Armistice countdown: 'We're better hearted now things are happening'

Private Tom Fake with his wife Charlotte

and their young son Tommy

As the Centenary of the WW1 Armistice approaches, I'm posting extracts from letters written in November 1918 by Private Tom Fake to his wife Charlotte back home in Bristol.

Tom had been in France since the end of 1916, serving with the Rifle Brigade, and wrote home regularly throughout the war. His letters could be both amusing and touching, and I used many in my book Letters from the Trenches.

The letter he wrote on 5th November 1918 opens - as always - with a discussion of letters he has written and received, including one from is brother-in-law Ern. Tom then talks sadly of an uncle at home who is gravely ill: "I am so sorry to hear about Uncle, he would be better off now, if the Lord took him."

We then get a taste of how things are at the Western Front. With the Germans falling back, there is a certain amount of optimism among the troops. But confusion about exactly what is happening means that nothing is certain. 

"I am getting along alright and I am glad to be able to tell you we are moving back from the line, and I hope it is for the last time. Turkey has given in, but I don't know if it is right about Austria, any rate it is not official out here yet."

Tom tells Charlotte he expects to be home on leave soon and hopes the war will be over before he must return. But despite growing excitement at home the tone of his letter is weary:

"I hope to have been home on leave before we go in the line again and then I should like to think, it was to be over by then. Yes I expect there is much excitement over the news, and we're better hearted out here now that things are happening, as they are."

Tom returns briefly to domestic affairs, including the whereabouts of his camera stand, before getting back to the war: "Well I suppose another month now will see me home, and I am just longing for the time to come…We had a nice day yesterday, but today it has been raining. Now I think I have said all for the time being, so close with my fondest love and kisses."


Pictured below is Tom's letter from November 5th.
Friday: "Fighting may finish in a couple of weeks"

Armistice countdown: "Good news is coming in every day..."

Private Tom Fake with his wife Charlotte

and their young son Tommy

During the next few days, as the Centenary of the WW1 Armistice approaches, I'll be posting extracts from letters written in 1918 by Private Tom Fake to his wife Charlotte back home in Bristol.

Tom had been in France since the end of 1916, serving with the Rifle Brigade, and wrote home regularly throughout the war. His letters could be both amusing and touching, and I used many in my book Letters from the Trenches. He often worried about how his wife was coping at home without him, and in his letter of 2nd November 1918 he expresses relief at having heard from her: "Well I have received your long looked for letter at last, it seemed at eternity waiting for it."

He goes on to discuss the health of his son Tommy and other family members, then gives a flavour of what it felt like to be at the Western Front:

"Well my dear good news is coming in every day still, and everything is going very satisfactory [sic]. We are still in the same place as when I wrote you last and the line is miles in front of us now, in fact it's as good as going back for a rest. The weather also keeps fine and that is in our favour. We have had some rain today, but nothing to hurt."

As always, Tom closes his letter like this: "Good night my dears God bless you." He then jots down details of postal orders he's sent home to Charlotte, so that she can check she's received them.

Pictured below is Tom's letter from November 2nd.
Tomorrow: "We are better hearted out here now..."

'Battles are merely breaks in the general monotony of the life'

The monotony of war: a typical trench scene from 1918

As 1918 dawned with no sign of an end to the conflict, soldiers' letters began reflecting an acceptance of life at war. Miserable conditions, hard physical labour, and the inevitability of loss of life were borne with little complaint, as was the tedium that coloured service the Front during the early months of 1918.

Below are extracts from three New Year letters written by Canadian medical officer Harold McGill to his wife Emma, which illustrate this. 'The battles are merely breaks in the general monotony of life,' wrote a resigned McGill. He had enlisted with the Canadian Expeditionary Force in 1914 and was serving in France. His wife, also Canadian, was working as a nurse at Bramshott Military Hospital in Sussex. Theirs was a touching love story that you can read in my book Letters from the Trenches.

January 1st, 1918

Henry McGill, 1914

This has been a very quiet New Year's Day for me. We stayed up last night playing bridge until the old year 1917 had finished its course. We then pledged each other our good wishes for the year 1918 and went to bed. As I left the mess to go to my billet I could hear in the distance the constant bellow of our guns sending New Year’s greetings to Fritz. This morning was bright and sunny and with the snow & frost reminded one of a New Year’s Day in Alberta. I wonder how long it will be before we have a chance to commence a New Year together in Canada...We are all going out to town for dinner to-night, not as invited guests but simply to hold our New Year's dinner in a café of a fair sized town a few miles away. We sent in our own turkey to get it cooked and will take our mess waiters along with us.

January 7th

The weather turned much warmer last night and there are pools of water every where to day. It is a very welcome change for the continued cold was becoming tiresome and the houses in this country are not built with any idea apparently that it may ever be necessary to keep them warm. I went to church yesterday but purely in a military capacity, ie I was in charge of the church parade of the unit. The Padre kept us standing out in the freezing cold for nearly half an hour, and the men had no greatcoats on as we had expected to be indoors. The padres as a class are extraordinarily lacking in common sense. Certainly I doubt very much if any of our men really “Got religion” from that service.

January 12th

All week we have been preparing for an inspection by the GOC [General Officer Commanding] Division which took place this afternoon. It meant a lot of work and driving the men, but was worth it for our unit looked quite smart on parade. The GOC seemed quite pleased with our turnout. During the week we have had the men parade time after time in full kit until we got them into a fairly presentable state of dress and general bearing. The idea of the duty of a military officer possessed by the people at home is one depicting him leading a bunch of heroes up the line under a rain of shells, whereas actually nine tenths of his work consists in hammering at his men to make them shine their buttons, keep their equipment clean and in order, and to prevent them throwing food on the floors of their billets. Besides these things he has a hundred and one other little details to look after, all trivial perhaps, but all necessary for the maintenance of discipline and efficiency. The battles are merely breaks in the general monotony of the life.

Harold McGill (in tie) treating a soldier at the Battle of Amiens, 1918

Harold McGill's letters (and the photos of McGill above) are archived at the Glenbow Museum in Alberta, Canada, and can be viewed online at www.glenbow.org.

Join me in reviving some memories of Christmas past

It's been five years since I began this blog and at the end of each year I've always written a Christmas-themed post, using letters and other material from my WW1 archive that I've collected while researching my books. I was about to do the same this year when I thought, let's have a look at what's gone before. S0 I put 'Christmas' into my search bar, clicked... and was amazed by what came up!

A lot of the stories I'd completely forgotten and I had a thoroughly enjoyable time reading them all again. So much so, in fact, that I thought you may like to share them too. If this sounds like a good idea, simply insert 'Christmas' into search bar at the top left of this page, and click. Here are some extracts from the posts that will come up - I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I did writing them.

 
‘Christmas Day in the trenches and not one shot was fired’

"25^th December –TRENCHES – St Yves. Christmas Day. Not one shot was fired. English and German soldiers intermingled and exchanged souvenirs. Germans very eager to exchange almost anything for our ‘bully beef’ and jam. Majority of them knew French fluently. A few men of the Regiment  assisted in burying the dead of the Somerset Light Infantry, who were killed on 19.12.14. Fine frosty day. Very cold..."

Taking a break to gather mistletoe

'A pretty sight, all the trees glistening white'

"Well my dear I am not in the running for a leave this Christmas, just missed it, but I shall be in the next lot and that will probably be next week, so when you answer this letter, you need not write again till after I have been home..."

Joyful station scenes as soldiers return home for Christmas

"All day the station was crowded with soldiers, coming, going and changing trains. The Christmas spirit was noisily evident, and the singing of snatches of songs, continuous. Never, surely, were trains more crowded, never were travellers more good humoured and content with their accommodation. The men got into the trains anyhow - some through the windows..."

The Christmas post arrives!

 ‘The French know how to raise good turkeys!’

"We had a much better Christmas this season than last. Fortunately we were out of the trenches in reserve and billeted in huts. The weather was fairly well behaved although we had some rain. All the men has a good Christmas dinner including turkey, plum pudding, beer, nuts, candy etc..."

Whilst Tommies fought, the well-heeled Londoners shopped

"Today the West End sales begin, and those who have refrained from buying many necessaries will find unusual opportunities in houses with a high reputation for worth and taste. On Saturday morning many women were seen touring the shopping centres and noting things of special value in the windows already ‘marked down’ for today..."

May I wish all my readers a peaceful and happy Christmas

'Yes my dear, I wish I was home with you and this thing was finished'

Two-and-a-half years of war and still no end in sight... what a dreary, miserable life it must have been for those at home in November 1917. With winter setting  in, and food and fuel shortages starting to bite, it would have taken an extraordinarily optimistic spirit not to be worn down by the gloomy state of affairs.

So as Armistice Day and Remembrance Sunday approach, here's a letter from a soldier to his wife dated 26 November 1917 which, for me, sums up the grim life which women at home were now facing.

It was written by Private Tom Fake who was serving in France with the Rifle Brigade. A conscientious correspondent, the letters he wrote to his wife Charlotte and young son Tommy at home in Bristol feature throughout my book Letters from the Trenches and are full of encouragement for Charlotte who was obviously struggling without him. Tom does his best to cheer her up and keep her company by chatting about touchingly inconsequential matters: letters, parcels, the weather, when the war will end. There's no mention of the fighting.

Tom Fake, wife Charlotte and son Tommy

Amongst more mundane matters there are also a few unanswered questions to keep us guessing. What was the 'splendid purpose' for which his cards were used? And whatever was it that Charlotte felt she was 'required' to do?

These carefully-written letters are not full of derring-do, nor do they contain poetic descriptions about war and the waste of human life. They are far more prosaic. However, they represent the sort of letters that most soldiers were writing home to their loved ones. And it's this ordinariness that makes them so poignant.

Happily, Tom survived the war and returned to Bristol in 1919, resuming work as a carpenter.

My dear Sweetheart, 

Just to let you know that I have received your welcome letter No13 dated 21/11/17 which I was pleased to get, and to learn that you and Tommy was in good health as it leaves me. Yes my dear I wish too, that I was able to be home with you, and that this thing was finished, but it still seems a long way off. I know it must make you down, with me not having my leave yet, but I don't think it will be so very long now, any rate I hope not. You say you may be able to have me home with you by Xmas, well my dear there is no knowing I may be home by then even now. 

I received the letter you sent me from Win [his sister-in-law], I think I told you so in my last letter. I am so glad that I sent you and Tommy those cards, I did not think at the time that they would be utilized for such a splendid purpose. Well cheer up my dear, all's well that ends well, and I hope it will end well for us, then we will make up for lost time. No, I don't require any parcel, you have plenty to do as it is, and after all it is a waste as so many of them get smashed up, the same as most of the others have that you have sent me, or either got lost.

I like the letter I am answering, I know my dear you have always done your best and I feel confident that you will always continue to do so, but I sincerely hope you will not be required to do what you say you will. The wind we have been having this last few days have abated, and so far the rain have kept off, but it is getting very cold. I have not been able to get a card for Alice [his sister] yet, but perhaps I shall be able to manage to get it when we go back [away from the front line]. This is all this time so close with my fondest love and kisses. Goodnight my dears, God bless you both.

Tom Fake's letter home, 26 November 1917

LEST WE FORGET

'It was simply hell...awful to hear the moaning of the wounded'

Arthur Barnett

With the 100th anniversary of the Battle of Passchendaele, we've all been made aware of the stagnating effects of trench warfare, with mud that often posed as much threat to life as the enemy. The war did not begin like this though, as I was reminded when Ian Barnett got in touch recently with his great-grandfather's diary from October and November 1914.

Corporal Arthur Barnett, of the Second Battalion, Scots Guards, joined the war in its early days when the fighting was still mobile and relatively fast-moving, when British troops were greeted joyfully by Belgians, and most were hopeful of a quick end to the conflict. Few could envisage what lay store, certainly not Cpl Barnett, who was attached to a Cycle Company. After setting sail from England aboard the SS Minneapolis, this is one of his first entries:

October 6th - 5am We are off the coast of Belgium. We arrive at Zeebrugge at 6am. We disembark at 11am. We are told the supposed position of the enemy. We left Zeebrugge at 3pm, had a ride of about 12 miles to Bruges. We found the Belgium people very nice, they were quite interested in us, we being the first English troops they had seen. A very good road for cycling. Arrived at Bruges 8pm. Quite a reception, everybody wanting buttons for souvenirs. We went through the town of Bruges to the village of Oostcamp [Oostkamp]. We were billeted in a schoolroom, had a good night's sleep.

Barnett was part of an advance guard for 7th Division, which was advancing through Belgium, and it wasn't long before he caught his first glimpse of the enemy:

October 11th: Up at 5.30am. We leave for Langerbrugge. One section left to guard the bridge, the rest sent out to search for the enemy. We arrive at Ostacher [Ostakker] no signs of the enemy. I am sent forward with three men, we meet a Belgium Cavalry Patrol who tell us that they have seen the enemy two miles away. We chance our luck to see for ourselves, when we had gone about a mile and a half we saw a patrol of Uhlans [German cavalry], we had a pop at them and retired. There were about 20 of them.

The first page of Arthur's diary

The diary is particularly interesting because it describes early features of the war that would soon disappear. The cavalry, for example, was important to both sides at the beginning but was rendered almost redundant when fighting in the trenches began. Similarly, French soldiers wore scarlet and blue uniforms at the outset of war: 'We meet a French Infantry Regt, they are queer looking fellows in their red trousers,' wrote Cpl Barnett on October 16th. But these traditional uniforms were quickly replaced by uniforms of dull blue to provide soldiers in the trenches with better camouflage.

As his unit advanced, Barnett witnessed Belgian refugees fleeing for their lives, heading for the sanctuary of Britain in their thousands. He also talks of aeroplanes, a very new invention when the Great War began which were used for reconnaissance in the early days. This was a time of rapid technological development, and it wasn't long before fighter planes and bombers were playing their part in the conflict too.

By mid October 1914, the First Battle of Ypres was raging and Cpl Barnett described his part in the fighting: 

October 19th: Receive orders to attach ourselves to Head Quarters to act as orderlies. Things are just getting warm now. I see the old Battalion, saw Bert and Hector (the first I have seen them since we left Lyndhurst). About 20 men and Sergt Wilson have been killed. We saw several aeroplanes during the day, English and German. There were hundreds of refugees leaving Baccalare [Becelaere], the Germans having started to bombard the village.

October 20th: Our job was to watch the flanks. We rode [on bicycles] four times the whole length of the firing line. The battle raged all day and all night. We could get no news of casualties. We were sent to Klen-Zillibeke [Klein Zillebeke] to fill a gap. We came in touch with the Uhlans. We advanced too far and came under our own artillery fire, retiring we took up position on the edge of a thick wood, remaining there until we were relieved by the 3rd Cavalry Division.

Two days later, Barnett and his comrades had a near escape when they were spotted by a German aeroplane that alerted enemy artillery.

October 22nd: 'We did not have to wait long until were under a very heavy shell fire. Shells to the right, shells to the left, shells in front, and shells behind us, but being in luck's way none in the trenches, they keep up the fun for close on an hour when all at once we are under rifle fire, there was nothing else to do but to rush forward, the enemy believing us to be a strong force retired.'

The men pressed on, taking what ground they could, but after the effort of gaining one trench Barnett could write little more than: 'It was now simply hell. We hung on for half an hour. It was awful to hear the moaning of the wounded...the barrel of my rifle was red hot, it burnt my hand.' To make matters worse, Barnett discovered that 'poor old Hector has been killed'.

Recovering at military hospital, Arthur Barnett stands second left

October 1914 was the only month that was fully recorded by Arthur Barnett. He summed up November in just a few lines: 'We were fighting in and out of the trenches, such an awful time. I hope I shall never have to pass through it again.' And then the diary stopped. As far as his great-grandson is aware, the journal finished there. 'When you read those few lines I think you understand why he no longer wrote a diary,' said Ian.

Later in the war Arthur Barnett was caught in a mustard gas attack and was shipped home to recover at a military hospital in London. This is where he met his future wife, Violet Spargo. When the conflict ended he had risen to the rank of company sergeant major. When he left the army Arthur earned his living as a detective with London & North Eastern Railway at Kings Cross Station. He died in 1966.
The diary reminds me of another, also covering the early days of war, that I used in my book Letters from the Trenches. Written by a soldier called Sgt George Fairclough, his account is full of colour, drama, and plain speaking and is also well worth a read.

The final entry of Arthur's diary sums up November 1914

Heartwarming tale of soldier's devotion to 'Old Joe' the mule

Friends for life: a WW1 soldier with his 'donk'

It gives me great please to mark the centenary of the Battle of Passchendaele with a story about mud that has a happy ending! It is a simple, touching story about the close bond we humans form with our animals, and it is told in a letter written home in 1917 by an Australian soldier called Edward Judge. You can find it (along with many other heart-warming tales) in my book Letters from the Trenches.

Judge, a blacksmith from New South Wales, was serving on the Western Front at a time when intense shelling and the heaviest rains for 30 years had turned battlefields into quagmires. When the Battle of Passchendaele was launched in July 1917, mud could pose as real a threat to life and limb as the enemy. Soldiers drowned in glutinous craters that were deep enough to swallow them whole. 'I died in hell, They called it Passchendaele', was how Siegfried Sassoon summed it up.

With the scene thus set I'll let Edward Judge relate his story, written in his own Aussie vernacular:

"The last stunt we was in was one of the toughest jobs we have had since coming to France, as we had the wet weather and mud to contend with one would bog almost waist deep in the mud, and we had to use all pack animals in getting the supplies up to the boys as waggons were out of the question and the pack mules would even bog and at times fall into a shell hole and would have to remain there or shoot them.

"Leading pack is rather an exciting experience as the track you have to follow is generally through shell holes and over gaps bridged by boards about eighteen inches wide scarcely wide enough for the animals to walk across, so very often if they make a slip it is a gon coon [slang for 'they've had it'] and will get a drop of fifteen or twenty feet. 

"There was rather a dramatic turn on with one of our lads and our favourite donk the last turn we done to the line. Old Joe as the donk is known had the misfortune to come to grief in a hole filled with soft mud and was there struggling feet upwards with the pack on and his driver who is terribly fond of him trying to release him while old Fritz was overhead in a plane peppering away with the machine gun, but the driver stuck to the old donk and eventually got him rescued, needless to say they both got a warm welcome when returning to camp as neither was the least hurt."

Edward Judge

Excerpt from the letter written by Edward Judge