My father was the youngest of his family yet when his father Ben was old and needed care it was my parents who looked after him. When he died in 1951 he left precious few posessions yet amongst them was a single letter, written in pencil on flimsy notepaper and sent to him by his younger brother Albert from the trenches in Northern France. My father couldn't bring himself to throw it away. This is the letter:
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Dear Ben¹ & Lizzie
It gives me much pleasure to write to you these few lines to thank you for the parcel. That came as a god send you cannot imagine what it means to get some clean food at such a time as I received yours. We were laying at an old factory when we got the order to move and our hearts sank to our boots, for it was raining hard and we knew we had a long way to go. We were marching for 11 hrs in a rain and snow storm and when we got to the trench it was up to the knees in mud and water -and it snowed all that night, we had no shelter whatever so you can guess what a terrible night we had.
We stopped there all the next day. Then we were told to get ready to go over the top, 'another bit of luck,' we thought. Well, the time came and over we went, and over came fritz's shells but we carried on and on straight across to fritz's trenches, through them and over a railway line, over his gun pits which were built of concrete and into a village the other side, where we had to dig in.
We stopped there for two days, then we were releived and came back to the railway line and we made shelter as best we could from the rain and also from the shells. That was where I was when your parcel came, so you can see how it was welcomed after dragging your food for about two mile through the mud you have not got much of an appetite for that for you have to have it in a sand bag and strung round your neck, and it is never in the best of condition in fine weather let alone the wet.
Well there was four of us in the shelter and I was asleep when it came and they played a joke on me by dangling it from the top of the shelter, so when I woke I got the surprise at full strength and I can tell you I did! I layed looking at it a second or two wondering if I was awake or not, so you can tell what a god send that was to us. The others set about making a fire and getting some water and we all enjoyed that meal greatly and I have to thank you for them.
I found the shilling alright, atleast my pall did in the sweets, and I was telling them that your boy was here when I had a letter come that is for Ben², so as it's addressed for the 23rd³ I will keep it as we are expecting a new draft and he may be in it, so when you write give me his proper address so that if he is not in the draft I can send it direct, otherwise he might never get it.
Well I think this is all at present, except I have been very lucky up till now not being hit yet. I have only one pal left that came from Dover with me in my squad, the other poor chaps have gone under.
So must close with all best wishes from
Albert
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His last few words have a sad poignancy. Eleven days after he wrote these words Albert and the 660 other members of his battalion lined up in no man's land at 03:45 in the early morning and attacked the German trenches just to the north of the village of Oppy. He never returned. Battalion casualties were 7 officers and 122 'other ranks'. He has no known grave and is most probably still lying out there in the one of the vast, featureless fields of the area.
Albert married on the 8th October 1905. They had five daughters before at last Jenny had a boy Sidney on 3rd October 1915. We don't know how much time Albert had with his little son before he went to France and was killed before his son was two years old.
(1) Ben & Lizzie were my grandparents, Benjamin and Elizabeth.
(2) The letter 'that is for Ben' was for their eldest son, my uncle, also called Benjamin. He was 22 years old at the time that the letter was written.
(3) the 23rd refers to the 23rd Battalion, The Royal Fusiliers in which Ben and Albert served.
Young Ben was wounded twice during the war. Once when he was out in No-Man's-Land mending wire fences when a flare was sent up. Instead of flinging themselves to the ground as they had been taught he just stood there frozen. A german machine gun swept low across the ground and hit him in the leg. If he had been lying there as he had been trained then he would probably have been killed. On another occasion although they had orders not to talk he turned to say something to the pal to his side when a bullet went into his mouth between his teeth and out through his cheek. My father said that he carried a red mark on his cheek for the rest of his life.
On the occasion of Armistice Day we can spend a few moments in quite contemplation of the unbelievable devotion, sacrifice and achievements of this generation. They did what they accepted as their duty with never a complaint and never a grumble.
Will we ever see their like again?
