the cold

When researching the names on a war memorial I invariably encounter 'difficult' names, ones which resist all attempts at identification. Sometimes they remain a mystery and perhaps always will, although I never say, "never."

Often I manage to identify men who, for whatever reason, are not officially recorded by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. Usually this is because the circumstances of their death did not meet the precise criteria to entitle them to be officially commemorated and either provided with a headstone (if the place of burial could be identified) or inscription of their name on a memorial (where the place of burial was unknown). Occasionally though, I will find a man who, for reasons now lost in the mists of time, apparently "slipped through the net" when official commemoration was being considered and who was, in fact, entitled to be recorded as one of the official war dead of the United Kingdom.

I'm not alone in pursuing this arcane activity. There is an ongoing project dedicated to identifying as many men as possible who fall into this category and its excellent and regularly updated website can be found at www.infromthecold.org. I'm proud to be associated with it.

One man whom I identified as falling into this category of non-commemoration was 1779, Private Gerard Huck.

Gerard was born at Milnthorpe, although his parents had moved to Dalton-in-Furness when he was still a child. He enlisted in the 4th Battalion pre-war, at the end of June, 1912, and, when not 'weekend soldiering' with the Territorials, he was working at Vickers' Shipyard or playing football.

His first wound during the Great War was received at the hands of a fellow Territorial, when someone accidentally loosed off a round in the billet where he was sleeping after coming off guard duty on the Great Western Railway near Twyford. The next time he had occasion to be wary of bullets and other projectiles was when the Battalion went into the trenches for the first time on May 27th, 1915. He wrote to his mother:

“We have just come out of the trenches, after being in four days and five nights. I am sorry to say that we have suffered a big loss in our company. It is really a pity to see such fine fellows going down without a minute’s notice. It is too difficult for me to tell you exactly what it is like. But one thing I know it is like hell on earth. The last time we were in they shelled us for seven hours. The shells seemed to come from nowhere. We were in the Battle of Festubert. You will see the picture in the “Sunday Herald,” of June 6th. Dear mother, J. Tyson, of the Lots, Askam, and myself have been recommended by the lieutenant of our company for bringing in a ‘dixy’ of tea for the wounded men in our trench. We had to go 200 yards in the open for it, and we got back safe with a bit of luck, because we had three shells right near us. You must excuse scribbling this time, as I am tired and my nerves are not as well as I would like them to be."

It sounded like a real baptism of fire.

I'm not sure exactly when he received the wound which caused him to be invalided out of the Army because the subsequent newspaper report of his death in 1917 is rather ambiguous and his Service Records have not survived. The newspaper reports him as having been wounded and gassed at the "battle for Friburg" which is not an engagement or location that I recognise; my suspicion is that he was wounded at Guillemont in August, 1916.

Wherever he was wounded and whatever the nature of his wounds he was discharged from the Army in October, 1916, and awarded the Silver War Badge, as indicated by his Medal Index Card. This also shows his entlitlement to the three basic service medals and confirms his date of entry to France as May 3rd, 1915 - the official date of landing of the 1st/4th Battalion, as it had been re-designated. Significantly, it quotes his Service Number as T4/1779. At the time the T4-prefix was simply a clerical notation induicating that he was a Territorial in the 4th Battalion, but more about that later.

After his discharge from the Army he remained hospitalised and the newspaper reported that his wounds had destroyed his power of speech and also that he had been in hospital at Meathop (a sanatorium) for a month before his death. The cause of death wasn't explicitly stated but his Death Certificate confirmed that it was tuberculosis. Now, whether or not his wounding/gassing had initiated the tuberculosis is debatable, but what is beyond doubt is that the Army considered his military service to be the root cause of it and were providing him with a pension, this being clearly specified on his Death Certificate.

Eventually I managed to establish that he was buried in Kendal (Parkside) Cemetery, his mother having moved there from Dalton-in-Furness after the death of her husband, and that his grave was unmarked. I knew he wasn't commemorated by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission but, on the face of it, he met the criteria for commemoration and so, in March, 2008,  I forwarded the relevant documentation to the Ministry of Defence for consideration.

On April 21st, 2008, he was accepted for commemoration by the MoD and on June 17th, 2008, his name was added to the online database maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. A war graves pattern headstone was erected on his previously unmarked grave in Kendal Cemetery shortly afterwards.

Close inspection will show that the 'T4' mentioned earlier has been mistakenly inscribed as part of his Service Number, an error also present in the online database. It matters not: Private Gerard Huck - in from the cold at last.