Saturday 9 April 2016

Captain Robert Nigel Oldfield Bartlett, King's Brutononian died 6 April 1916

Captain Robert Nigel Oldfield Bartlett

Captain Robert Nigel Oldfield Bartlett, East Lancashire Regiment. Died of wounds, Felahiyeh, Mesopotamia. 6th April 1916 aged 22.

Whilst at King's Bruton, he was captain of the First Eleven cricket team in 1912 and 1913. In 1912 he obtained three hundreds, including 207 not out versus Wells Theological college. That year, he scored 802 runs, a batting average of over 100.25.

He went to Keble College Oxford in 1913. He entered the college in Michaelmas Term, 1913. A member of the 1st Association Football XI, 1913-1914;  1st Hockey XI, 1913-1914; Freshman's Cricket Trial, 1914; 1st Cricket XI, 1914. A member of the University Contingent of the Officers' Training Corps. Commenced service on 17 September 1914. Second Lieutenant of the 6th Battalion, East Lancashire Regiment, 1914; Captain, 1915, serving in Gallipoli; Mesopotamia, 1916.

He died of wounds received at Felahiyeh, 6 April 1916, in the relief of Kut. This was the relief attempt by Gorringe and is usually termed the First Battle of Kut. The British Empire's forces numbered about 30,000 soldiers, roughly equal to the Ottomans. The battle began on 5 April and the British soon captured Fallahiyeh, but with heavy losses, Beit Asia was taken on 17 April. The final effort was against Sannaiyat on 22 April. The Allies were unable to take Sannaiyat and suffered some 1,200 casualties in the process.

Friday 22 January 2016

Collecting the dead

Locating the war dead

The grim work of the Directorate of Graves Registration & Enquiries on the Western Front after the Great War

I was reading a fascinating article by Lieutenant Colonel Graham Parker and Joanna Legg in Stand To!, the journal of the Western Front Association, this morning. In "The Unidentified Irish Guards Lieutenant at Loos: Laid to Rest", they make a very compelling case that in 1992, the Commonwealth War Graves Commission correctly identified the grave of Lieutenant John Kipling at St Mary's ADS cemetery near Loos, France. In my mind, their evidence brings to a close a century old mystery.

However, in one part of their article, they describe the work of the Directorate of Graves Registration & Enquiries, the organisation responsible for collecting the war dead and trying to identify the bodies for burial. There is a description from one of the men tasked with this grim work, and I reproduce it here. Private J McCauley, recovering from wounds, was attached to one of the new special burial details between August and November 1918. He noted how:

“For the first week or two I could scarcely endure the experiences we met with, but I gradually became hardened.

“Often have I picked up the remains of a fine brave man on a shovel. Just a little heap of bones and maggots to be carried to the common burial place. Numerous bodies were found lying submerged in the water in shell holes and mine craters: bodies that seemed quite whole, but which became like huge masses of white, slimy chalk when we handled them.

I shuddered as my hands, covered in soft flesh and slime moved about in search of the disc, and I have had to pull bodies to pieces in order that they should not be buried unknown. It was very painful to have to bury the unknown.”

I am relived that my own great grandfather was fortunate enough to have been buried, identified, immediately after his death.




Saturday 16 January 2016

BENEDICTINE MILITARY CHAPLAINS IN THE FIRST WORLD WAR - James H. Hagerty

In a follow up to this article: http://thescribblerdotbiz.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/the-unsung-of-great-war-battalion.html I have located some additional information on the stout Lane-Fox, the padre to the London Irish Rifles.

From the above mentioned book:

"Dom John Lane-Fox of Fort Augustus was another Benedictine to be commissioned early in the war. Having received his temporary commission in September 1914 he served with the 1st London Irish of the 47th Division and was with them as they kicked a football across no-man's-land in their assault on German positions during the Battle of Loos in 1915. For his ministrations on the battlefield Fr Lane-Fox was recommended for the Military Cross but an accident on March 3,1916, placed the award in jeopardy. During grenade practice a bomb exploded in Lane-Fox's hand seriously wounding him and killing Lord Desmond Fitzgerald. General Cecil Pereria wrote immediately to Mgr Bidwell, Cardinal Bourne's secretary, informing him of the incident and of Lane-Fox's anxiety that he would not be able to celebrate Mass again due to the injuries to ‘his right eye and the fingers of his right hand.' He asked, on Lane-Fox's behalf, for an assurance that the injured priest would not be prevented from saying Mass. Pereria pointed out that he received nothing but the best accounts of Fr Lane-Fox and that he would be ‘very much missed by the men.' Bidwell was able to reassure Lane-Fox, via Pereria, that he could get permission to officiate when he had recovered. Mgr Keatinge, conscious as he was of the chaplains' reputation and the importance of them receiving their fair share of decorations, described the incident as ‘fooling around with bombs.' Eventually, Fr Lane-Fox received the award and was later mentioned in despatches. He was also recommended for the French Medailie Militaire for his ‘remarkably gallant and efficient' work for French civilians, in 1918 he was promoted to temporary Chaplain 2nd Class with the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, to be Senior Catholic Chaplain to the 47th Division."

I understand from another source he lost an eye and some fingers.

As I said before, unsung heroes.


Thursday 12 November 2015

A soldier's kiss


Only a dying horse! pull off the gear,
And slip the needless bit from frothing jaws,
Drag it aside there, leaving the road way clear,
The battery thunders on with scarce a pause.
 
Prone by the shell-swept highway there it lies
With quivering limbs, as fast the life-tide fails,
Dark films are closing o'er the faithful eyes
That mutely plead for aid where none avails.
 
Onward the battery rolls, but one there speeds
Needlessly of comrades voice or bursting shell,
Back to the wounded friend who lonely bleeds
Beside the stony highway where he fell.
 
Only a dying horse! he swiftly kneels,
Lifts the limp head and hears the shivering sigh
Kisses his friend, while down his cheek there steals
Sweet pity's tear, "Goodbye old man, Goodbye".
 
No honours wait him, medal, badge or star,
Though scarce could war a kindlier deed unfold;
He bears within his breast, more precious far
Beyond the gift of kings, a heart of gold.
 
Henry Chappell, 1874-1937, published 22nd August 1914

Thursday 1 October 2015

The unsung of the Great War - the Battalion Chaplain



“What’s this?” I asked, peeping over the parados to the road in our rear. "My God! There's a transport wagon going along the road!”

“Blimey! You're sprucing,” said Bill, peeping over; then his eye fell on a wagon drawn by two mules going along the highway. “Oh, the damned fools, goin' up that way. They'll not get far.”

The enemy occupied a rise on our right, and a machine gun hidden somewhere near the trench swept that road all night. The gun was quiet all day long; no one ventured along there before dusk. A driver sat in front of the wagon, leaning back a little, a whip in his hand. Beside him sat another soldier. . . . Both were going to their death, the road at a little distance ahead crossed the enemy's trench.

“They have come the wrong way,” I said. “They were going to Loos, I suppose, and took the wrong turning at the Valle Cross-roads. Poor devils!”

A machine gun barked from the rise; we saw the driver of the wagon straighten himself and look round. His companion pointed a finger at the enemy's trench. . . .

“For Christ's sake get off!” Bill shouted at them; but they couldn't hear him, the wagon was more than a quarter of a mile away from our trench.

“Damn it!” exclaimed Bill; “they'll both be killed. There!”

The vehicle halted; the near-side wheeler shook its head, then dropped sideways on the road, and kicked out with its hind legs; the other animal fell on top of it. The driver's whip went flying from his hands, and the man lurched forward and fell on top of the mules. For a moment he lay there, then with a hurried movement he slipped across to the other side of the far animal and disappeared. Our eyes sought the other soldier, but he was gone from sight, probably he had been shot off his seat.

“The damned fools! “I muttered. 'What brought them up that way? “

“Wot's that ? “Bill suddenly exclaimed.

“See, comin' across the fields behind the road! A man, an officer. . . . Another damned fool, and he’ll get a bullet in 'im.”

Bill pointed with his finger, and we looked. Across the fields behind that stretched from the road to the ruined village of Maroc we saw for the moment a man running towards the wagon. We only had a momentary glimpse then. The runner suddenly fell flat into a shell-hole and disappeared from view.

"He's hit,” said Pryor. “There, the beastly machine gun is going again. Who is he? “

We stared tensely at the shell-hole. No sign of movement. . . .

“'E's done in,” said Bill.

Even as he spoke the man who had fallen rose and raced forward for a distance of fifty yards and flung himself flat again. The machine gun barked viciously. . . .

Then followed a tense moment, and again the officer (we now saw that he was an officer) rushed forward for several yards and precipitated himself into a shell-crater. He was drawing nearer the disabled wagon at every rush. The machine gun did not remain silent for a moment now; it spat incessantly at the fields.

“He's trying to reach the wagon,” I said. “I don't envy him his job, but, my God, what pluck! “

“'Oo is 'e?” asked Bill. “'E's not ‘arf a brick, 'ooever 'e is! “

“I think I know who it is,” said Pryor. “It's the Roman Catholic chaplain, Father Lane-Fox. He's a splendid man. He came over with us in the charge, and he helped to carry out the wounded till every man was in. Last night when we went for our rations he was helping the sanitary squad to bury the dead; and the enemy were shelling all the time. He is the pluckiest man in Loos.”

“He wanted to come across in the charge,” I said, “but the Brigadier would not allow him. An hour after we crossed the top I saw him in the second German trench. . . . There he is, up again! “

The chaplain covered a hundred yards in the next spurt; then he flung himself to earth about fifty yards from the wagon. The next lap was the last; he reached the wagon and disappeared. We saw nothing more of him that day. At night when I went down to the dressing-station at Maroc, I was told how the chaplain had brought a wounded transport driver down to the dressing-station after dusk. The driver had got three bullets through his arm, one in his shoulder, one in his foot, and two in the calf of his leg. The driver's mate had been killed; a bullet pierced his brain.

The London Irish love Father Lane-Fox; he visited the men in the trenches daily, and all felt the better for his coming. Often at night the sentry on watch can see a dark form between the lines working with a shovel and spade burying the dead. The bullets whistle by, hissing of death and terror; now and then a bomb whirls in air and bursts loudly; a shell screeches like a bird of prey; the hounds of war rend the earth with frenzied fangs; but indifferent to all the clamour and tumult the solitary digger bends over his work burying the dead.

“It's old Father Lane- Fox,” the sentry will mutter. “He'll be killed one of these fine days."
 
Taken from 'The Great Push' by London Irish Rifleman Patrick MacGill, wounded at Loos in 1915

Saturday 19 September 2015

Captain Geoffrey Mervyn Underhill Wilson, KIA 25th Sept 1915

Captain Geoffrey Mervyn Underhill Wilson
Old Brutonian Geoffrey Mervyn Underhill Wilson, a captain with the 3rd Batt. Wiltshire Regiment, was killed in action on the first day of the battle of Loos, France, on 25th Sept 1915. He was 21.

Note: although all records (including the Commonwealth War Graves Commission) indicate that Wilson was killed on the 26 September, the War Diary states that he died on the 25 September.

This extract from the battalion war diary provides more detail on his death.

Date: 25/9/1915    Location: France, Verquin 

Battn moved at 12.30am marched via LA BOURSE and SAILLY, arriving at a reserve line of trenches SE of NOYELLES at point L12 o 6.6 at about 3am. Bombardment became intense. At about 6am the attack was launched. Battn ordered to advance through VERMELLES up communication trench (CHAPEL ALLEY) to occupy front line at point G11 o 9.8. Capt King wounded. 2/Lt FH Friend assumed command of 'A' Coy. Following the advance of the 20th Brigade the Battalion occupies the front and support German lines. Lt Col BH Leatham DSO then gave orders for the Battn to advance in open order in direction of CITE ST ELIE keeping to the north of HULLUCH ROAD, our right flank connecting with the 2nd Bedfordshires left. The Battn advanced in the following order, 'B' Coy on the left Capt WM Geddes in command, 'A' Coy on right 2/Lt FH Friend in command, two platoons of each company leading, two platoons immediately behind, 'C' Coy in support, 'D' Coy in reserve, Major RMP Gillson in command of'C' Coy, Capt EC Mudge in command of 'D' Coy, the whole were led by Major CG Forsyth, and experiencing extremely heavy rifle and machine gun fire from the front came to a line held very weakly by a mixture of 8th Devon & 2nd Borders. The trench contained 4 German field guns and ammunition. Our losses were heavy and included the following Officers casualties Capt GMU Wilson, 2/Lts CFB Hodgins JH Clarke WHG Durrant killed. Major RMP Gillson, 2nd Lt FH Friend wounded the latter seriously.
 At dusk the Battn was relieved by the 9/Devonshire Regt and took up a new front at BRESLAU AVENUE our right resting on the latter Regiment.

Read more about the Battle of Loos here: http://thescribblerdotbiz.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/battle-of-loos.html
 

Monday 10 August 2015

King's Brutonian Captain John Francis Martyr KIA


Captain Martyr, KIA 11 August 1915

Captain John Francis Martyr, 1st Battalion Royal Irish Rifles (attached to 6th Battalion), died of wounds at Gallipoli 100 years ago today (11/8/1915), aged 33. He was buried at sea.

Captain Martyr had served in the South African War in 1901 and 1902, where he was employed with the Mounted Infantry, and obtained for his valuable services the Queen's Medal with five clasps.

His unit was involved in fierce fighting on the day he was wounded. The 6th (Service Battalion) Royal Irish Rifles War Diary records that the Battalion landed on 5th August 1915 at Anzac Cove with 23 officers and 743 other ranks. 

They advanced on the 8th August via Walkers Ridge, Chailak Dere and Aghyl Dere until they reached a lone and isolated position known as The Farm. From there the 6th Royal Irish Rifles, in its first significant battle with the enemy since formation and training on the Curragh, launched attacks against the Turks occupying positions on the ridges above them. 

They suffered terrible casualties in a charge against the Turks and then in the Turks counter-attack.  The 6th Royal Irish Rifles War Diary explains that on 10th August the Turks counter-attacked and after the battle the Battalion's strength was about 270. Poignantly it records that the casualties (dead, wounded or missing) "as far as can be ascertained" in that one battle on 10th/11th August 1915 amounted to 372 men.

The following is an extract from a report by a company commander there at the battle.