Frontline Letters
From Torridon Road Writers
Torridon Road Writers and Lewisham Writing Group have submitted content for a creative writing element called Frontline Letters. Most of these are in the form of WW1 letters sent to and from the front. Some of these letters are based on oral accounts of the war handed down over generations. Others shed some interesting light on Lewisham during the First World War. The Torridon Road Writers have contributions from:
- Malcolm B. Goodwin
- Una King
- Dotty Matthews
- John Roberts
- Joy Swaby
- Joyce Gates
- Ottis Edwards
Torridon Road Writers and Lewisham Writing Group
The Torridon Writers Group is a writing group and community that meet regularly in Torridon Road Library. For more information on the group, please see here.
The Lewisham Writing Group is a writing group and community that meet regularly in Lewisham Library. For more information on the group, please see here.
Letters by Malcolm B Goodwin
The following were submitted by Malcolm B. Goodwin and are a mixture of letters and poems.
First World War.
Canadians’ in Grove Park A letter home.
My dearest Jessie,
Thank you for the Maple syrup and your usual unique hand made birthday card. Just wish you had not put eighteen on it, as every one thinks I am nineteen.
The maple syrup reminded me of our Canadian’s snow and cold in the mountains’, which is more enjoyable than this English rain, this wet and damp cold wind chills to the bone.
I have been working hard to keep warm by clearing a small woodland of trees and shrubs, to make a short landing strip for biplanes to service the local training station in an old poor man’s workhouse.
I think the British are making a big mistake, they are cutting back on using horses at war, and training the cavalry to drive and maintain the new fangled motorised vehicles. As we know at home horses can cover almost any terrain in most conditions.
How is my faithful Samson? Is he still pulling at the bit because I am not riding him? Sleeping in his stable full of hay would be warmer than some of the local old houses at Grove Park we have to billet in. The fire places or so small, the rooms have draught coming in every where. We have been taking some of the logs from the cut down trees back for fire wood, as it gives better heat than the poor quality coal available here.
I am praying we will be sent home before Christmas as I have been here too long. It was believed this would be a short war and should have been over by last Christmas.
Your loving brother
Huckleberry.
Written By Malcolm B. Goodwin
Greenwich Workhouse during the First World War
About the start of the First World War, the Greenwich Workhouse in Marvel’s Lane Grove Park , was taken over by the military to train the armed forces on how to drive and maintain the new early motorised vehicles, as this was the change over period from horse drawn carts and guns.
While personnel were running the centre or being trained there, they were billeted in houses around Grove Park , SundridgePark , and Shortlands.
To help service the centre and bring in some top ranking personnel, a field called Westminster Fields, (now under the Powster Estate Bromley,) was cleared of trees and bushes by the Canadian Army to make an air strip for light aircraft, which was still being used for a short while after the war for pleasure trips at five shillings a per flight. Picnickers’ lounged around the air strip to watch the light aircraft; mainly biplanes take off and land, with their wings skimming low over the heads of the onlookers.
Written By Malcolm B. Goodwin
About the start of the First World War, the Greenwich Workhouse in Marvel’s Lane Grove Park , was taken over by the military to train the armed forces on how to drive and maintain the new early motorised vehicles, as this was the change over period from horse drawn carts and guns.
While personnel were running the centre or being trained there, they were billeted in houses around Grove Park , SundridgePark , and Shortlands.
To help service the centre and bring in some top ranking personnel, a field called Westminster Fields, (now under the Powster Estate Bromley,) was cleared of trees and bushes by the Canadian Army to make an air strip for light aircraft, which was still being used for a short while after the war for pleasure trips at five shillings a per flight. Picnickers’ lounged around the air strip to watch the light aircraft; mainly biplanes take off and land, with their wings skimming low over the heads of the onlookers.
Written By Malcolm B. Goodwin
An unsent Letter
Dear Dad,
I have to write this letter even though you may never read it. This is nothing like the valiant wars you fought in and told of heroic battles.
At first it was a beautiful sight to see our cavalry lined up ready to charge the unsuspecting Germans cowering behind mounds of earth, bushes or trees. To see the charge with raised sabres on horses going full tilt, was truly a sight to behold. Then suddenly machine gun fire opened up and slaughtered riders and horses as if by an invisible slashing sabre. It was like watching the colourful autumn leaves falling in a strong wind. I am very glad you were not here to witness the slaughter. Very few survived with or with out serious wounds. There was no glamour or glory in death, or the possibility of heroic deeds. If the bullets did not get you, then there were the shell ripping apart the poppy fields and mutilating human and horse flesh. The pitiful scream from man or horse in agonising pain, was more than the ear could bear.
Our Lance-Corporal was distraught as we went around the dead or dying on the battle field looking for survivors. Being a vet it tore his heart out having to shoot the unsaveable horses and yet we were not allowed to put some of the humans out of their misery.
We were captured and saw behind enemy lines what had once been lovely horses, worked to death, pulling large guns, ambulance carts, in very hard conditions. Horses and man tangled up in barbed wire, a most gruesome sight made worse by tanks rolling over dead or barely alive bodies. We were ordered to collect up the corpses from the battle field. Quite a lot had incomplete torsos or had been crushed by tanks, carts or trodden under foot. We had to dig mass graves for the rotting corpses. The stench is suffocating.
This is not one of your glorious wars Dad. You may never read this letter as it would never get passed any census, but it had to be written to ease the pain in my head and heart. I would not want to shatter your past glorious memories of wars with your invincible cavalry.
Your devoted son,
Sam.
Researched by Malcolm B. Goodwin
Dear Dad,
I have to write this letter even though you may never read it. This is nothing like the valiant wars you fought in and told of heroic battles.
At first it was a beautiful sight to see our cavalry lined up ready to charge the unsuspecting Germans cowering behind mounds of earth, bushes or trees. To see the charge with raised sabres on horses going full tilt, was truly a sight to behold. Then suddenly machine gun fire opened up and slaughtered riders and horses as if by an invisible slashing sabre. It was like watching the colourful autumn leaves falling in a strong wind. I am very glad you were not here to witness the slaughter. Very few survived with or with out serious wounds. There was no glamour or glory in death, or the possibility of heroic deeds. If the bullets did not get you, then there were the shell ripping apart the poppy fields and mutilating human and horse flesh. The pitiful scream from man or horse in agonising pain, was more than the ear could bear.
Our Lance-Corporal was distraught as we went around the dead or dying on the battle field looking for survivors. Being a vet it tore his heart out having to shoot the unsaveable horses and yet we were not allowed to put some of the humans out of their misery.
We were captured and saw behind enemy lines what had once been lovely horses, worked to death, pulling large guns, ambulance carts, in very hard conditions. Horses and man tangled up in barbed wire, a most gruesome sight made worse by tanks rolling over dead or barely alive bodies. We were ordered to collect up the corpses from the battle field. Quite a lot had incomplete torsos or had been crushed by tanks, carts or trodden under foot. We had to dig mass graves for the rotting corpses. The stench is suffocating.
This is not one of your glorious wars Dad. You may never read this letter as it would never get passed any census, but it had to be written to ease the pain in my head and heart. I would not want to shatter your past glorious memories of wars with your invincible cavalry.
Your devoted son,
Sam.
Researched by Malcolm B. Goodwin
W.W.1 Letter home
From a folk song, by: Len Valentine 1914
Adapted by: Malcolm B. Goodwin
Dear Mother and Joseph,
I ask you to forgive this scrawly writing as I am trying to write left handed. Please discourage Joseph from signing up to the call of ‘Lord Kitchener’. Tell him to remember the day when we played so young in the fields of Cray Valley all green. We were happy then playing with Harry and Ted with George from next door, we thought the love of the world would have no end. We buried our heads contented at night. We worked and played hard because it felt right. Nun of us thought any one could happier be.
Lord Kitchener called us to arms, so we would stand proud and tall. If we did not take the shilling we would be made to feel small. This did finish our boyhood dreams as we put on new tunics, putties and caps. It was not long before we put to sea heading for a place called France on the map.
I got separated from Harry and Ted it was a week before I knew they were dead. Just buried my head in my hands all the night and spent all the day in the trenches, cold and trembling with fright.
George never thought it could happen to him, he would say “Remember the games and places we played.” Moments before we had been sharing a billycan, then he was first over the top, it was then he coped the lot. There was a big hole where he had just been, that was the last of my very best friend, all I could do was watch his brave end.
I never knew what happened to me, until I found in hospital a sleeve where my arm used to be. I now bury my head in a pillow at night and cry all day ‘cos it don’t seem right.
We now stand for a service with poppies all around, all I can see is dead bodies scattered all over the ground. When I get home they won’t be able to point a finger at me. So Joseph please don’t join up and be cannon fodder like me.
Your loving Son and brother, Len.
Written By
Malcolm B. Goodwin
From a folk song, by: Len Valentine 1914
Adapted by: Malcolm B. Goodwin
Dear Mother and Joseph,
I ask you to forgive this scrawly writing as I am trying to write left handed. Please discourage Joseph from signing up to the call of ‘Lord Kitchener’. Tell him to remember the day when we played so young in the fields of Cray Valley all green. We were happy then playing with Harry and Ted with George from next door, we thought the love of the world would have no end. We buried our heads contented at night. We worked and played hard because it felt right. Nun of us thought any one could happier be.
Lord Kitchener called us to arms, so we would stand proud and tall. If we did not take the shilling we would be made to feel small. This did finish our boyhood dreams as we put on new tunics, putties and caps. It was not long before we put to sea heading for a place called France on the map.
I got separated from Harry and Ted it was a week before I knew they were dead. Just buried my head in my hands all the night and spent all the day in the trenches, cold and trembling with fright.
George never thought it could happen to him, he would say “Remember the games and places we played.” Moments before we had been sharing a billycan, then he was first over the top, it was then he coped the lot. There was a big hole where he had just been, that was the last of my very best friend, all I could do was watch his brave end.
I never knew what happened to me, until I found in hospital a sleeve where my arm used to be. I now bury my head in a pillow at night and cry all day ‘cos it don’t seem right.
We now stand for a service with poppies all around, all I can see is dead bodies scattered all over the ground. When I get home they won’t be able to point a finger at me. So Joseph please don’t join up and be cannon fodder like me.
Your loving Son and brother, Len.
Written By
Malcolm B. Goodwin
WW II
What did your daddies do in the war? <
His daddy made big tanks and guns,
That helped to keep Hitler and Germans on the run.
He sold them to our government to prolong the war
At inflated prices, to keep the rest of us poor.
Our daddies were killed defending our land.
To be buried deep in some foreign sand.
They fought for our lives and freedom it is said,
Some gained a medal; so you could sleep well in your beds.
Written By Malcolm B. Goodwin, 2005.
What did your daddies do in the war? <
His daddy made big tanks and guns,
That helped to keep Hitler and Germans on the run.
He sold them to our government to prolong the war
At inflated prices, to keep the rest of us poor.
Our daddies were killed defending our land.
To be buried deep in some foreign sand.
They fought for our lives and freedom it is said,
Some gained a medal; so you could sleep well in your beds.
Written By Malcolm B. Goodwin, 2005.
A German Poem
No roses, on the ocean waves,
No lilies, on an unmarked grave,
No pillow dent, for her to keep,
Only tears, for a sweetheart weeps.
WWII Author unknown
Written By Malcolm B. Goodwin
No roses, on the ocean waves,
No lilies, on an unmarked grave,
No pillow dent, for her to keep,
Only tears, for a sweetheart weeps.
WWII Author unknown
Written By Malcolm B. Goodwin
A letter from a West Indian soldier serving in the 1st World War 1914-18
My darling Poppy
Dearest flower,
I hope when this letter reaches you it finds you better than it leaves my hand. I’m sorry if the writing is shaky, but I can barely hold the pen.The weather is colder than the snow cone I used to buy you from Mr Sol’s ice cart. My hands cold, my toes cold, my fingers cold; in fact it seems to reach right into my bones.
You might have heard that those of us who volunteered to join up from the West Indies were formed into our own regiment called the British West Indian Regiment, so I am now serving with men from many of the small islands like Barbados, Trinidad and Grenada in my battalion. It took me some time to understand their accents, but I suppose they had to learn mine too. Having our own regiment means that we suffer less discrimination than when we were the same as the whites. At least what we have to clean up is our own, and we don’t have to deal with the bad manners and constant grumbling of the men who were forced to join as conscripts from Britain. Reactions to us by some soldiers and some of the people we come across range from wanting to touch our skin to stroking our hair. Some think we are very tough while others think us cowards.
Now that the war is over, I am glad of it, but though not fighting, we are still working hard. We are now at a town called Taranto in Italy waiting to be shipped back home, but I don’t know when that will be. Meanwhile we have to load and unload ships and do all kinds of other manual labour. It gives us something useful to do, I suppose, and you know the saying about the devil and idle hands. But there was a bit of trouble the other day when some of our men did not see why they were sent to clean the toilets of Italian labourers. If we have to clean our own, why can’t they clean theirs? There is also trouble stirring up about discrimination in pay because the BWIR is not getting the same pay as others even though according to the rules we should be treated the same. I still find it hard to stomach the food and thank God for the cerase bush that mama dried and smuggled into my kit bag. Whenever I can I use it to boil some tea and drink to ward off the dysentery. Someone was curious about my special bush tea and wanted to taste it. I had to laugh when he quickly spat it out – he couldn’t take the bitterness. Please think of me next time you lick your fingers while eating run-down sauce with salted shad spiced with scotch bonnet pepper. (Me mouth a water just to think of it.) I hope when I come home that’s the first thing you will cook for me to eat with roast breadfruit. I will leave you to choose the second, but not pickled beef and cabbage water – I’ve had enough of that.
I learned that the colonies including ourselves donated millions of pounds for aeroplanes and ambulances, plus sugar, rum, oil, lime, cotton, rice, clothing,logwood, etc. to the mother country for war effort. I suppose the rum went to the officers – I never tasted any. I have had the occasional lime ration that I am told came from the West Indies, and that I understand is good for warding off a disease called scurvy. Some of the men had to be forced to suck the lime, but you know us West Indians are used to sucking on the sour and using it to make cool lemonade, so eating it didn’t bother me. Now and again we get sugar ration too, and some of mine I add to hot water with lime to make hot lemonade that I have invented.
Anyway, enough of my troubles. How are you Sweetie-pie? I miss you so much, and I hope you and our baby are keeping well. You know how glad I was when you told me before I left you were expecting. I still have the picture of you both that you sent me. Sorry I have not been able to send you any maintenance money due to the difficulties of being so far away, but I hope you understand. We got married in such a hurry that we did not even spend much time together, but we will make up for it when I return, God willing. I did explain all this to my mum and dad before I left and asked them to look after you for me, so I hope they have. It is hard for a man not to see his wife and child for such a long time, but by God’s grace we will be together soon when we will start our life together all over again. Some of the men want to be demobbed in England, but me, I want to come straight back home to my Jamaica and to you my dearest.
Keep sweet in the meantime.
Please write and send me all your news.
Your loving husband
Carlton.
Brenda
My darling Poppy
Dearest flower,
I hope when this letter reaches you it finds you better than it leaves my hand. I’m sorry if the writing is shaky, but I can barely hold the pen.The weather is colder than the snow cone I used to buy you from Mr Sol’s ice cart. My hands cold, my toes cold, my fingers cold; in fact it seems to reach right into my bones.
You might have heard that those of us who volunteered to join up from the West Indies were formed into our own regiment called the British West Indian Regiment, so I am now serving with men from many of the small islands like Barbados, Trinidad and Grenada in my battalion. It took me some time to understand their accents, but I suppose they had to learn mine too. Having our own regiment means that we suffer less discrimination than when we were the same as the whites. At least what we have to clean up is our own, and we don’t have to deal with the bad manners and constant grumbling of the men who were forced to join as conscripts from Britain. Reactions to us by some soldiers and some of the people we come across range from wanting to touch our skin to stroking our hair. Some think we are very tough while others think us cowards.
Now that the war is over, I am glad of it, but though not fighting, we are still working hard. We are now at a town called Taranto in Italy waiting to be shipped back home, but I don’t know when that will be. Meanwhile we have to load and unload ships and do all kinds of other manual labour. It gives us something useful to do, I suppose, and you know the saying about the devil and idle hands. But there was a bit of trouble the other day when some of our men did not see why they were sent to clean the toilets of Italian labourers. If we have to clean our own, why can’t they clean theirs? There is also trouble stirring up about discrimination in pay because the BWIR is not getting the same pay as others even though according to the rules we should be treated the same. I still find it hard to stomach the food and thank God for the cerase bush that mama dried and smuggled into my kit bag. Whenever I can I use it to boil some tea and drink to ward off the dysentery. Someone was curious about my special bush tea and wanted to taste it. I had to laugh when he quickly spat it out – he couldn’t take the bitterness. Please think of me next time you lick your fingers while eating run-down sauce with salted shad spiced with scotch bonnet pepper. (Me mouth a water just to think of it.) I hope when I come home that’s the first thing you will cook for me to eat with roast breadfruit. I will leave you to choose the second, but not pickled beef and cabbage water – I’ve had enough of that.
I learned that the colonies including ourselves donated millions of pounds for aeroplanes and ambulances, plus sugar, rum, oil, lime, cotton, rice, clothing,logwood, etc. to the mother country for war effort. I suppose the rum went to the officers – I never tasted any. I have had the occasional lime ration that I am told came from the West Indies, and that I understand is good for warding off a disease called scurvy. Some of the men had to be forced to suck the lime, but you know us West Indians are used to sucking on the sour and using it to make cool lemonade, so eating it didn’t bother me. Now and again we get sugar ration too, and some of mine I add to hot water with lime to make hot lemonade that I have invented.
Anyway, enough of my troubles. How are you Sweetie-pie? I miss you so much, and I hope you and our baby are keeping well. You know how glad I was when you told me before I left you were expecting. I still have the picture of you both that you sent me. Sorry I have not been able to send you any maintenance money due to the difficulties of being so far away, but I hope you understand. We got married in such a hurry that we did not even spend much time together, but we will make up for it when I return, God willing. I did explain all this to my mum and dad before I left and asked them to look after you for me, so I hope they have. It is hard for a man not to see his wife and child for such a long time, but by God’s grace we will be together soon when we will start our life together all over again. Some of the men want to be demobbed in England, but me, I want to come straight back home to my Jamaica and to you my dearest.
Keep sweet in the meantime.
Please write and send me all your news.
Your loving husband
Carlton.
Brenda
War Letters by Una King.
The following were submitted by Una King.The first is one from a young girl writing to her beloved brother on the front. The second is his response.
The third letter is written by a young man serving in the British West Indian Regiment, to his parents in the Jamaica.
Letter from a young sister to her brother in World War I
May 16th 1916.
Dearest Tommy,
I do miss you so. You never say much in your letters about what’s happening there in Somme.
Papa says that it is dreadful for all the boys over there.
Keep Bittie close to you and don’t lose him. That lucky charm has kept you safe so far.
Granny, Mama and aunt Lizzy are organising a concert in the church hall.
Their slogan is “We are all in it together”.
They have banners all over the place. The whole village seems to be taking part.
Nothing will cheer me up until you return home.
Papa went to a meeting in London last week with Lord Lieutenant somebody I don’t remember his name. Papa is beside himself, he will not be sent to Northern France to lead his regiment. He says that they have made a mascot of him. He is to keep spirits high at home.
Granny says he has to accept that he is too old for warfare. You know how beastly Granny can be sometimes. Poor Papa, I guess he will get over it soon enough.
You will be pleased to know that a certain person is now a volunteer at the hospital. Her brother has been called up. He will be with the Lancashire Fusiliers I hear.
Jeremy C Obs has been called as well. Edith believes that he will use it as an opportunity to try to humiliate the British Army by shouting his disapproval while on patrol.
That will certainly cause a stir; he may have to face the guns as a coward and what a disgrace it would be on his family, if he does.
Buster has taken over the running of the farm, with no Tommy to guide him. You and I are the only ones who believe in him. He is doing a great job; even granny has to admit it.
Scape has four gorgeous puppies, you will love them. I shall look after them until you get home.
I pray for your safe return.
Write when you can.
Susan.
30th June 1918
Dear Susan,
I can’t tell you how delighted I am to receive your letter. Thank you for keeping me informed on the local news and giving me cause for such cheer. I hardly have time to write as I am kept busy all the time.
There is the possibility that my regiment will be moved on to Italy but there is no confirmation of this yet. Fortunately for me I will be coming home on a week’s leave. Do you think that you can keep this to yourself? It would not seem right to be celebrating when so many have been killed and maimed; besides I will be constantly thinking of the boys left behind on the front.
Do I get to name any of the pups? I think Captain, Major, Colonel and Sergeant. Stop it! Don’t laugh.
I may be home before you get this.
Bye for now.
Tommy.
Dear Susan,
I can’t tell you how delighted I am to receive your letter. Thank you for keeping me informed on the local news and giving me cause for such cheer. I hardly have time to write as I am kept busy all the time.
There is the possibility that my regiment will be moved on to Italy but there is no confirmation of this yet. Fortunately for me I will be coming home on a week’s leave. Do you think that you can keep this to yourself? It would not seem right to be celebrating when so many have been killed and maimed; besides I will be constantly thinking of the boys left behind on the front.
Do I get to name any of the pups? I think Captain, Major, Colonel and Sergeant. Stop it! Don’t laugh.
I may be home before you get this.
Bye for now.
Tommy.
10th December 1915
My dear Papa,
I hope that you and Mama are keeping well. I am very happy to hear from you.
I am glad to know that we had a bumper crop of coffee. I am surprised that we got so many boxes. Our hard work has certainly paid off.
Papa, you will have to get some extra hands to help with the pruning and weeding as soon as the harvest is over. Lenny and Sam have to go to school and Bertie must finish his apprenticeship at the Gleaner Company.
It is not at all like I expected here in Taranto. None of the lads from the West Indian Regiment are on the front line of fighting, which may be a relief to some but a great disappointment to others.
The Regiment has split up; some of the lads have been sent to Canada and some to Africa. Mr Laing’s son from Wood Hall is in my Regiment. It is good to see a familiar face.
Please tell Mama not to worry. Tell her that I will be home before she knows it. Pass on my regards to family and friends.
Your loving son,
Amos.
Written by Una King
My dear Papa,
I hope that you and Mama are keeping well. I am very happy to hear from you.
I am glad to know that we had a bumper crop of coffee. I am surprised that we got so many boxes. Our hard work has certainly paid off.
Papa, you will have to get some extra hands to help with the pruning and weeding as soon as the harvest is over. Lenny and Sam have to go to school and Bertie must finish his apprenticeship at the Gleaner Company.
It is not at all like I expected here in Taranto. None of the lads from the West Indian Regiment are on the front line of fighting, which may be a relief to some but a great disappointment to others.
The Regiment has split up; some of the lads have been sent to Canada and some to Africa. Mr Laing’s son from Wood Hall is in my Regiment. It is good to see a familiar face.
Please tell Mama not to worry. Tell her that I will be home before she knows it. Pass on my regards to family and friends.
Your loving son,
Amos.
Written by Una King
War Letters by Dotty Matthews
The following were submitted by Dotty Matthews is based on word of mouth accounts of the war given by Sydney, written by Sydney's daughter Dotty Mathew.
Letter from my Dad No.1.
Heselgrave Sydney Alexander
3rd Infantry
Welsh Fusiliers,
Area 7104
France.
Dear Mam and Da,
I don't know the day or date today but just know it is 1914, cold and wet.
We arrived safe and sound, heaven knows how, as the sea was so rough and yours truly was sick for most of the journey. I felt so sorry for the poor sods standing downwind of me. Us lads on the outside of the boat got soaked good and proper.
When we got on land we didn't have time to get our land legs back and we had to march for what seemed like hours to our camp. The country roads were as dark as the pit in Tonypandy and we were told when we finally arrived which trenches would be ours. The bunkers, which would be our home for heaven knows how long, were dimly lit and we could hardly see where we had to sleep.
The paliasses were lumpy but we were all so tired that most of us slept in our wet uniforms.
At dawn, the sergeant, bless him, woke us. He barked that we had five minutes to use the latrine, wash, shave, drink a mug of hot water which was supposed to be tea, and we had jam on a chunk of dry bread for our breakfast.
The captain came along just as we were ready and looked us over like we were cows at market and told us we would spend 18 hours as look outs in the trenches and it would leave us six hours to clean our kit, do our washing, oil our guns, see the doctor if needs be and write home.
I have been picked to be a stretcher bearer and I know it's not the best job in the world but someone has got to bring the poor buggers in from the surrounding fields and run with them to the hospital to try to save their lives while keeping my own head down so as to dodge the bullets.
The sounds you hear are terrible, and brave soldiers crying for their mothers breaks your heart. Please God it will never be me.
It is a long way from Tonypandy, and I miss the hills covered with sheep, quiet and peaceful. I would help Dai Jones with the lambing and I wonder where he has ended up and if I will ever see him again.
I would give anything to be there now and go for a pint down the pub with my mates, instead of having to listen to the screaming coming from the red cross tent.
I hope you are both well and please God the war won't last too much longer then we can all be together again.
Have you heard from Bertie and Charlie? I hope and pray my brothers are ok.
I don't suppose there will be much chance of us bumping into each other. It's a bigger place this France than I thought..
Goodnight, God bless, from your loving son
Sydney xx
Heselgrave Sydney Alexander
3rd Infantry
Welsh Fusiliers,
Area 7104
France.
Dear Mam and Da,
I don't know the day or date today but just know it is 1914, cold and wet.
We arrived safe and sound, heaven knows how, as the sea was so rough and yours truly was sick for most of the journey. I felt so sorry for the poor sods standing downwind of me. Us lads on the outside of the boat got soaked good and proper.
When we got on land we didn't have time to get our land legs back and we had to march for what seemed like hours to our camp. The country roads were as dark as the pit in Tonypandy and we were told when we finally arrived which trenches would be ours. The bunkers, which would be our home for heaven knows how long, were dimly lit and we could hardly see where we had to sleep.
The paliasses were lumpy but we were all so tired that most of us slept in our wet uniforms.
At dawn, the sergeant, bless him, woke us. He barked that we had five minutes to use the latrine, wash, shave, drink a mug of hot water which was supposed to be tea, and we had jam on a chunk of dry bread for our breakfast.
The captain came along just as we were ready and looked us over like we were cows at market and told us we would spend 18 hours as look outs in the trenches and it would leave us six hours to clean our kit, do our washing, oil our guns, see the doctor if needs be and write home.
I have been picked to be a stretcher bearer and I know it's not the best job in the world but someone has got to bring the poor buggers in from the surrounding fields and run with them to the hospital to try to save their lives while keeping my own head down so as to dodge the bullets.
The sounds you hear are terrible, and brave soldiers crying for their mothers breaks your heart. Please God it will never be me.
It is a long way from Tonypandy, and I miss the hills covered with sheep, quiet and peaceful. I would help Dai Jones with the lambing and I wonder where he has ended up and if I will ever see him again.
I would give anything to be there now and go for a pint down the pub with my mates, instead of having to listen to the screaming coming from the red cross tent.
I hope you are both well and please God the war won't last too much longer then we can all be together again.
Have you heard from Bertie and Charlie? I hope and pray my brothers are ok.
I don't suppose there will be much chance of us bumping into each other. It's a bigger place this France than I thought..
Goodnight, God bless, from your loving son
Sydney xx
To
Mr & Mrs. Heselgrave,
32 Blackmoor Street,
Blaenchlydach,
Tonypandy,
South Wales. England.
The following letter is based on word of mouth accounts of the war given by Sydney, written by Sydney's daughter Dotty Mathew.
Heselgrave Sidney Alexander
3rd Infantry
Welsh Fusiliers,
Area 7104
France.
Dear Mam and Da,
I received your three very welcome letters all at once, and I nearly know every word off by heart.
I'm glad my dog bobby is being good and tell him I miss him.
I don't suppose I will have a lot of spare time to write to you after this letter as when I tell you what happened to me I know Da will laugh when he tells the lads down the pub, but all I can say is that it wasn't funny at the time.
The Captain came into our bunker one evening just as we had finished our lookout duties and we were all sitting round having something to eat when we asked if anyone in our company could ride a horse.
Well, I had sort of taken care of some of the pit ponies that arrived at our pit and I would make sure they were ok and give them their food.
I stood up and said 'I can ride Sir'. Well done that man so report to the sargeant in the morning and collect an important message that has to be at the Group Captain's tent by 0.10.00 hours. 'Yes Sir' I replied.
Some of my mates asked me when I had learned to ride, and I confessed I had never been on the back of a horse. They all rolled about laughing at the thought of it and I found it hard to sleep after telling such a big lie. Oh well, it can't be that hard I thought.
Next morning I was ready to go and I knew that the camp was more or less in a straight line from ours, about three quarters of a mile down the road. We had marched it many times carrying supplies.
I was introduced to my horse, Shoeshine - he was certainly a big bugger. My mates laughed as they watched me try to get on his back, but with one big heave I managed it.
I made sure the message pouch was safely round my shoulder and I sat up tall and dug my heels into Shoeshine's withers and without a moments hesitation he shot forward nearly breaking my neck, and he ran like the wind down the country lane and in no time I could see the camp looming towards me.
The Captain's tent was the biggest one. I pulled on the reins and shouted WHOA, but he must have gone bloody deaf. and carried on straight through the open flap of the tent and with everything flying around on the inside, went straight out of the other end.
Shouts were heard and some men ran forward and stopped Shoeshine somehow. I fell over the top of his head and landed on my arse in front of the Captain whose face was bright red. I thought he was going to explode.
He nearly did. At least I gave him the message intact.
So that is the end of my horse exploits and I have got to do all the rotten dirty jobs that can be found before I am allowed to go back to my stretcher bearing duties.
Well Mam and Da, I have lots to do before I turn in, so take care of yourselves and I will write again as soon as things are back to normal (if they ever are).
From your loving son
Syd. x
Mr & Mrs. Heselgrave,
32 Blackmoor Street,
Blaenchlydach,
Tonypandy,
South Wales. England.
The following letter is based on word of mouth accounts of the war given by Sydney, written by Sydney's daughter Dotty Mathew.
Heselgrave Sidney Alexander
3rd Infantry
Welsh Fusiliers,
Area 7104
France.
Dear Mam and Da,
I received your three very welcome letters all at once, and I nearly know every word off by heart.
I'm glad my dog bobby is being good and tell him I miss him.
I don't suppose I will have a lot of spare time to write to you after this letter as when I tell you what happened to me I know Da will laugh when he tells the lads down the pub, but all I can say is that it wasn't funny at the time.
The Captain came into our bunker one evening just as we had finished our lookout duties and we were all sitting round having something to eat when we asked if anyone in our company could ride a horse.
Well, I had sort of taken care of some of the pit ponies that arrived at our pit and I would make sure they were ok and give them their food.
I stood up and said 'I can ride Sir'. Well done that man so report to the sargeant in the morning and collect an important message that has to be at the Group Captain's tent by 0.10.00 hours. 'Yes Sir' I replied.
Some of my mates asked me when I had learned to ride, and I confessed I had never been on the back of a horse. They all rolled about laughing at the thought of it and I found it hard to sleep after telling such a big lie. Oh well, it can't be that hard I thought.
Next morning I was ready to go and I knew that the camp was more or less in a straight line from ours, about three quarters of a mile down the road. We had marched it many times carrying supplies.
I was introduced to my horse, Shoeshine - he was certainly a big bugger. My mates laughed as they watched me try to get on his back, but with one big heave I managed it.
I made sure the message pouch was safely round my shoulder and I sat up tall and dug my heels into Shoeshine's withers and without a moments hesitation he shot forward nearly breaking my neck, and he ran like the wind down the country lane and in no time I could see the camp looming towards me.
The Captain's tent was the biggest one. I pulled on the reins and shouted WHOA, but he must have gone bloody deaf. and carried on straight through the open flap of the tent and with everything flying around on the inside, went straight out of the other end.
Shouts were heard and some men ran forward and stopped Shoeshine somehow. I fell over the top of his head and landed on my arse in front of the Captain whose face was bright red. I thought he was going to explode.
He nearly did. At least I gave him the message intact.
So that is the end of my horse exploits and I have got to do all the rotten dirty jobs that can be found before I am allowed to go back to my stretcher bearing duties.
Well Mam and Da, I have lots to do before I turn in, so take care of yourselves and I will write again as soon as things are back to normal (if they ever are).
From your loving son
Syd. x
To
Mr & Mrs Heselgrave
32 Blackmoor Street,
Blaenchlydach
Tonypandy
South Wales. England.
16 Ormside Street,
Bermondsey
London.
Dear George,
I hope you are well and safe. We are all thinking about you.
You will never guess what your little sister has done.
I am at work in a munitions factory in Bermondsey and it is only a tram ride away.
I felt guilty because I wasn't doing anything towards helping out with war duties and then I spoke to a lady at the tram stop and she told me about the factory.
I went there and I started work two weeks ago.
Back home most young women and mothers haven't got much money
to live on as their men are away and its hard for them to get food and clothes for their children, so they are encouraged to get jobs that men usually do.
Our sister Sally has gone into service and works at a big house up at Blackheath and only comes home on her afternoon off which is usually a Friday. Ther are big notices all over the place with YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU on them.
So I thought here I go.
When I got to the factory on the first day I had to wear an apron and a cap and was told by the foreman that I was to assemble hand grenades. There were lots of different boxes on a long bench which I was to share with other women, but the trouble was I couldn't reach to see what was in the boxes, so he went and found me a large wooden crate to stand on. I am very quick at putting all the pieces together and the foreman seems pleased with me. I am so tired at the end of the day and my fingers are very sore, my back aches and so do my legs.
You are not allowed to assemble the important parts such as the actual explosives or the pin as the married women are given this job as the government think they have more common sense. Well that's their opinion I say.
I am very 'dextrous' the foreman said. I think that's a good thing.
I am earning £1. a week. Mum is still taking in washing so I give her most of it and just save for my tram fares and a couple of pence for cakes.
Well George, God bless, I am going to bed now as I am falling asleep writing this. Please write to us soon.
Love from your little sister Florrie,
Mum, Billy, Jim,Charlie and Sally send their love too.x come home soon.
Mr & Mrs Heselgrave
32 Blackmoor Street,
Blaenchlydach
Tonypandy
South Wales. England.
16 Ormside Street,
Bermondsey
London.
Dear George,
I hope you are well and safe. We are all thinking about you.
You will never guess what your little sister has done.
I am at work in a munitions factory in Bermondsey and it is only a tram ride away.
I felt guilty because I wasn't doing anything towards helping out with war duties and then I spoke to a lady at the tram stop and she told me about the factory.
I went there and I started work two weeks ago.
Back home most young women and mothers haven't got much money
to live on as their men are away and its hard for them to get food and clothes for their children, so they are encouraged to get jobs that men usually do.
Our sister Sally has gone into service and works at a big house up at Blackheath and only comes home on her afternoon off which is usually a Friday. Ther are big notices all over the place with YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU on them.
So I thought here I go.
When I got to the factory on the first day I had to wear an apron and a cap and was told by the foreman that I was to assemble hand grenades. There were lots of different boxes on a long bench which I was to share with other women, but the trouble was I couldn't reach to see what was in the boxes, so he went and found me a large wooden crate to stand on. I am very quick at putting all the pieces together and the foreman seems pleased with me. I am so tired at the end of the day and my fingers are very sore, my back aches and so do my legs.
You are not allowed to assemble the important parts such as the actual explosives or the pin as the married women are given this job as the government think they have more common sense. Well that's their opinion I say.
I am very 'dextrous' the foreman said. I think that's a good thing.
I am earning £1. a week. Mum is still taking in washing so I give her most of it and just save for my tram fares and a couple of pence for cakes.
Well George, God bless, I am going to bed now as I am falling asleep writing this. Please write to us soon.
Love from your little sister Florrie,
Mum, Billy, Jim,Charlie and Sally send their love too.x come home soon.
16 Ormside Street,
Bermondsey
London.
Dear George,
I hope you are well and safe. We are all thinking about you.
You will never guess what your little sister has done.
I am at work in a munitions factory in Bermondsey and it is only a tram ride away.
I felt guilty because I wasn't doing anything towards helping out
with war duties and then I spoke to a lady at the tram stop and she
told me about the factory.
I went there and I started work two weeks ago.
Back home most young women and mothers haven't got much money
to live on as their men are away and its hard for them to get food and clothes for their children, so they are encouraged to get jobs that men usually do.
Our sister Sally has gone into service and works at a big house up at Blackheath and only comes home on her afternoon off which is usually a Friday. Ther are big notices all over the place with YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU on them.
So I thought here I go.
When I got to the factory on the first day I had to wear an apron and a cap and was told by the foreman that I was to assemble hand grenades. There were lots of different boxes on a long bench which I was to share with other women, but the trouble was I couldn't reach to see what was in the boxes, so he went and found me a large wooden crate to stand on. I am very quick at putting all the pieces together and the foreman seems pleased with me. I am so tired at the end of the day and my fingers are very sore, my back aches and so do my legs.
You are not allowed to assemble the important parts such as the actual explosives or the pin as the married women are given this job as the government think they have more common sense. Well thats their opinion I say.
I am very 'dextrous' the foreman said. I think thats a good thing.
I am earning £1. a week. Mum is still taking in washing so I give her most of it and just save for my tram fares and a couple of pence for cakes.
Well George, God bless, I am going to bed now as I am falling asleep writing this. Please write to us soon.
Love from your little sister Florrie,
Mum, Billy, Jim,Charlie and Sally send their love too.x come home soon.
Bermondsey
London.
Dear George,
I hope you are well and safe. We are all thinking about you.
You will never guess what your little sister has done.
I am at work in a munitions factory in Bermondsey and it is only a tram ride away.
I felt guilty because I wasn't doing anything towards helping out
with war duties and then I spoke to a lady at the tram stop and she
told me about the factory.
I went there and I started work two weeks ago.
Back home most young women and mothers haven't got much money
to live on as their men are away and its hard for them to get food and clothes for their children, so they are encouraged to get jobs that men usually do.
Our sister Sally has gone into service and works at a big house up at Blackheath and only comes home on her afternoon off which is usually a Friday. Ther are big notices all over the place with YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU on them.
So I thought here I go.
When I got to the factory on the first day I had to wear an apron and a cap and was told by the foreman that I was to assemble hand grenades. There were lots of different boxes on a long bench which I was to share with other women, but the trouble was I couldn't reach to see what was in the boxes, so he went and found me a large wooden crate to stand on. I am very quick at putting all the pieces together and the foreman seems pleased with me. I am so tired at the end of the day and my fingers are very sore, my back aches and so do my legs.
You are not allowed to assemble the important parts such as the actual explosives or the pin as the married women are given this job as the government think they have more common sense. Well thats their opinion I say.
I am very 'dextrous' the foreman said. I think thats a good thing.
I am earning £1. a week. Mum is still taking in washing so I give her most of it and just save for my tram fares and a couple of pence for cakes.
Well George, God bless, I am going to bed now as I am falling asleep writing this. Please write to us soon.
Love from your little sister Florrie,
Mum, Billy, Jim,Charlie and Sally send their love too.x come home soon.
War Letters by John Roberts
The following were submitted byJohn Roberts and features a series of letters between Robert and his parents
Letters From Robert
3140683 Private Robert Willis
Dear Mother,
It seems a long time since I left you after my embarkation leave. We didn’t go straight across the channel but spent three weeks at a camp on the south coast where we were issued with more kit and given more training in the use of our rifles and in hand to hand fighting.
We then set sail and spent a week about five miles from the front line. Even from these we could hear the sound of the large guns firing and the explosion of the shells, both ours and the enemies. It gave us a taste of what was to come.
We marched to the front where we live in trenches 6 feet deep. We are not allowed to tell you where we are, even if I could I’m not sure if I could pronounce it. We live and sleep in a bunker off the main trench. It is very damp and my boots and socks get wet very quickly and take a long time to dry out. The blokes in my platoon are a good bunch and we get on well together. The officer is not a bad chap.
Enough from this end. How are you and Dad getting on? It must be hard for him without me working for him/her. The ploughing should be over by now and that’s the hardest work. How are things in the village?
Is there any news of the other lads that were enlisted.
Will end now,
Your loving son,
Robert
3140683 Private Robert Willis
Dear Mother,
It seems a long time since I left you after my embarkation leave. We didn’t go straight across the channel but spent three weeks at a camp on the south coast where we were issued with more kit and given more training in the use of our rifles and in hand to hand fighting.
We then set sail and spent a week about five miles from the front line. Even from these we could hear the sound of the large guns firing and the explosion of the shells, both ours and the enemies. It gave us a taste of what was to come.
We marched to the front where we live in trenches 6 feet deep. We are not allowed to tell you where we are, even if I could I’m not sure if I could pronounce it. We live and sleep in a bunker off the main trench. It is very damp and my boots and socks get wet very quickly and take a long time to dry out. The blokes in my platoon are a good bunch and we get on well together. The officer is not a bad chap.
Enough from this end. How are you and Dad getting on? It must be hard for him without me working for him/her. The ploughing should be over by now and that’s the hardest work. How are things in the village?
Is there any news of the other lads that were enlisted.
Will end now,
Your loving son,
Robert
Oak Tree Farm
Long Lane
Little Gadsby
Nr. Tonbridge
Kent
Dear Robert,
We were so pleased to receive your letter and to hear that you have arrived safely.
As soon as I heard about your wet socks I knitted three pairs of woollen socks to keep your feet warm and dry. I have sent them in a separate parcel.
Dad is feeling tired but as you said the harvest work is over. Uncle Tom comes over and works with Dad which is a great help.
There is a dance in the village hall on Saturday which we are hoping to get to.
That’s about all the news for now.
Do write soon if you can.
God bless.
Your loving Mother
Long Lane
Little Gadsby
Nr. Tonbridge
Kent
Dear Robert,
We were so pleased to receive your letter and to hear that you have arrived safely.
As soon as I heard about your wet socks I knitted three pairs of woollen socks to keep your feet warm and dry. I have sent them in a separate parcel.
Dad is feeling tired but as you said the harvest work is over. Uncle Tom comes over and works with Dad which is a great help.
There is a dance in the village hall on Saturday which we are hoping to get to.
That’s about all the news for now.
Do write soon if you can.
God bless.
Your loving Mother
Dear Mother,
Thank you for your letter, it was lovely to hear from you. The socks arrived a few days later. They really are wonderful. The other lads are envious that I can wash my socks every day and put on a dry pair every morning. They do take a while to dry as it is so damp in the trenches, it hasn’t stopped raining for 3 weeks resulting in an awful lot of mud.
Time passes slowly with not a lot to do. We often are told to prepare to go over the top but it has only actually happened twice. They were only small skirmishes with no casualties, but it was quite horrific with all the gunfire. Even when we are not involved there is still the noise of the big guns which never seem to stop.
Our officer works hard to keep us busy and keep our spirits up during the quiet time. It is good that Uncle Tome comes over at weekends to help Dad out especially as harvest is coming.
We are now rationed to one sheet of paper for each letter so will have to close.
Your loving son,
Robert
Thank you for your letter, it was lovely to hear from you. The socks arrived a few days later. They really are wonderful. The other lads are envious that I can wash my socks every day and put on a dry pair every morning. They do take a while to dry as it is so damp in the trenches, it hasn’t stopped raining for 3 weeks resulting in an awful lot of mud.
Time passes slowly with not a lot to do. We often are told to prepare to go over the top but it has only actually happened twice. They were only small skirmishes with no casualties, but it was quite horrific with all the gunfire. Even when we are not involved there is still the noise of the big guns which never seem to stop.
Our officer works hard to keep us busy and keep our spirits up during the quiet time. It is good that Uncle Tome comes over at weekends to help Dad out especially as harvest is coming.
We are now rationed to one sheet of paper for each letter so will have to close.
Your loving son,
Robert
Oak Tree Farm
Dear Robert,
Thank you for your letter, it was good to know that you are well in spite of the foggy conditions. We do think and pray for you every day. Our friends and neighbours are often asking after you.
We had an unexpected visit from the army a couple of weeks ago looking for horses. They took Toby which only leaves old Sam. They gave us a fair price but it is no real compensation as it puts more work on Dad.
Jim, the parson’s son, registered as a conscientious objector and was one of the very few to convince the board of his sincerity. He has been told that he has to work on the farm in the mornings and at another farm the other side of the village in the afternoons.
Uncle Tom comes over still at weekends. It is good for Dad to have another adult to talk to. The barn dance was enjoyable but it was obvious that everyone was thinking of their family and friends who are away fighting those dreadful Germans.
Well, that’s all the news for now,
God bless,
Your loving Mother
Dear Robert,
Thank you for your letter, it was good to know that you are well in spite of the foggy conditions. We do think and pray for you every day. Our friends and neighbours are often asking after you.
We had an unexpected visit from the army a couple of weeks ago looking for horses. They took Toby which only leaves old Sam. They gave us a fair price but it is no real compensation as it puts more work on Dad.
Jim, the parson’s son, registered as a conscientious objector and was one of the very few to convince the board of his sincerity. He has been told that he has to work on the farm in the mornings and at another farm the other side of the village in the afternoons.
Uncle Tom comes over still at weekends. It is good for Dad to have another adult to talk to. The barn dance was enjoyable but it was obvious that everyone was thinking of their family and friends who are away fighting those dreadful Germans.
Well, that’s all the news for now,
God bless,
Your loving Mother
Dear Mother,
I was sorry to hear about Toby; I have frequently though about him. Last week we moved to a new position about 5 miles west. All our equipment was loaded onto carts which were pulled by horses. I did wonder if Toby was one of them. I am not sure how he would react to the noise of the gunfire. Although he was a good worker he was a nervous horse.
Our new bunker is larger and drier than our other one with thicker wooden planks for walls. We don’t know why we have moved but there is a rumour of a big push coming but the place is full of rumours so we never know what to believe. Whatever happens I’m sure the top brass HQ know what they are doing.
Life in the trenches can be a bit boring but with the help of our captain we manage to keep ourselves occupied and amused. The continuous noise of the bombardments stop us from falling asleep during the day. The noise is still horrific.
Must close as have run out of my ration of paper.
Your loving son,
Robert
I was sorry to hear about Toby; I have frequently though about him. Last week we moved to a new position about 5 miles west. All our equipment was loaded onto carts which were pulled by horses. I did wonder if Toby was one of them. I am not sure how he would react to the noise of the gunfire. Although he was a good worker he was a nervous horse.
Our new bunker is larger and drier than our other one with thicker wooden planks for walls. We don’t know why we have moved but there is a rumour of a big push coming but the place is full of rumours so we never know what to believe. Whatever happens I’m sure the top brass HQ know what they are doing.
Life in the trenches can be a bit boring but with the help of our captain we manage to keep ourselves occupied and amused. The continuous noise of the bombardments stop us from falling asleep during the day. The noise is still horrific.
Must close as have run out of my ration of paper.
Your loving son,
Robert
Dear Robert,
It was good to hear from you again. we are glad that your new accommodation is a bit better than the last, but the noise of war does sound terrible. we are busy on the farm as it is now harvest time, but most of the wheat and barley is now in. but the parson's son still comes every morning. he really is a hard worker. Uncle Tom still comes at weekends.
We are still thinking of you every day and praying for your safe return.
We went to church on Sunday and the parson prayed for everyone from the village who are fighting at the front and he mentioned you and all the rest by name. It is a comfort to know that so many people are thinking of you. The newspapers report the the war is going well and will soon be over, let's hope so.
With love from us both.
Mother.
It was good to hear from you again. we are glad that your new accommodation is a bit better than the last, but the noise of war does sound terrible. we are busy on the farm as it is now harvest time, but most of the wheat and barley is now in. but the parson's son still comes every morning. he really is a hard worker. Uncle Tom still comes at weekends.
We are still thinking of you every day and praying for your safe return.
We went to church on Sunday and the parson prayed for everyone from the village who are fighting at the front and he mentioned you and all the rest by name. It is a comfort to know that so many people are thinking of you. The newspapers report the the war is going well and will soon be over, let's hope so.
With love from us both.
Mother.
Dear Mr & Mrs Willis,
It is with regret that I have to inform you that your son Private Robert Williams was killed in action on the 28th August.
It was a dangerous operation but Robert did not flinch to face the enemy. Although wounded he tried to help a badly injured comrade back to our lines.
Unfortunately they were both killed by German machine gun fire.
Robert was an excellent soldier and well liked by all of his team. You can be very proud of your son as I was to have served with him.
Robert’s personal possessions will be sent to you as soon as possible.
With my sincere and deepest condolences.
Yours faithfully,
Captain A.J. Forster.
WEST KENT RIFLES.
It is with regret that I have to inform you that your son Private Robert Williams was killed in action on the 28th August.
It was a dangerous operation but Robert did not flinch to face the enemy. Although wounded he tried to help a badly injured comrade back to our lines.
Unfortunately they were both killed by German machine gun fire.
Robert was an excellent soldier and well liked by all of his team. You can be very proud of your son as I was to have served with him.
Robert’s personal possessions will be sent to you as soon as possible.
With my sincere and deepest condolences.
Yours faithfully,
Captain A.J. Forster.
WEST KENT RIFLES.
War Letters by Joy Swaby
The following were submitted by Joy Swaby
Letters from Johnny
My dearest Brother Reggie,
Brother, I'm so glad you are too young to enter this bloody war. We read the poster: "YOUNG MEN AND WOMEN FROM THE CARIBBEAN, WAR IS ON. COME AND FIGHT FOR YOUR MOTHER COUNTRY".
So, as you know, myself and many of my friends, men and women, packed up our belongings and sailed off to England to fight for our mother country.
Now I wish I'd never been born. The cold nights, the cracking of the guns and the roaring of those 'aero planes', the sirens, the rushing of feet, the shouts and cries. How often now do I weep for my sweet Jamaica.
My friend Lewis-Baily and me with the others crouch in the cold muddy trenches behind parapets with guns and grenades in our hands. This cold like I've never felt before. It seeps through my bones while rats and all kind of insects rush for their lives because of the noise of the crackling guns. Dead and wounded men's eyes stare up into the dingy sky and the stench of the dead rises.
Yesterday a bloody German grenade exploded in my friend's chest. I tried to assist him but he was dead. I nearly got my own bloody leg shot off and was in terrible pain while all around the shouts were horrendous.
The wounded and dead lay waiting for body bags and stretchers to ferry them to hospital and the morgue.
What keeps me sane is the thought of being once more in my sweet Jamaica with you and our family.
Always your loving brother
Jonny
Written by Joy Swaby
My dearest Brother Reggie,
Brother, I'm so glad you are too young to enter this bloody war. We read the poster: "YOUNG MEN AND WOMEN FROM THE CARIBBEAN, WAR IS ON. COME AND FIGHT FOR YOUR MOTHER COUNTRY".
So, as you know, myself and many of my friends, men and women, packed up our belongings and sailed off to England to fight for our mother country.
Now I wish I'd never been born. The cold nights, the cracking of the guns and the roaring of those 'aero planes', the sirens, the rushing of feet, the shouts and cries. How often now do I weep for my sweet Jamaica.
My friend Lewis-Baily and me with the others crouch in the cold muddy trenches behind parapets with guns and grenades in our hands. This cold like I've never felt before. It seeps through my bones while rats and all kind of insects rush for their lives because of the noise of the crackling guns. Dead and wounded men's eyes stare up into the dingy sky and the stench of the dead rises.
Yesterday a bloody German grenade exploded in my friend's chest. I tried to assist him but he was dead. I nearly got my own bloody leg shot off and was in terrible pain while all around the shouts were horrendous.
The wounded and dead lay waiting for body bags and stretchers to ferry them to hospital and the morgue.
What keeps me sane is the thought of being once more in my sweet Jamaica with you and our family.
Always your loving brother
Jonny
Written by Joy Swaby
War letters by L La Pierre
The following were submitted by L La Pierre.
Dear Sir
I hope by the time these few lines reach you, all is well.
I arrived in the mother country in one piece, along with volunteers from the other Caribbean islands, as part of the British West Indies Regiment. The journey was wearing and unfamiliar to many of us, as you will appreciate, but nevertheless we are here now. It is very cold inEngland . I sleep under a few blankets but I am still cold. The houses are all joined up together with dark smoke bellowing out of chimneys, one can hardly breathe. It is so different from back home. Oh how I miss the sunny Caribbean isle already.
Next week our battalion sail on to fight in the Palestine campaign.Yet another arduous journey on the rough seas I am told.
I hope by the time these few lines reach you, all is well.
I arrived in the mother country in one piece, along with volunteers from the other Caribbean islands, as part of the British West Indies Regiment. The journey was wearing and unfamiliar to many of us, as you will appreciate, but nevertheless we are here now. It is very cold in
Next week our battalion sail on to fight in the Palestine campaign.Yet another arduous journey on the rough seas I am told.
Dear Sir
My battalion arrived inPalestine reasonably in fair shape. Without any time being wasted, we saw front-line service against the Turkish army. Our opposites are ferocious fighters. So armed with our machine guns we surge forward with an element of coolness, under fire, to achieve our goal. The trenches are muddy and deep but were a force to be reckoned with. Although we are far away from the main conflicts in Europe , it was still a bloody war here. I have seen pain and scars on soldiers’ faces, one that I will forget.
Yours faithfully
©09/03/2014
L La Pierre
My battalion arrived in
Yours faithfully
©09/03/2014
L La Pierre
War Letters by Joyce Gates
The following were submitted by Joyce Gates of Torridon Writers.
This report was related by my father, Private Alfred Reynolds, a proud member of the Border Regiment. He hoped that the Great War was the war to end all wars, so when, at the commencement of WWII, his younger brother and his son went off to fight, he was devastated.
WWI letter
Hello Dad,
Here's a surprise -I am back home in 'Dear Old Blighty'. Due to very severe hearing problems caused by constant gun shot noise I, and several more battle scarred have been brought home for treatment. As leave is restricted I shall not be able to visit you, but rest assured we are all well cared for.
Unfortunately when sufficiently recovered we shall be returning to the War Zone and no doubt the trenches to get on with fighting. Only those who survive the conflict will be able to relate the suffering.
My thoughts are always with you and the family.
Take care Dad -
yours Alfred
Written by Joyce Gates Torridon Writers
Hello Dad,
Here's a surprise -I am back home in 'Dear Old Blighty'. Due to very severe hearing problems caused by constant gun shot noise I, and several more battle scarred have been brought home for treatment. As leave is restricted I shall not be able to visit you, but rest assured we are all well cared for.
Unfortunately when sufficiently recovered we shall be returning to the War Zone and no doubt the trenches to get on with fighting. Only those who survive the conflict will be able to relate the suffering.
My thoughts are always with you and the family.
Take care Dad -
yours Alfred
Written by Joyce Gates Torridon Writers
War Letters by Ottis Edwards
The following were submitted by Ottis Edwards
WWI letter from John
My Dear Brother Jim,
How are you keeping? I hope this letter will reach your hands and find you in good health and spirits despite your present circumstances. Although I find it hard to even imagine how hard and terrible it must be for you and all those innocent serving soldiers.
War is such a bad thing for so many lives to be lost. But you do know that the whole family and the village are praying that all you serving boys and girls who are doing your duty for kith and country will bring this war to an end. We must win.
Did our mum tell you the young lad from the farm down the lane has been called up? He was very pleased but his mother and father were not best pleased. A lot of other folk were not pleased either - they call themselves 'conscientious objectors' and are refusing to fight. I think there was quite a lot of spite acted out on them from village folk - bullying and name calling. Quite fearsome I believe. They called them cowards and other swear words. Even some of my own lady friends were saying it was not right or fair for some to be idle cowards and dodge the fighting while other young men like you, John and George were willing to volunteer even before you were called up.
You know Lady Parker-Ellington Ruskin, the mistress from the Great House - her husband is a bigwig in the army and their two sons have also volunteered. The old housekeeper and cook told me the Lady said you, John and George were very patriotic and brave. I thought it was nice of her to say that.
The government has taken over the Great House and turned it into a military hospital for the sick and wounded soldiers. The Squire's family had to move into one of their smaller houses near the stables. They have lost most of their servants too - the gardener and butler were called up.
We are still growing our own crops but getting bread and groceries is difficult - the queues are very long.
Your dog Bella has had six lovely puppies - really beautiful. I thought that would cheer you up.
Well brother, I must sign off as the light is fading. I wish you God's peace and love and remember we are all praying for you all to return safely in spite of everything.
Good night brother,
your loving sister Ottis
PS I hope you get this letter before long. Please send just a line or two to let me know you are well. God bless.
Written by Ottis Edwards
My Dear Brother Jim,
How are you keeping? I hope this letter will reach your hands and find you in good health and spirits despite your present circumstances. Although I find it hard to even imagine how hard and terrible it must be for you and all those innocent serving soldiers.
War is such a bad thing for so many lives to be lost. But you do know that the whole family and the village are praying that all you serving boys and girls who are doing your duty for kith and country will bring this war to an end. We must win.
Did our mum tell you the young lad from the farm down the lane has been called up? He was very pleased but his mother and father were not best pleased. A lot of other folk were not pleased either - they call themselves 'conscientious objectors' and are refusing to fight. I think there was quite a lot of spite acted out on them from village folk - bullying and name calling. Quite fearsome I believe. They called them cowards and other swear words. Even some of my own lady friends were saying it was not right or fair for some to be idle cowards and dodge the fighting while other young men like you, John and George were willing to volunteer even before you were called up.
You know Lady Parker-Ellington Ruskin, the mistress from the Great House - her husband is a bigwig in the army and their two sons have also volunteered. The old housekeeper and cook told me the Lady said you, John and George were very patriotic and brave. I thought it was nice of her to say that.
The government has taken over the Great House and turned it into a military hospital for the sick and wounded soldiers. The Squire's family had to move into one of their smaller houses near the stables. They have lost most of their servants too - the gardener and butler were called up.
We are still growing our own crops but getting bread and groceries is difficult - the queues are very long.
Your dog Bella has had six lovely puppies - really beautiful. I thought that would cheer you up.
Well brother, I must sign off as the light is fading. I wish you God's peace and love and remember we are all praying for you all to return safely in spite of everything.
Good night brother,
your loving sister Ottis
PS I hope you get this letter before long. Please send just a line or two to let me know you are well. God bless.
Written by Ottis Edwards
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