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Remembered Today:

Captain Daniel Bradby, 9th Rifle Brigade, 9/4/1917


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Remembering Captain Daniel Edward Bradby

"B" Company, 9th Rifle Brigade

Killed in action on 9 April 1917, Easter Monday

Aged 20

Originally buried at Telegraph Hill, but in September 1919 (when the IWGC were concentrating burials) he was re-interred in Tilloy British Cemetery

Peter Hughes’ book Visiting the Fallen – Arras south states “Bradby was shot through the heart as he and his men tried to rush some machine guns within a triangular-shaped redoubt that lay at the junction of 8 and 43 Brigades. The machine guns were subsequently dealt with by Captain Joseph Michael Buckley and 8 men from “D” company, though they were assisted by the arrival of some men from 8 Brigade who had managed to approach the redoubt from the north."


Edited by Moriaty
Correction of day of the week
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Captain Daniel Edward Bradby - Remembered.

"Well 'the time has come the Walrus said,' to get ready to move into the assembly trenches.  I am giving this letter to some one or other who is staying behind to post if I get knocked out, So I hope you will never read it!  If I am killed you will know at any rate that I died trying to do my duty, and thinking always of you all at home whom I love so dearly.  Ever your loving son, DAN"


Last letter home written on April 8th 1917 to his Mother.




Dan Bradby.jpg

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  • 1 year later...

img381 copy.jpgDan

Edited by stiletto_33853
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Yes, it is from his memorial book, a good read and quite rare these day to get hold of, not sure how much your copy cost you. There are several pictures of him in the book from childhood on. The Rugby Memorial volumes have the picture highlighted in a previous post, that is in his memorial book also.




Edited by stiletto_33853
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Two of the many poems that Dan's dad wrote in the weeks and months after his death:


‘May 28


It is Whit Monday and the heart of May:

Over the Close flower petals from the trees

Dance in the sunshine, flutter in the breeze;

The bats click merrily of boys at play,

And the old world seems young and fresh and gay;

But my whole aching consciousness is filled

With thoughts of men killing and being killed,

As he was killed, seven weeks ago today.


“Ask and ye shall receive; seek and ye shall find;

Knock and it shall be opened unto you.”

But it is hard to seek when eyes are blind

With tears, and longing pierces through and through:

May I be ready when Thy angels stir

My stagnant pools, O God the comforter.’





All your short life is everywhere with me:

Perambulators in the Barby Road

Carry your infant body as their load;

And when your brothers shouting merrily

Climb in the garden, you are in the tree,

Dear brown-eyed squirrel; and when every day

The School House boys come streaming out to play,

You are among them, as you used to be.


But chiefly then my eyes behold you, dear,

When some tall khaki figure passes by,

And it is you, without regret or fear,

You with the men whom you were proud to lead

And counsel in the day of dreadful need,

Marching magnificently on to die.’

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