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Remembered Today:

Two Men - One Memorial


stiletto_33853

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Gabion

Historically, gabions were round cages with open tops and bottoms, made from wickerwork and filled with earth for use as military fortifications. Modern definitions include any caged riprap for erosion control, or cylindrical metal structures used to build dams or foundations.

The early military gabion was used particularly to protect the gunners of field artillery from bullets. The wickerwork cylinders were light and could be carried relatively conveniently in the ammunition train, particularly if they were made in several diameters to fit one in another. At the site of use in the field, they could be stood on end, staked in position, and filled with soil to quickly form an effective wall around the gun.

The word came from Italian gabbione = "big cage" from Italian gabbia = Latin cavea = "cage".

Annie :)

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which doesn't mean that during a strafe of any kind one always has a jolly time (because that is only silly!), but that, whatever it may be, it is not usually a tedious or depressing affair, but something less passive, as it were, in the way of feelings!

Love that bit!

Annie - thanks. Never heard of such a thing!

Marina

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To His Sister.

B.E.F.

June 26, 1916.

Back to the Army again, serjeant,

Back the the Army again,

as Kipling says. Which is to say that I am in the trenches, and also in a house (which might puzzle you a bit, only don't forget the cellar), very much as before as regards situation. The first floor is not, and the roof is one of the never-was-es by all appearances, and the ground. And Oh!, I saw the Suusex at Boulogne, with all her bones stove in, without a trace of emotion. I have see to many ruins before now in this game, and one is very like the other; a house that is no house has too often been an everyday sight. And so, when I came here, I found this billet a shade more demolished than anything I thought possible, the whole air rather more triste and sinister; but that was all. I could stand all that, and even the piano (shade of Ivor Atkins!) shattered to bits, and the keys choked with brick-dust; but one thing was just a fraction too much, and when I saw it I confess I caught my breath for a moment; it was a child's marble, chipped, and past all hope of rolling............

They are quiant places, these trenches, that wander in and out of houses, and in a way rather picturesque. Summer fights its way in even here, and you may find your face brushed with a yellow cornflower, sticking out of the side of a field as you plod along through the trench, and remember better days.

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To His Father.

B.E.F.

June 29,1916.

There has been a good deal of what is known to journalists as 'activity', and one begins after a bit to realise that one would not mind boeing out for a day or two! A Padre of the Brigade gave me a Prayer-Book some weeks back; this morning's psalms are, to say the least, not uncomforting. See for instance cxxxix (1). I wonder if it is realised how hard it is to stick to what one knows one does believe, just when one most should! Do not forget this, please.

(1) 'Thou art about my path, and about my bed: and spiest out all my ways.'

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To His Father.

B.E.F.

June 30, 1916.

Aha! But you did not enclose the cutting about 'Kossovo Day'. I never do myself, of course, and it is so nice to see other people do forget occasionally. I'ld like to see it, though, for I'm afraid I'm distinctly vague. At this point a brother officer chips in: 'Oh yes, it's a Serbian thing, 1389 (was he right?), when............' and then a lot of names; isn't he wonderful?

I see from the papers there is a great deal of activity about. I'm not betraying any secrets, therefore, when I say that the noise has been on the increase, though I must not say where most of it came from.

Please make it clear that I do not want any increase chez vous of anxiety at all, if possible.

But if ever you remembered any of your prayers in this world, I would like it to be my friend White...... I know I do not ask in vain.

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To The Men - The New House.

B.E.F.

July 3, 1916.

Men, I dare say you know; but if not, I am in great anxiety about our Man; though I can't say where he is or what he is doing. - I had a letter from White two days ago, by the way, mentioning the night before the Challenge Oars.(1) It was a short note, but very wonderful.

Pray God all's well with out Man.

(1) A race between House Fours on the river at Shrewsbury. White had coached the winning four in 1914.

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To R.A. Knox.

B.E.F.

July 4, 1916.

Hige delight in H.G.W.'s cellar (which he kindly allows me to share with him, and everybody to feed in; and a fine mess we make of it) at seeing your handwriting; but some indignation in the heart of the Company Commander at the omission of his name. I gave him your letter to read (with the warning that there was hardly a page he would understand), which consoled him more, probably, than a fictitious message from you. It was a lovely letter, so full of the New House from end to end that the events of the week, which have at times not been pleasant, disappeared from my mind for hours.

'Astinol' (1) of course is too lovely: I hope you're keeping these poems for publication. And so was Newman's 'Harbour'.(2) There was a touch of the real best 'V.b', I thought in one place, where he speaks of the 'thick soft sand, like sand from Heaven'. It is the sort of phrase which I feel quite typical of boys imagination: dear me, that's very heavy.

The Prisoner of Zenda is good, again: and so is Rupert. H.W.G. has them both here.

Good-night, everybody. Pray God all's well with our Man. Love.

(1) A translation into Latin Elegiacs of an advertisement for 'Astinol', published by R.A.K. in the Salopian.

(2) A poem written in form.

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To R.A. Knox.

B.E.F.

July 8, 1916.

H.W.G. did me a good turn last night by recalling some of the touch of romance that still hangs about the War. It is a dreadful thing, Ronnie, and there are a few people for whom you ought more heartily to pray than those for whom it is a question whether the Romance of War is dying out. Thus, just as we went to bed last night, he said, 'Listen! That is always rather thrilling, the sound of men marching past your billet singing and whistling.' Good, that, because I am afraid my own thought was less interesting, especially as I knew what job they were finishing up; and I doubt whether I should have done more than murmur 'Carrying Party returned', and turn over to sleep. As it was, I sat up in bed and loudly praised God.

Pray God all's well with the Man, Ronnie. There are rumours of the Battalion rather disquieting. Please cable me the first news you get, good or bad. Yet I hope and believe he may be safe yet.

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OK Time to update everyone on the Battalion's movements so that you can see where they were when the letters were written.

The last War Service Record left the 9th Rifle Brigade on 31/12/15.

During the month of January the Battalion was at Elverdinghe whence it carried out three tours of trench duty. The casualties during this month were: Lieutenant J.A. Grantham wounded and eighty six other ranks.

During a tour in the trenches from the 5th to 7th of February, Captain F.B. Roberts and 2nd Lieutenant F.G. Davies were killed, 2nd Lieutenant M.A. Young was wounded and nine other ranks became casualties.

12th February: - Marched to Houtkerque and halted on the 13th at Wormhoudt. A week later the Battalion moved to Halloy, on the 24th to Occoches and on the 29th to Sombrin.

1st March:- The Battalion moved to Simencourt, nine miles west of Arras, and was on trench duty from the 6th to 13th. On relief it proceeded to Arras whence a trench tour was carried out in which 2nd Lieutenant R.B. Barker-Mill was killed. During the month there were twenty-two casualties other ranks. On March 29th it moved to Simencourt.

4th April:- The Battalion left Simencourt and went into trenches and on relief moved back to Arras whence it carried out a tour in the trenches from the 21st to the 28th and on the 30th moved to Simencourt. The casualties during the month were: twenty-five other ranks.

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6th May:- The Battalion moved to Berneville and was in the trenches from the 8th to the 15th. During this tour 2nd Lieutenant S.E.P. Jones and R.T. Cherry were wounded.

On relief it proceeded to Arras and was in the trenches from the 24th to the 31st. On relief it moved to Berneville. The casualties during the month were: other ranks sixty eight.

During June it was in trenches from the 8th to the 19th. On relief it moved to Arras and returned to the trenches on the 25th. The casualties during the month were: fourty-eight other ranks.

During the month of July the Battalion remained in the same area and carried out two tours of trench duty and on the 28th it moved to Grande Rullecourt and the next day to Barly. On the 31st it moved to Candas. Casualties for the month were: killed, other ranks two, wounded eleven.

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M.G.W.

February to July 1916.

White landed at Le Havre on February 9, and on the 12th was at a Base Camp at Rouen, where he stayed in 1909. He joined the 1st Battalion on the 18th at Canaples, where for a month it was in reserve, to his disappointment. Three days later he visited Southwell, who was near by.

At the beginning of March he had a chill, and on the 4th he heard news of his Father's death. He came back to England, though not till after the funeral. While at Oxton he found that he could not get rid of his chill, and was forced to get extension of leave, which lasted for nearly a month. He visited Shrewsbury for the night of April 4, and then left once more for France.

On the 8th he found his Battalion in the trenches at Hannescamps, and had his first introduction to trench life. On May 2 his Company Commander went away for a time, and he was left in charge. On the 3rd the Battalion marched from Pommier through Halloy to Beaumetz, for a period of training. A bad week followed for White, for_with charactersitic self criticism-he believed that he was not being as competent as he might have been; but he recovered confidence later.

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On May 18 came the first news of the coming attack, and on the 22nd the Battalion moved to Beaussart, from which White went forward to reconnoitre the ground or direct working parties. Captain Fraser returned on the 31st, and again took charge of the Company. The same work continued; White was at Mailly-Maillet on June 11. On the 22nd they returned to Beaussart for a rest, and two days later the great bombardment began.

On 1st July the Battalion went into action in front of Mailly-Mallet; White was hit in advance of his men; his servant, who had followed him in the attack, reached him, and asked if he was badly wounded. He said, 'I'm all right; go on'. At that moment a shell burst near them. His servant remembers nothing more till the time when he was in hospital. Though there was doubt for a time, it is now certain that White laos his life in the explosion.

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These are the letters written about him after his death:-

From an officer in his Battalion:-

'He is acutely missed throughout the Battalion, both as a friend, and as an officer whose keeness and example make his loss a very grave one to the Regiment.

'You will also be proud to hear that, two nights previous to the attack, he most gallantly conducted a party to search for a fellow officer who had been caught in heavy machine-gun fire; the officer returned unhurt, but that does not render the act any less gallant.'

From another fellow-officer, who, as a boy, had known him at Shrewsbury:-

'I have never known such a real Christian. That was a fine letter of his which West showed me. Fancy Malcolm talking about being selfish. I doubt if he knew what selfishness meant. If he did, it was only the more fully to understand selfishness. It was that and his utter sincerity and genuineness which have made him what he was. His ideal was always so high, and he was never falling short of it. His ideas were just wonderful, and in the six years that I have known him I have learnt more of ewhat real religion means than anything else. He was never tired of trying to put down all bitterness agaisnt the Germans, and if he has died, he will have done very much to justify in many people's eyes the idea which he started in life.'

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From a friend that was also a Salopian:-

'One always felt there was about him some indefinable quality, which he expressed perhaps most clearly in his music. When he was playing one of the more ethereal Bach fugues he seemed entirley in keeping with it, and one realised that it was his natural mode of thought. And it was just this that seemed to give him an immense breadth of view, for he lived in a region where small controversial things did not seem to matter. In everything that he talked or wrote about, he expressed views which we instinctively knew were right, and which were the conclusions we should have come to in our highest moments. Only he was always on a plane which we reached at too rare intervals. And yet he was not in the least unsympathetic, for his height and breadth only made him the more able to comprehend.

'There sometimes appears to be a region, or state of thought, in which we are no longer troubled by questions of art and morality, of ambition and honour, of personal afflictions and grievances. One felt that he never departed from this region, but made one believe that for the time one was his companion there.

'I do not think that any of his friends will ever forget him, and one of them will always be entirely grateful that he was allowed to know such a man, to whose insoiration he owes more than he can possibly say or realise.'

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These are the last extracts from his writings:-

DIARY

Monday, Feb. 7.

While on leave at Radlett, got a wire telling me to join Expeditionary Force. This is very exciting. Returned to Sheerness in a hurry, packed, and got away again to London.

Tuesday, Feb. 8.

It was good to get the departure over, though the excitement of the past forty-eight hours has been in a way good, and the goodness of friends is always such a prominent thing in crisis of this kind; the wires from Graham and Arnold, and from Shrewsbury, and Edwards, and the coming of those people to see me off. I'm gald Father came, though I had often thought it would be better not to be seen off. It was great of him.

Southampton at 7.0.

Innumerable reportings and embarkations, dark offices, jetties, shining patches of water, railway lines leading nowhere, a great heartening dinner at the S.W. Hotel. _ Everywhere kit, and officers, and a strange medley of the miraculous and the inevitable. Wemt on board the Havre boat at 11.15, and gradually to sleep.

The most wonderful day of my life.

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Wednesday, Feb. 9.

Boat started 7 a.m., and I went on deck at 8.0 a.m. as we ran through Spithead with the sun rising behind a bank of smoke and mist which hid Portsmouth and Hayling. Landed at Le Havre at 1 o'clock.

More reportings and eventual arrival at the Base Camp, where life has become commonplace, and excitement has gone for a time. Which Battalion will it be? The 2nd seems probable from here, but not necessarily.

Thursday, Feb 10.

Walked about camp all morning. In the afternoon we all went down to Havre, and I shopped at the Ordnance Stores, dined at the Hotel de Normandie, and got news by telephone there that I am for the 1st Battalion Depot at Rouen. Life has become dull here, and I keep reminding myself that I am on my way to the Front, that I am in the same country, etc., etc.

Friday, Feb. 12.

A repitition of yesterday. More fat meals in Havre. Orders to move to Rouen, 4th Infantry Base Depot.

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Saturday, Feb. 12.

Rose at 4.30 a.m. and, satnding upon my bed and wondering miserably how I should ever find and pack anything in the dark, I sang the Volga Boatman Song. The arrival of the servants very late only made things more chaotic. After breakfast we set off down to Harfleur Station, down long avenues of poplars which shuddered in the dark. Eventually got into a train and arrived at Rouen about 11 o'clock, and went to report at the camp. Simpson left us to go stright up to the 2nd. It is good to see Rouen again. It fulfilled itself again according to my memory, more completely that I had expected. I went and looked again into the front at St. Ouen, and saw down in the water the reflection of the depths of the church; and I smelt again the quais, and the street which leads up to, and frames at the other end, the lonely little church of St. Vincent. We lunched under the Grosse Horloge, and I called at 23 Avenue Mont Riboudet, but the Morels had removed. However, I went in and reminded myself of the dictees, and the dogs, and the discomforts which bind one more closely to a good time past.

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In the evening we went to Folies Bergeres and saw a Revue and, what was better, had a fine picture of a French audience. For the lights sudenly went out, after the show had been going about twenty minutes, and for a time the audience took possession of affairs. It was either a Zeppelin alarm or the rehearsal of one. There was no sort of panic, but a terrific hubbub; shouts and suggestions came from the gallery, and the place was soon dimly lit by flickering candles, tied to pillars or leaning dizzily over the edge of balconies. After about three quarters of an hour, the band got candles, and played an overture to some light opera and 'god save the King'. Then the curtain went up, and the 'management' announced that they were going to continue the performance by candle-light. The leading lady appeared and stood over the footlights, arguing with the conductor and the audience as to the best positions for the candles; and while she gesticulated and appeared to direct operations, various characters of the Revue appeared and dotted the front of the stage with candles, while the gallery shouted its approval and its advice - 'Ca va tomber,' etc., etc. Altogether an amazing scene.

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Sunday, Feb. 13.

Discovered the Morels in a new and delightful house terraced on the hill at the back of the town, with a wonderful look down on to the great churches. I was recognized by Isabelle, who opened the door to me, and Madame gradually put the pieces of me together, like a kind of jig-saw in her memory. I stayed to tea. It was all very good, this revisiting, and they were gald to see me. I did not see Monsieur. But one rarely did. The pensionnaires were an English Army Pay Officer, and three boys (French), one of them a diminutive violinist, very shy. I played on his diminutive violin the Allegro of the Leclair Sonata, Madame remembering it from 1909.

Monday, Feb. 14.

On fatigue near the ship yards down the Seine. Unhappy day, followed by tempestuous night, when the men's tents blew down and the corrugated iron was blown about the huts, which rocked like ships. I wonder if I shall dislike the trenches much more that the base.

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How odd that ES should have asked hs father to pray fro MW on the night of June 30th.

Quite a few surreal touches in today's post (I love the surreal bits!) - the trench through the house and the flowers brushing their faces. And the Revue. :)

Marina

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Wednesday, Feb. 16.

Parade again. After being detailed by a smart Major on a horse, with thin paper-manipulating fingers and a high voice, we are sent off to a lecture on sketching, in a shelter in the woods. Everything awfully efficient and terrifying till we get the actual lecture, which I have tried to write out as I remembered it. (The lecturer is a machine gun officer and not a sketcher; so the fault or the credit is the British Army's and not his.)

Lecturer (who drawls rather and is really a very amusing fellow): 'Have any of you got compasses? Only one compass among us? That's serious. Well, I've got to make these few remarks about sketching, so I'd better het it off my chest. Of course, myself, I think sketching's very important - tells you where you are, you know. You often have to relieve a trench, and the other fellow's in such a deuce of a hurry to clear out, you don't really get a chance to find out anything from him, so a sketch is useful if you can get it.'

(interruption by smart Major, who rides up and asks what we're doing, and after having the very obvious defects of the shelter pointed out to him, rides off again.)

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Lecturer continues: 'Well, what was that train of thought? Got a match? Thanks - awful, these French matches, aren't they? I say, we can't do much without compasses, but as I was saying, it's a damn good thing, a sketch, and every officer ought to be able to do one. Of course we can't get much done this morning, as we haven't any compasses.' (Reference to Major's recent visit) 'I say, ought one to get up when he comes round like that? I never know. Oh! have you seen these maps they use out here? I'll pass 'em round. I suppose you all know about this A23 C I business they use for reference?' (Explains it rather reluctantly.) 'Of course we really ought to go and make a sketch, but it's not much good without compasses. Now, there's a good sketch' (passing it round); 'got all the things in it; sort of lets you know where things are, you know. The great point is to keep it neat; not slobbered over with mud and rain, and a lot of words written all over it. They like it, if you can make a good sketch........I say, I think we'd better go out and do some sketching without the compasses. We must do something. It looks rather like rain now. I say, it is raining. Well, I almost think we'll open the meeting to general discussion, while I slip off and borrow some compasses.' (He doesn't go)

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'I say, wouldn't some one say a few words about something for a few minutes? I mean, the morning goes much quicker that way. We've got to be here till 12.0. Well then, do you mind if I talk about machine guns for a bit? I'm interested in them. Has anybody done a pukka course in the Lewis gun?' (Hands go up. Lecturer talks to me very quietly about the Lewis gun.)

Meanwhile conversation has become general and is something like this:-

Voices among the audience.

'Is the Corps any good?'

The lecturer.

'The Corps? Well they've slept in sheets for a year. That's a fact. You see their Sergt.-Major on the road, a mile behind the line, dressed up to the nines. They've got four spanking Dainlers per Company. Well, all I say is 'good luck to em', but they've done far less than dam' all.'

(continues about the machine gun.)

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:lol::lol:

Laughed my head off at the sketcher and compasses - not bad on a Sunday morning! It is INCREDIBLY like an Education Department course! Pythonesque!

Marina

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Marina,

Glad that it caused you as much amusement as myself.

Andy

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