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Pte S A Parkington, 15th RWF,


LarsA
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22193 Pte Sidney Arthur Parkington, 15th RWF (1st London Welsh)

Born Stanton, Bury St Edmonds, Suffolk. Born towards the end of 1875.

In the 1881 census Sydney lives with his father William and mother Elizabeth at Turnpike Road Mill House, where William was a “Corn Milliner, Master”. In 1891 William is a millers man, living at 11,The Common in Southwold. Sidney, now 15 is a grocers assistant. The 1901 census finds him living as a lodger, occupation carman, with colleague Henry F Mills and family at 4, Woodland Drive, Tottenham. His mother is at this time living with Sidneys brother Edwards family, also in Tottenham at 130 Beresford road. Edward, who was a baker, had a son called Sidney E, born in 1898, who also served in WWI as Pte M/305621 in the RASC, earning a pair..

Sidney Arthur married 18 year old Barbara Agnes Goodright in 1912. They had two children, Winifred L born in 1912 and Stanley A, born in 1914.

He enlisted in Holborn, London. .

The battalion went to France in November 1915 and served for the first time at the front in december 1915 near La Basse and Richebourg L’avoue.

One of the officers in the 15th RWF was Wyn Griffith, author of the book “Up to Mametz". On page 80, the 1981 edition, he describes the circumstances when Pte Parkington, serving in his company, "C", was killed on 11/1/1916:

He is buried in St Vaast Post Military Cemetery, an original cemetery started near a Dressing Station.

“On the other side of Aubers ridge a german gunner twirled a few wheels into a new position, moved a bar of iron and sent death soaring into the air; he went to his dinner. While he was moving his wheels and dials, three Londoners were filling sandbags in a ditch on the plain, arguing about Tottenham Hotspurs. A flash, a noise, and a cloud of smoke. "Blast’em, they’ve killed old Parkinson – blown ‘is ‘ead off, they ‘ave, the ********.

Blast whom? The unseen German, going to his dinner? No. Blast everybody and everything, blast all who contributed to the sending of this quiet, middleaged Londoner to die in a ditch, in no combat between men, but in a struggle between two sets of mathemathical equations. Did we think out this bitter problem, or discuss the ways of bringing an end to this distemper? No, we were to tired. Blast them, and back to the weary lifting of mud., this time passing a stretcher covered with a blanket hiding all but a thin trickle of blood. Four children, and his wife’s name was ‘Liz’-.. must write to her tonight… Oh, blast them!"

Below an excerpt from De Ruvigny's roll of honour, where Wyn Griffiths letter to the wife is quoted.

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Lars,

thanks for posting this interesting link to Griffiths' book, which I have.

Remembered with honour.

LST_164

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