
The Memories of Lance Corporal Forester Buckingham
We are very grateful to Lewis Buckingham for permission to use the photograph and the memories of his great great uncle Forester who was Ralph Buckingham's brother. Ralph Buckingham was also Lewis' great great uncle. His grandfather was Lewis Archibald Buckingham, brother to both Ralph and Foster
I LEFT school in the late July, nineteen hundred and twelve, and during the month of August I looked in vain for jobs all round. Nothing materialised at all. However, I resumed night school - resumed school in September. Went to night school two nights a week, and while working there, from one of my fellow pupils, I heard of a job going at a firm called Woolsey Stores at Middlegate Street, Great Yarmouth. I went round there and was interviewed by the chief clerk, who gave me a test on the ledgers, and things like that, reported to his chief, Mr George Edward Wolsey, and they engaged me.
I had hours from nine am to eight pm. Three quarters of an hour for lunch, and half an hour for tea time. My starting pay was two shillings and sixpence for a week. And after work it went up to ten pm on Saturday nights. I had a half day off on Thursdays, but I still had to take night school on two evenings a week, from seven pm to nine pm. I was allowed to leave work early, at six thirty pm, on those particular nights.
Very generous of them, wasn't it?
Things were pretty tough in those days for everybody. Jobs were very difficult to get, and when you got a job, you just hung on to it as long as you could. However I enjoyed my job at Woolsey Stores, Mr Ostler,[1] the chief clerk, was very good to me, and taught me quite a lot, and I think they were quite well satisfied with me.
I must tell you a thing about the scales of pay that were prevalent then: the manager of the stores, a man named Hutchinson, he got three pounds ten shillings a week, plus commission at Christmas time, so he was totally well off. Ostler, chief Clerk, he got three pounds a week. Mr Atkins, the manager of the furniture department, he received two pound ten shillings a week. Arthur Last, who was in the jewellery department, he got one pound fifteen a week. The chap in charge of the ?????? department - his name has eluded me for the moment - he got two pounds, five shillings a week. Poor old Joe Bolton, he was upholsterer and general dogsbody in the furniture store - he repaired all the bedding and things like that - he got exactly one pound and five shillings a week. And he was married and had six children. How do you think they survived then? The general labourer and handyman, he got one pound a week. I can't think of his name now, for the moment, but I can see his face quite clearly. He was a real scoundrel when it came to tobacco. I used to smoke a pipe and in those days had more or less started. He'd often skive a fillip packet of tobacco from me. He had two pipes - one, the little one, he used himself when he bought his own tobacco, and a big one he used when he skived off other people. He was a real terror.
When I look back all those years, they were really good for .. oh .. they were really good for the provinces, at that time. Most people managed to live. But things were different then as regards, more or less proportioning. The cost of living was low, and in proportion to the earnings.
Mr Ostler only paid four shillings and sixpence rent per week, including rates, for a nice little terrace house, and had two children, and lived quite well. However, I got on quite well, and learned quite a lot there. I had a very good time in many ways - even though the hours were long.
However, I got, more or less, a kind of a promotion a little later, and instead of doing mostly indoor work, I was sent out on certain days of the week, to go out into the town, and to go to Gorleston and Caister, collecting money.
We used to run a sort of a laid-by system for people who'd put things to one side and pay so much a week for 'em. We didn't do much hire purchasing - although a little bit of that,however, cos hire purchasing had more or less started about then - but we got a few what we called minor dole debtors. And those were the people we had to call on, and try to wheedle some cash out of them.
If I went to Gorleston, it used to cost me two pence to go from South Town Bridge to Gorleston by train, and two pence to come back. I was allowed this money out of petty cash. But I'd often do a little bit of what we called fiddling by walking halfway, to what we called the halfway house, and it cost me only a penny to go into Gorleston, and a penny to come back. So I used to make tuppence on the deal. It's sort of a form of cheating, I suppose. Still, it was helpful. Even tuppence in those days was a lot of money to me.
Later on, about early .. more or less in the early parts of 1914, Ostler had a row with Mr Wolsey, and he left the firm. Wolsey then gave me a sort of promotion. He didn't give so much as ask for ?his ???? but I got quite a reasonable wage for a lad of my age in those days. And I was employed to one of the girl clerks. They did a lot of formal ledger work.
The ledgers then in those days were huge things, it was almost like walking a mile from one end of the high desk to the other. We used to sit on high stools. There was no question of sitting on a table then. An invoice ledger was about two foot six across when it was wide open - from the left hand page, to the right hand page, when the thing was open. Oh they were real terrors. And they were very very heavy to carry about. However, that was book keeping in those days. Nowadays, there's none of that kind of book keeping. The youngsters nowadays don't know what life was like when it comes to book keeping.[laughs]
As I said before, I had quite a happy time there, and I learnt quite a lot. Still, the fourteen eighteen war of course did muck things up. And there was a cry for people to enlist and I, together with a lot of silly soldiers of my own age, dived down to the recruiting station. I actually wanted to go to the navy, so they sent me down to the Royal Naval Barracks nearby for a medical examination, and what should happen, but I went in front of my own family doctor.
And he says, 'I know your age, young man. You go home. You're not coming here.'
And so I had to go back, and of course my Aunt Mary found out about it, and I had a real dressing down for trying to join the forces like that. However, late in 1915, when the Lord Derby Scheme came to force meant whereby young men who had attained the age of eighteen and a half could on the register for enlistment, and were called up two or three months later. they did this, of course, to take the crush off the recruiting offices, and other people, because they were inundated with a lot of people who wanted to get into the force, and they just couldn't cope.
Things were really very rough out in France for our fellows, and indeed it was not until May 1916 that I said I registered on the Lord Derby Scheme, when I was eighteen and a half years of age. But then conscription started at the end of July for everybody of the age of eighteen and upwards.
But I was in the forces before conscription was started. I went into the forces just earlier - I forget the exact date, but it was just about the first fortnight in July. And after a certain amount of training, of course, then I went abroad.
When I was working for Wolsey Stores, during those early part of the war - the war years - I had one or two unusual instances.
In June 1916, when Lord Kitchener was drowned on HMS Hampshire, I was in the office, working there, and Mr Atkins, the furniture manager, he came in to me and he said, 'Have you heard the news?'
And I said, 'What.'
And he says, 'HMS Hampshire was sunk and Lord Kitchener was drowned.'
I said, 'No, no no, no!'
And he said, 'Yes, I'm telling you ?about?'
I said, 'My brother was on the Hampshire!'
I can't forget poor Atkins's face. He went all white and ran out of the office really .. I wouldn't say scared .. but really upset.
It was a shock to me, and to a lot of other people. But still, those things happen, and that's that. You can't call back the past.
In the earlier part of 1915, part of the German fleet bombarded the east coast. Several shells passed over Great Yarmouth, and a few hit parts of the town, but the damage was not very extensive. In common with other silly young men, I ran out to the seafront, and watched the smoke in the distance on the skyline, and the flashes of gunfire as the cruisers were bombarding. It was a silly thing to do, but like all young kids, of course, it was an experience.
One thing that I shall remember, though, very well, was seeing a man running down Crown Road, in his pyjamas and dressing gown, holding a briefcase and running like hell to get to reach the station. [laughs] Whether he got there, I couldn't say, but he looked so foolish doing that very early in the morning. However, that was an experience I haven't forgotten, and quite interesting to remember.
Of course, Scarborough, another place a bit further north, was rather badly hit, and much damage caused. We were lucky in Great Yarmouth, although it was quite a - I wouldn't say terrifying - but interesting experience.
Also, during 1915, we had one or two zeppelin raids. I was coming home from work one evening - I can't remember the exact date now - and I heard a droning sound in the sky, and all of a sudden there was a big crash, just about a hundred yards from where I was walking, near the drill hall of Great Yarmouth, and a small bomb was dropped there. And a little further along, there was another awful crash, farther down towards Crown Road, another bomb hit there and demolished a stable, and a small house. I trotted back home to Aunt Mary's as quick as I could.
She was very perturbed, and I said where one of the bombs had dropped, and she said, 'Oh, what about Mrs Palmer?', and that was a friend of ours, so I chased back, and I found Mrs Palmer's house, not far from one of the Churches at that end of the town. All of the windows were shattered, and partly demolished, and I found out that the lady, Mrs Palmer, was with her grandson in the Gas Company's office a few hundred yards away.
So I went down there and escorted her back to my Aunt Mary's, and they stopped with us.
Then they said something about the canary being there, and I went back with a neighbour, a Mr Eastoe,[2] and we got into the house.
I had the key - the door was alright. And took the .. Rescued the canary - this was about midnight - and took that back to where I was in Albion Road with my Aunt Mary.
The next day, when I brought Mrs Palmer back to see the damage caused to the house, of course the police were all there, and they couldn't ..: 'Don't go there! There might be gas escaping.'
I said, 'There won't be, because I turned it off last night, at midnight when I was in the house.'
They said, 'How'd you get in there!?'
You know, so indignant to think anybody else had been there. Nevertheless that's what happened. It's quite intriguing to remember.
I reported for service in the forces on the first of July 1916. It was .. and I went to Norwich, the Mousehold barracks, and I was posted to the Norfolk Regiment, and was sent to Middle Lane Camp, Felixstowe. That I now understand, is a housing estate.
I went there for training. I had a week's leave in the middle of August, and I visited Hethersett. I saw your mother, brother Lewis - I saw your dad, I’m sorry ... I made a hash of that last bit.
When I visited Hethersett, I saw my brother Lewis and your mother, and Lewis was only been born. He was just a little baby, and so I suppose he was only about three or four months old, at the outside.
While training in Felixstowe, there was a zeppelin raid over ?Harrodds? and it was a most thrilling sight to watch - all of the searchlights shining up this huge aircraft, and the shells bursting in the air as they were shelling from the batteries at Landguard forts. We thought the zep was hit and been brought down, but she recovered from a possible slight damage, and flew away. It was a most interesting sight, and one I shall never forget.
Military training at Felixstowe was fairly extensive, and lasted about four to five months. The ruling then, was that young men who had not reached the age of nineteen would not be sent overseas. Not like eighteen and a half years of age nowadays. Plenty of youngsters gave an incorrect age and did go overseas, and if found out, were sent back home, to England.
I had another week leave towards the end of October and was picked for a draft to go to Salonika. That was cancelled,. however. thank heaven for that.
I went on a draft to France on the second of November 1916. The regiment had got my date of birth wrong, and my official birth day was the 2nd of November, because really, as you know, it was the 22nd of November.
We were transferred from the Norfolk regiment to the Royal Irish Fusiliers. The second .. the Third Battalion of the 49th Brigade, in the 16th Division.
The reason why: most of the 16th Division had been badly cut up on the Somme, and the two battalions of the Irish Regiment - the second and the third - were amalgamated. So therefore we were one of a draft which helped to build up the strength. There were about a hundred men in my draft.
We crossed the channel from Felixstowe to the line. We were not allowed on deck, and we had a destroyer escort. We marched to another training camp - to a place called - as near as I can remember, called - 'Eetaps'[3].
I think it was spelt e-t-a-p-l-e-s, although I'm not quite certain. We used to call this place the bull ring, because the training area was so very very tough indeed. We left Eetaps by train in cattle trucks just a week after to just near St Omer. From there, by truck to a small village a short distance away, called Loker in the Ypres salient. Other places nearby were called Dranuto[4], Montecatts[5], La Clitte[6], and Armentieres, all small villages, except Armentieres, which was a larger place, quite close to the Ypres salient.
Loker was about one and a half miles from the main communication trench leading to the front line.
We spent one night in some hutments in Loker village and then were marched about one and a half miles to the main communication trench, and nearby was a place called the White Chateau, which was then the temporary headquarters of our regiment while we were in the line.
The commanding officer came out and inspected us, and then we were split into four groups, about twenty-four men per group, to be allocated to different companies - A, B, C and D of the regiment. And I was allocated to D company, into the 16th platoon.
So there was about six of us in the 16th platoon, and six more in each other platoon. So we kept a little compact group.
While we were waiting to be allocated areas as platoons, there was a constant mutter of gunfire, and machine-gun fire - and at intervals heavy shelling: which was quite an experience, because all the time up near the frontline, you'd ... [tape is taped over at this point with the following:]
It is interesting to note that the names of the main communication trenches leading to the frontline had various names. The particular one we used quite a lot from the ?sixth? in the old White Chateau, was called ?Va ajelia?, but other names were called Bond Street, Park Row, and all sort of town names, but sometimes they were unusual names. Nonetheless we remembered these, because it was necessary to do that.
Going through the communication trenches up to the front line was a torturous journey on duckboards. And yes occasionally - they were not at all level - and you'd hear the man .. the people in front of you saying 'Step up. Step down. Step up. Step down.' And you'd pass the message along to the man behind you. But of course, you could mistime that a little bit, and often you'd trip and you would fall. And believe me it wasn't very very pleasant. It was very very muddy.
My most vivid recollections of the trenches are mud, lice, rats, and water. We had a frightful time there when it did rain, and that winter of 1916-17 was a real bitter one.
However, we came out of the line about three days before Christmas that year, and went back to Loker, and we had a Christmas dinner outside. The officers sort of waited on us, which was very kind of them - that's what was done, sort of, as a bit of a gesture, and while we were there, there was a jolly old bunch of heavy shellfire a few miles away, and a huge shell came and crashed into the hutment not far from where we were eating, and there was a sudden hush and then when the noise died away, you heard the voice of a man say, "I hope that hasn't hit our bloody beer,' and everybody burst out laughing [laughs]. After due inspection, we found that fortunately the shell hadn't touched the beer, so all the thirsty ones were able to quench their thirst.
We went to the line again on the 31st of December, and I shan't forget midnight, when the new year came in. Half an hour before midnight, it was as quiet as anything, and then at midnight all hell burst out: machine gun fire, mortar shells, and it was a really wicked time.
It's a most uncomfortable experience, I expect you should realise, Rex, with bullets whistling past your ears. Not so much past your ears as over your head, because being in the trenches they did pass over your head, but they hit the paradoes at the back with an awful crack, just like somebody smacking their hands together. You've heard plenty of gunfire yourself in .. [tape cuts out and resumes mid sentence]
..support line, and then three in the reserve line, and then three days out. Sometimes we were lucky and had four or five days out, in which we were able to get a real proper bath, because it was really filthy. That's one thing I hated there, is not being able to get a proper wash with all that water around. Because we were not allowed to use the rainwater and all that, because it was not drinkable, for a start - very dangerous - and of course it could carry a lot of disease. However, trench warfare is not at all pleasant.
I remember very well the first night we were on the front line, and I was posted on the fire-step. The chap next to me was only a youngish man, and we introduced ourselves. His name was Saunders, and he came from somewhere near Manchester, and he told me what to watch out for.
He said, 'If you hear a noise, don't worry about that - any rattling. That's gone past you.' but he said, 'If you see flashes of light in front of you, just duck quickly, because they're probably machine-gun fire, and you'll hear the sound afterwards.' He was quite right. He taught me quite a lot.
When daylight broke and I spoke to him, I said, 'You're very very young, aren't you?' And he said, 'Oh, I'm just turned seventeen.' He said, 'I shouldn't be here by rights. [laughs] They find out my age when we get out of line, I gotta go back to the reserve.'
I said, 'You're lucky!'
He said, 'I'm particularly anxious to go back. I'm enjoying myself here with my mates.'[laughs]
I think I should mention, we were not always in the same part of the line all of the time. We moved up and down at various times, as I mentioned before, we usually went in to the frontline trenches about three days or three nights, then into the reserve, about another three days or three nights, then back to more or less behind the line, for another three days, but always within reach of gunfire.
There was constant noise all the time, not very heavy - intermittent machine-gun fire, and odd raids, and whiz-bangs and whatever used to come over and crash, but nevertheless, taking it all it all, it wasn't too bad at times.
I believe I mentioned that various parts of the line had different nicknames - the communication trenches in particular. The one we used mainly was called ?Via Jelia?. I think it was named by Welsh regiments that had been there before. Other communication trenches we used were called Park Lane, and another one called Watten Row, and another place which we used to call the Chinese Wall, because the emplacements were built very high, so the top of the trenches looked like a wall, and behind was quite a deep hollow, and we could shelter there sometimes, when there were various raids.
The lads all had good humorous nicknames for various places, and the comradeship was really wonderful.
At odd times we had what were called minor raids over the top, to ascertain if the trenches opposite - who occupied them. Those with good hearing often slid over and laid near the opposing trenches to listen to any conversation. It was rather dangerous, but it only took two or three of us to go out together, sometimes four. very rarely ..
I was only required to go a couple of times, but I found it most exciting, and very thrilling, but very nerve-wracking when the verey lights went up and exploded above you in the sky and the whole place was illuminated, and you daren't move. You froze quite still, because any movement would attract gunfire.
These minor raids could be very dangerous and exciting. We often had casualties amongst those who were raiding. I was very fortunate, in as much that I was in a machine-gun group, and was not often required for such work. Thank heaven for that.
In general, the weather in January 1917 was bitterly cold. We had some really bitter cold weather, but on one occasion we had very very heavy rain indeed, and our greatcoats got absolutely soaked through, so we took them off and hung them in the fire-bays to dry out, as the night turned cold and dry. The next morning, they were frozen so stiff you could almost stand them up on their own. It really was bitter.
In early February 1917, we were in a part of the line opposite Messines Ridge, opposite a little village called Woodshed, or Whiteshite[7], I can't pronounce it properly. There, we had a lot of miners from Durham attached to our battalion.
They were working on trenches deep underground, when they were preparing for the big advance later on in the year, when they attacked Messines Ridge. They were tunnelling underneath and digging places for mines, all underneath the German lines. A fine lot of lads they were, and very humorous.
We were quite deep down below, in there, at night time, because they had dugouts - well, places down there - where we could sleep. It was very very warm, being fairly deep underground, and in that bitter cold weather, we appreciated that. But on one occasion we had to come up to do some work in the trenches above, what they call revetting, that is filling sandbags, and repairing the trenches, in the front line trenches the paradoes - which had all been broken down by machine-gun fire and by whizz-bangs.
There, it was so cold when we got out, and I'd just come out of this hot ... I fainted. It was the first time in my life that I'd fainted. And when I came to, the lads were all over me, very considerate, and they tried to give me some water, so they got a hold of a can nearby, and I took a drink, and it made me sick: they'd given me whale oil by mistake. That's the oil we used to put on our feet to prevent frostbite, and this had been mixed up with the watercans.
So instead of getting water I got whale oil. That brought me to quicker than anything [laughs]. However, these things do happen. I was laughing about it, and have laughed about it ever since.
Apart from the mud and slush in the trenches, because of the horrible weather, the lack of a decent night's sleep was one of the things I most remember. It was a joy when we got out of the line, when we could get a full night's rest.
Another discomfort, were the bodylice. We were all infected, officers and men alike. It was really a terrible job to get rid of them. Itch, and scratch. And they were great big things, too, and terrible to get rid of. Rats were also a problem. They often ran over us when we were trying to snatch some rest in the dugouts.
The dugouts, as you no doubt are aware, were little shelters built in the side of the tenches for us to rest in when not waiting our turn of duty. Often before taking our spell on the fire-step, or quite on the front line, we had to turn out on working parties, filling sandbags, and repairing broken down portions of the trench which had been hit by shellfire, and ... [tape ends]
So I'll start again.
As the weather improved in the spring of 1917, we were able to get a bit more relief because of the dryer conditions.
When out of the line, and back in reserve, we stayed in hutments, and were able to march to bath houses for a real good wash and change of underwear. It was a real joy to have a good soak and a shower. When we changed into our fresh underwear, we didn't get the same underwear we had put in, so whoever had it used to swap, because the sizes varied. You never knew who'd worn it before. So we used to swap with each other to make sure we got the right kind of things to wear.
When serving in the line, sometimes, it's quite interesting to watch the observation balloons which were used to spy on the German's trenches on the other side. They did the same things with us, having these long observation balloons on big ropes. And there were a few aircraft about, used to pass over frequently.
I often used to fire with the old machine gun, but then I realised that was hopeless, because the bullets never reached them. It was quite interesting too, the way sometimes used to attack these observation balloons, and I have seen two hit and brought down in flames, but on both occasions the occupants - the observers - jumped out and came out by parachute behind our lines, for which we were very thankful, and used to cheer most heartily.
You might be interested to know that once, when we were in the trenches in the support lines, our platoon was visited by a new young officer who had come from England. We used to call him 'Ginger' Dean. He was a very little red-head. And very very smart and all the rest of it. And he paraded us in the support line one morning, and there was a kit .. you know, an inspection.
We marched along - we were quite well away back from the main front line, quite in the supports, and this young officer had never been out before, and had no idea what the conditions were like in the trenches.
He marched down the line of us when we were parading there, and when he came to me, he said, 'Have you shaved this morning?'
I said, 'Yes, sir.'
'Oh. Don't look like it.' Then he went along to the next man, he said, 'Have you shaved this morning?'
'Yes, sir.'
'You don't look like it either.' And when he went along there he said, 'None of you have shaved or washed this morning! You're quite a dirty lot of so and so's.'
And so our corporal spoke up, and said, 'Well sir, we didn't get any water. We're not allowed to use the water from the trenches round here.'
'Well surely you can get something to wash in?'
'Well sir,' he said, 'we don't have ours carried up by batmen from back down the line like you do. You have water to wash and we don't.'
So he said, 'Well some of you look reasonably clean.' He said to me, 'You look as if you have shaved a bit.'
I said, 'Yes, I have, in a mug of hot water which one of the Royal Engineers gave me. There was three of us shaving with one mug of hot water.'
He then started to realise how foolish he had been. And later on I understand he was told off by the officer in command of our particular regiment about his behaviour. That he should have known what it was like when he got up in the front trenches. He said, I think he was warned - You've got to be very very careful how you treat the men, because they could play unholy tricks, and make things very uncomfortable for him - which was quite easily done.
At the beginning of May 1917, the regiment was marched to a village, a near as I can pronounce called Wizzarns[1], just beyond St Omer. We went there for a so-called rest and manoeuvres. We stopped one night at a little village on the way. No sanitation, no water. We used a little river on the border of the village for both purposes. Shaving with a cut-throat razor, and no hot water, and a broken piece of mirror, was not very easy.
When we reached this place - which as near as I can remember, was called Wizzarns - we were billeted on a farm for about a week. We did manoeuvres in the countryside roundabout, before marching back to the front line. It was a case of spit and polish before we marched through St Omer, because we were then being reviewed by General Plumer.
After reaching the support trenches, a few miles near Mont des Cats, we did a few spells in the trenches. The conditions were much better then, and warmer and dryer. On occasions, apart from the constant rattle of machine-gun fire, and whizz-bangs, and a bit of odd shelling, things weren't at all bad for quite a while.
I remember on one occasion when we were in the reserve trenches, in that part that we used to call the Chinese Wall, because of the way the trenches were built up - you could almost walk across the top of the trenches, just like a wall - there were all broken down emplacements there, and we went rat hunting. And one of our chaps was very very keen on this, and he used to get the old cartridges, which were the old cartridges, open the cases and take out the cordite, wrap it up, into a roll of paper. And then we used to wait and catch one rat, and then tie this thing around the rat's body with a piece of time fuse attached to it. What are called instantaneous fuse. Put the rat's head into the hole, and he used to run underground straightaway, and somebody lit the fuse just as it disappeared, and of course there's be an almighty bang a little later on, and out used to shoot the rats. And then we used to stand there with entrenching tools handles handy and hit the blighters.
We killed as many as twenty five one morning. Great fun had by all!
On one particular day in this same part of the trenches, Jerry opened up with a lot of heavy shell fire - whizz-bangs that came one after the other. We all dived for shelter and the stretcher bearer, a big man called Devanney, I heard him yell out, 'Oh, I'm hit, begorrah! I'm hit!'
And we rushed to poor old Devanney and we found he had got really a nasty good wound in his sit-me-down. A real awful gash.
Anyway, we slapped him over and applied first aid dressings. And then called for a stretcher bearer and got Devanney on and took him back to the base. I heard afterwards, he had a really nasty operation. He had a split in his sit-me-down - in his buttock - oh, about six or seven inches long, and very very deep. He must have suffered a lot of pain, poor devil.
Towards the end of May, there was a lot more activity in the part of the line we were then occupying: a movement of other troops, different regiments, coming up to the rear link lines. There were more men in the front and reserve trenches than usual; rather more artillery firing by our own guns.
We sensed something big was coming up, but of course we weren't then quite aware of what was going to happen, although we sensed there was something big happening. We had had heard rumours there was going to be a big advance, because of the extra people being brought there.
Our own regiment was brought up to the support trenches on the morning of the sixth of June. That night, about ten o'clock, we moved to the reserve line. And at about 2 a.m. went into the frontline trenches.
They were more or less absolutely packed - what we would call double-packed. There was men standing on the fire-step, and then we were in the trench behind them. There was about three rows of men. It seemed very quiet for once. Ever so quiet and still. Very little gunfire or shelling from our side, but quite a lot from the German lines the other side. They sort of sensed, I think, that something was coming off.
At ten past three in the morning all hell was let loose: terrific explosions, all on a stretch of the line to the left and the right of us.
I think there was nineteen mines exploded on the German trenches. I counted at least six, perhaps seven, where there was a glow in the sky, and earth and soil shooting up.
I understand that Lloyd George, and members of the then government, were waiting in London and could hear the noise in London all the away across from France. That was such a terrific din.
Our artillery fire went off with a crash, and it was constantly shell fire. You couldn't hear yourselves speak. At the same time, our first wave of men went over from the front, straight towards the German lines. There was quietness for a while from that side, and then all of a sudden machine-gun fire burst out quite from the back. And then many men got hit. Quite a number of casualties.
I had a very good friend of mine, a young cornishman called Pengelley, he was our company runner. He was running just to the left of me as we went over the ... went advancing. Of course it was reasonably daylight then, because of how early in the morning, we could see quiet well, apart from the smoke and all of the confounded din. Poor chap ..[tape cuts out, starts out again]
...?? that. But then of course Jerry got a lot of his machine-guns going behind and he was letting rip and poor old Pengelley got one straight in the head.
I ran over to him and he was as dead as a doornail. He really got an awful bang. Anyway, we couldn't stop. We were not allowed to stop.
We had to carry on with our advance, and we got up to the top of the Wytshaete Ridge - what you call the Woodshet Ridge - and there we were ordered to dig in, and make a line of support trenches to hold the part of the line there, while other people were still advancing quite through to the village.
After a while, we were ordered on a bit further, and we went up quite in the village. the devastation was terrific. It was only holes everywhere.
Meanwhile, Jerry had now got his big guns going, and he was slamming over stuff as hard as he could at us.
Then our regiment was made to retire to the top of the ridge, where we were digging in, and we still carried on digging there, while other troops passed through us.
The advance went on quite well, apparently - a very large number of prisoners were taken. Heaps of them came streaming past us, poor devils. I was rather moved to see one who was eating a piece of English white bread. Who he got it from, I don't know, but he was thoroughly enjoying it. He waved his hands and grinned. A lot of them were very pleased to be captured.
My particular part of the line we were in, we had to still carry on digging, consolidating our position. We didn't have orders to advance further. We were more or less making lines there, so that if any of the men were forced to retire, they'd got a place to retire to. Well the day wore on, it got nice and bright and sunny, being early May ... it was early June, I should say - it was quite pleasant, except for the incessant gun fire and the constant machine-gun fire, which was very uncomfortable at times.
And then at ten past three in the afternoon, Jerry must have opened up some more heavy stuff, and all of a sudden there was a terrific bang and a whistle near me, and a huge crash. And all I remember now is going spinning up into the air, twisting round and round. Well I don't know if I was knocked unconscious or not, but I wasn't actually - but I just sensed , 'Oh Blimey! Is this death?' And it seemed so peaceful, and then all of a sudden crash! as I hit the ground. And a lot of muck all tumbled bang, and I was more or less half buried. Very nearly buried alive.
It was really most uncomfortable, and I was in a lot of pain.
Any rate, some of the lads who hadn't been .. there must have been eight or nine casualties, cos I can see whether .. almost the faces of my pals as this damn great shell exploded. Any rate. Two or three of them must have rushed over, that hadn't been hurt, and pulled me out, and, well, that was that.
I was carried some hundreds of yards back to what was a first aid station, and there they examined me carefully, and found I hadn't got any what they call 'bad' injuries. I was merely .. my clothes were half torn off me, and I was dreadfully bruised, and very painful all down my right side, and could hardly move my right leg, it was so stiff. That's where I suppose I had been hit with the shell contusions, and the force of the explosion.
I later heard from one of my mates when in hospital, that that particular shell had killed six of our chaps in the trenches - four who I knew personally, and were good friends of mine. But still, that was life.
Some little time later I was carried by two big hefty German prisoners of war on a stretcher way back to where we hopped .. to near our original front line. There was a road nearby.
There I was picked up by a sort of a light truck - a railway which the engineers had built up, and I was rattled back towards - not St Omer, I can't think of the name of the place now - but further back behind the line, and there some old fashioned lorries came along and picked up the casualties and drove us back.
I can still see this particular place - I don't know the name of it - a lot of the villagers as civilians standing and, you know, watching all of the poor walking wounded - and I suppose they would have counted me one of those, although I wasn't actually walking - and watching them being brought back from the line. It must have been rather terrifying for the villagers in the vicinity.
Together with others I was taken on one of these trucks quite a long way back, and we got back towards near St Omer, into a part of northern France where I was admitted to the Number One Canadian General Hospital. They were hospitals all under canvas. There I was examined, and marked 'E' for England.
I couldn't hear a thing or speak. I was semi-dumb, and practically totally deaf, but nevertheless, I sensed enough to observe things.
After about a week in the Number One Canadian General, my hearing with the treatment I'd received, had improved quite a lot. I found out that several batches of casualties had been sent back to England. I asked why I had not been included. I was told there had been complaints from Ireland that Irish men - the wounded - had not been sent back to their own home areas. And I was told to wait a short time before a batch of Irish regiment casualties could be sent back.
I tried to explain that, although I was in an Irish Regiment, I was not an Irishman. This appeared to make no difference, although this so-called rule was changed to allow English in Irish regiments to be sent to a hospital in England which was some little time afterwards I was included in a draft to go home.
Shortly afterwards, I was included in a draft and sent to the coast and boarded a boat to Dover. From Dover we went by train to Holy Head. We were transferred then to another Cross-Irish Sea boat and went to Holyhead. And from Holyhead we went to Dublin. And from Dublin we were put on another train, and went to Belfast.
There, with others, I was sent to the Royal Victoria Hospital, off the Falls Road. On our journeys by train - both from Dover to Holyhead, and also from Dublin to Belfast - we had many many visitors at different stations where we stopped, who brought gifts and cigarettes and that, and made a real fuss of us.
We were treated like heroes, lord knows why.
It was rather intriguing, when we were admitted to the Royal Victoria Hospital, we were sent to a ward on the ground floor - a batch of us, about thirty. practically filled the ward. The sister who greeted us when we - some were carried in, and others walked in, or rather hobbled in - she sniffed and said, 'Oh, all those dirty clothes. How filthy they are.'
And one fellow close to me said, 'Well sister, you'd be filthy if only three or four days ago you were in the trenches. It's not very clean there.'
She said, 'Oh dear, oh dear. I'm so sorry. I forgot.' She really was quite concerned to think that she'd made such a silly mistake.
Any rate she proved to be a real brick afterwards, and treated us well, although she was real hot with her staff.
We received wonderful treatment in the ward,and visitors used to come - quite strangers - and made a real fuss of us. The hospitality was really wonderful And when I was able to walk a little bit and that, we were allowed out of the hospital, dressed in, sort of, hospital blues, and in Belfast itself we had free rides on all the public transport. It was amazing the number of people who wanted to pay your fare, or take you out to tea, or anything like that. It was really remarkable. They made an awful fuss of us.
After a few days, patients like myself who were not seriously wounded and could get about - we were what we called reasonably whole - were transferred to the convalescent hospital at Holywood in County Down. There they treated us well.
When I left convalescent hospital I went out and came to England on leave for two weeks, quite a journey all the way from Belfast across the Irish Sea to North England, and then train all the way down to London. And then London up to Norfolk. It took a long time.
So nevertheless, everybody you met made an awful fuss of you. I was back in ordinary uniform then.
After a short spell of leave in England, I went back to rejoin the regiment in Dublin in Portobello Barracks. A little later on we were transferred to a place called Ballincollig in County Cork, and then when the Feinians started to cause a bit of trouble all around that way in Cork, because the - what you call the IRA now - we were then transferred to England, and went to Rugeley Camp in Staffordshire.
In the summer of 1918, when at Rugeley camp in Staffordshire, there was that influenza epidemic, and my word it was terrible. It swept through the camp. I had a nasty spell of it myself for about ten days. I think at that time in Rugeley I attended fourteen funerals of fellows who had died from the influenza. I was very very fortunate there - very fortunate indeed. I suppose I must have been reasonably healthy.
In the usual army fashion I got shifted about from place to place. I was transferred from Rugeley Camp to a place called Bawdsey in Suffolk, under canvas. That's sort of near Ipswich, and Felixstowe. From there we shifted to Southend-on-sea, and from Southend-on-sea we went to Sheppey on the Sheppey island, in Kent.
From there we were shifted to Chatham, and I was demobbed then from Chatham in late 1919, and went back to Great Yarmouth.
Like so many young men at that time, I was out of work for a short period. Early in nineteen hundred and twenty, I got a job with the Yarmouth & Gorleston Steamboat Company, and was doing tolerably well with them on their finance side. Though really, I was more or less in their ticket and transport office. Still, I used to go up and down the river quite a lot on some of their boats to the Broads, and it was very pleasant.
In 1920 it was a very very nice year. but just before the end of the summer in 1920, the firm went bust, and I was out of work! [laughs] Things weren't too good in Great Yarmouth or Norfolk, as regards jobs, so late in 1920 - November it was - through my brother Bert, I went to London, to Cricklewood, and stayed with him. And of course he'd lost his first wife in that influenza epidemic, and Bob was glad to have some company in a way, although his late wife's sister, she used to see after the house for us.
In the January 1921, when attending the labour exchange in Willesden, which was the nearest one to us at Cricklewood, one of the young clerks there, he slipped me a form for what they called the George substitution board. It was a form that he shouldn't have dished out but on the authority of the manager, but I think he rather took a fancy to me. And this form I filled in, and got two referees to sign it - one my old headmaster in Great Yarmouth, and one my brother Bert's father-in-law. And they sponsored me.
I sent the form on, and I was called up to a panel in Whitehall, and had a very good interview, and they sent me to Richmond in Surrey to the Ministry of Labour. I was posted to the Statistics Department of the Ministry of Labour, who were then working in some temporary offices in Richmond. From there we moved to Kew Gardens, in a big office there, and later on transferred to London.
I was in London quite a long long while, from office to office, up to 1959. I wasn't in the Statistical Department the whole time, because just before the 1939 to 1945 war I was in the Finance Department of the Ministry of Labour. And therefore I was posted from place to place then. And during the war years I was sent to Sheffield, and there engaged in seeing after the training of young men for industry. I was on finance work there, sort of, we had training centres there, and I was an accountant in one of the training centres, and moved from there to another one in Leeds.
I had the general runaround, and had quite a lot of experience, and I got fed up with it and asked for a transfer, and later on I was transferred back to London, and then worked with the Department dealing with the call up of the young men to do National Service. And I was a specialised job dealing with those who had previous service overseas in armed forces in war, which could qualify them for exemption from our National Service Acts. Very interesting indeed.
And I must say I had some very amusing experiences with some of the applicants [laughs]. Some of the tales I got told, [laughs] you really couldn't believe the truth of them.
As you no doubt know, I was married in March ... Correction, as you know I was married in 1927, and we had a flat in Kew Gardens for a short while. I could easily walk to work from there. We bought a house at Laleham, on Mortgage - Laleham-on-Thames - in the autumn of 1930 when I was transferred to the London office. I used to travel by train from Staines to Waterloo daily. We let the house, furnished, in 1940, while I was working in Sheffield and Leeds, and when I got transferred back to Redding, in 1946, I got the house back from the tenants, and remained there until just before I retired in June 1959. I of course had been moved from Redding to the Watford offices, before being moved to another office in the London area.
As you know about the civil service you get shifted about from place to place. You don't play in the fountains of Trafalgar Square from ten to four. I had some very good times, very interesting experiences, especially when I was in the Finance Department on audit work, and going around the country from office to office, auditing some of the accounts. I worked in Liverpool, Cardiff, Leeds, Southampton, oh, I can't remember the places I went to so many. I got to know the British Isles very well. The only part I didn't go to was Scotland. I only went there the once, and neither did I go to Ireland. but I had several trips to Wales, and fell in love with that little country. Some beautiful scenery in Wales. I thoroughly enjoyed it when I was there, although it is a bit crazy travelling around with a briefcase in one hand, and a suitcase in the other. Very uncomfortable at times.
I think you know I lost my first wife in 1962, when we were living in Rochford in Essex, to which we moved after I had sold the house at Laleham. It was there that I met my present charming little wife Doris.
I had known her vaguely before then, however, after a short while, I plucked up the courage and asked her marry me, and she very charmingly consented, and we got married in 1963 and, as the fairytales always told, we've lived happily ever after.
I couldn't wish for a better companion or more loving person. And she's ??? me well. And so here we are, this ends the story of the first, second, third and fourth fifth chapters. I'll try to send you something more interesting the next tape I do. All the best to you both.
NOTES
[1] 2.20
[2] 51 Albion Rd in 1911.
[3] Etaples
[4] Dranouter
[5] Mont des Cats
[6] Klijte
[7] Wytschoete.
[8] Wizernes.
Forester had the following to say about his brother Ralph:
"My brother Ralph often was in trouble himself. I think it was in nineteen hundred and four he slipped and fell down what we called the saw-pit at the back of dad's premises, where he used to saw the logs, ready for making the pumps he used for outside taps, and things like that. Poor old Ralph broke his leg. He was confined to bed for quite a while - it took quite a while for his leg to heal. While he was in bed I visited him from Great Yarmouth, and we had a lot of nuts we were eating there. And I must have dropped one broken nut into his bed. Hazelnuts, they were. Some days after it, poor old Ralph complained of a very very bad pain in his back, and the doctor Deacon examined him and found this nut had got imbedded in the flesh of his back. He had the scar up until the time he died.’
He always told me about one occasion when he was a schoolboy, that he was told to see after the school fire, and poke it and replenish it with fuel, and he left the poker in it, and it got red-hot. And while he was there, one of the boys in the class had trouble with the headmaster, who picked the poker from Ralph, and chased the headmaster around with a red-hot poker. When the poker got cold, as the headmaster thought, he turned around and grabbed it from the boy, and chased him around the class, and gave him a good hiding as well.'
He worked at Hethersett Railway station, then Blofield S..[tape drops out] ..the Great Eastern railway before he joined the Royal Navy.’
He had an operation before he joined the Royal Navy, and he was in Norwich hospital. He's always told me, that when he came out of the anaesthetic, he was singing hymns, because there'd been a church service the day before. He had a very good voice and everybody in the ward was saying how very nice he sounded.
We are very grateful to Lewis Buckingham for permission to use the photograph and the memories of his great great uncle Forester who was Ralph Buckingham's brother. Ralph Buckingham was also Lewis' great great uncle. His grandfather was Lewis Archibald Buckingham, brother to both Ralph and Foster
I LEFT school in the late July, nineteen hundred and twelve, and during the month of August I looked in vain for jobs all round. Nothing materialised at all. However, I resumed night school - resumed school in September. Went to night school two nights a week, and while working there, from one of my fellow pupils, I heard of a job going at a firm called Woolsey Stores at Middlegate Street, Great Yarmouth. I went round there and was interviewed by the chief clerk, who gave me a test on the ledgers, and things like that, reported to his chief, Mr George Edward Wolsey, and they engaged me.
I had hours from nine am to eight pm. Three quarters of an hour for lunch, and half an hour for tea time. My starting pay was two shillings and sixpence for a week. And after work it went up to ten pm on Saturday nights. I had a half day off on Thursdays, but I still had to take night school on two evenings a week, from seven pm to nine pm. I was allowed to leave work early, at six thirty pm, on those particular nights.
Very generous of them, wasn't it?
Things were pretty tough in those days for everybody. Jobs were very difficult to get, and when you got a job, you just hung on to it as long as you could. However I enjoyed my job at Woolsey Stores, Mr Ostler,[1] the chief clerk, was very good to me, and taught me quite a lot, and I think they were quite well satisfied with me.
I must tell you a thing about the scales of pay that were prevalent then: the manager of the stores, a man named Hutchinson, he got three pounds ten shillings a week, plus commission at Christmas time, so he was totally well off. Ostler, chief Clerk, he got three pounds a week. Mr Atkins, the manager of the furniture department, he received two pound ten shillings a week. Arthur Last, who was in the jewellery department, he got one pound fifteen a week. The chap in charge of the ?????? department - his name has eluded me for the moment - he got two pounds, five shillings a week. Poor old Joe Bolton, he was upholsterer and general dogsbody in the furniture store - he repaired all the bedding and things like that - he got exactly one pound and five shillings a week. And he was married and had six children. How do you think they survived then? The general labourer and handyman, he got one pound a week. I can't think of his name now, for the moment, but I can see his face quite clearly. He was a real scoundrel when it came to tobacco. I used to smoke a pipe and in those days had more or less started. He'd often skive a fillip packet of tobacco from me. He had two pipes - one, the little one, he used himself when he bought his own tobacco, and a big one he used when he skived off other people. He was a real terror.
When I look back all those years, they were really good for .. oh .. they were really good for the provinces, at that time. Most people managed to live. But things were different then as regards, more or less proportioning. The cost of living was low, and in proportion to the earnings.
Mr Ostler only paid four shillings and sixpence rent per week, including rates, for a nice little terrace house, and had two children, and lived quite well. However, I got on quite well, and learned quite a lot there. I had a very good time in many ways - even though the hours were long.
However, I got, more or less, a kind of a promotion a little later, and instead of doing mostly indoor work, I was sent out on certain days of the week, to go out into the town, and to go to Gorleston and Caister, collecting money.
We used to run a sort of a laid-by system for people who'd put things to one side and pay so much a week for 'em. We didn't do much hire purchasing - although a little bit of that,however, cos hire purchasing had more or less started about then - but we got a few what we called minor dole debtors. And those were the people we had to call on, and try to wheedle some cash out of them.
If I went to Gorleston, it used to cost me two pence to go from South Town Bridge to Gorleston by train, and two pence to come back. I was allowed this money out of petty cash. But I'd often do a little bit of what we called fiddling by walking halfway, to what we called the halfway house, and it cost me only a penny to go into Gorleston, and a penny to come back. So I used to make tuppence on the deal. It's sort of a form of cheating, I suppose. Still, it was helpful. Even tuppence in those days was a lot of money to me.
Later on, about early .. more or less in the early parts of 1914, Ostler had a row with Mr Wolsey, and he left the firm. Wolsey then gave me a sort of promotion. He didn't give so much as ask for ?his ???? but I got quite a reasonable wage for a lad of my age in those days. And I was employed to one of the girl clerks. They did a lot of formal ledger work.
The ledgers then in those days were huge things, it was almost like walking a mile from one end of the high desk to the other. We used to sit on high stools. There was no question of sitting on a table then. An invoice ledger was about two foot six across when it was wide open - from the left hand page, to the right hand page, when the thing was open. Oh they were real terrors. And they were very very heavy to carry about. However, that was book keeping in those days. Nowadays, there's none of that kind of book keeping. The youngsters nowadays don't know what life was like when it comes to book keeping.[laughs]
As I said before, I had quite a happy time there, and I learnt quite a lot. Still, the fourteen eighteen war of course did muck things up. And there was a cry for people to enlist and I, together with a lot of silly soldiers of my own age, dived down to the recruiting station. I actually wanted to go to the navy, so they sent me down to the Royal Naval Barracks nearby for a medical examination, and what should happen, but I went in front of my own family doctor.
And he says, 'I know your age, young man. You go home. You're not coming here.'
And so I had to go back, and of course my Aunt Mary found out about it, and I had a real dressing down for trying to join the forces like that. However, late in 1915, when the Lord Derby Scheme came to force meant whereby young men who had attained the age of eighteen and a half could on the register for enlistment, and were called up two or three months later. they did this, of course, to take the crush off the recruiting offices, and other people, because they were inundated with a lot of people who wanted to get into the force, and they just couldn't cope.
Things were really very rough out in France for our fellows, and indeed it was not until May 1916 that I said I registered on the Lord Derby Scheme, when I was eighteen and a half years of age. But then conscription started at the end of July for everybody of the age of eighteen and upwards.
But I was in the forces before conscription was started. I went into the forces just earlier - I forget the exact date, but it was just about the first fortnight in July. And after a certain amount of training, of course, then I went abroad.
When I was working for Wolsey Stores, during those early part of the war - the war years - I had one or two unusual instances.
In June 1916, when Lord Kitchener was drowned on HMS Hampshire, I was in the office, working there, and Mr Atkins, the furniture manager, he came in to me and he said, 'Have you heard the news?'
And I said, 'What.'
And he says, 'HMS Hampshire was sunk and Lord Kitchener was drowned.'
I said, 'No, no no, no!'
And he said, 'Yes, I'm telling you ?about?'
I said, 'My brother was on the Hampshire!'
I can't forget poor Atkins's face. He went all white and ran out of the office really .. I wouldn't say scared .. but really upset.
It was a shock to me, and to a lot of other people. But still, those things happen, and that's that. You can't call back the past.
In the earlier part of 1915, part of the German fleet bombarded the east coast. Several shells passed over Great Yarmouth, and a few hit parts of the town, but the damage was not very extensive. In common with other silly young men, I ran out to the seafront, and watched the smoke in the distance on the skyline, and the flashes of gunfire as the cruisers were bombarding. It was a silly thing to do, but like all young kids, of course, it was an experience.
One thing that I shall remember, though, very well, was seeing a man running down Crown Road, in his pyjamas and dressing gown, holding a briefcase and running like hell to get to reach the station. [laughs] Whether he got there, I couldn't say, but he looked so foolish doing that very early in the morning. However, that was an experience I haven't forgotten, and quite interesting to remember.
Of course, Scarborough, another place a bit further north, was rather badly hit, and much damage caused. We were lucky in Great Yarmouth, although it was quite a - I wouldn't say terrifying - but interesting experience.
Also, during 1915, we had one or two zeppelin raids. I was coming home from work one evening - I can't remember the exact date now - and I heard a droning sound in the sky, and all of a sudden there was a big crash, just about a hundred yards from where I was walking, near the drill hall of Great Yarmouth, and a small bomb was dropped there. And a little further along, there was another awful crash, farther down towards Crown Road, another bomb hit there and demolished a stable, and a small house. I trotted back home to Aunt Mary's as quick as I could.
She was very perturbed, and I said where one of the bombs had dropped, and she said, 'Oh, what about Mrs Palmer?', and that was a friend of ours, so I chased back, and I found Mrs Palmer's house, not far from one of the Churches at that end of the town. All of the windows were shattered, and partly demolished, and I found out that the lady, Mrs Palmer, was with her grandson in the Gas Company's office a few hundred yards away.
So I went down there and escorted her back to my Aunt Mary's, and they stopped with us.
Then they said something about the canary being there, and I went back with a neighbour, a Mr Eastoe,[2] and we got into the house.
I had the key - the door was alright. And took the .. Rescued the canary - this was about midnight - and took that back to where I was in Albion Road with my Aunt Mary.
The next day, when I brought Mrs Palmer back to see the damage caused to the house, of course the police were all there, and they couldn't ..: 'Don't go there! There might be gas escaping.'
I said, 'There won't be, because I turned it off last night, at midnight when I was in the house.'
They said, 'How'd you get in there!?'
You know, so indignant to think anybody else had been there. Nevertheless that's what happened. It's quite intriguing to remember.
I reported for service in the forces on the first of July 1916. It was .. and I went to Norwich, the Mousehold barracks, and I was posted to the Norfolk Regiment, and was sent to Middle Lane Camp, Felixstowe. That I now understand, is a housing estate.
I went there for training. I had a week's leave in the middle of August, and I visited Hethersett. I saw your mother, brother Lewis - I saw your dad, I’m sorry ... I made a hash of that last bit.
When I visited Hethersett, I saw my brother Lewis and your mother, and Lewis was only been born. He was just a little baby, and so I suppose he was only about three or four months old, at the outside.
While training in Felixstowe, there was a zeppelin raid over ?Harrodds? and it was a most thrilling sight to watch - all of the searchlights shining up this huge aircraft, and the shells bursting in the air as they were shelling from the batteries at Landguard forts. We thought the zep was hit and been brought down, but she recovered from a possible slight damage, and flew away. It was a most interesting sight, and one I shall never forget.
Military training at Felixstowe was fairly extensive, and lasted about four to five months. The ruling then, was that young men who had not reached the age of nineteen would not be sent overseas. Not like eighteen and a half years of age nowadays. Plenty of youngsters gave an incorrect age and did go overseas, and if found out, were sent back home, to England.
I had another week leave towards the end of October and was picked for a draft to go to Salonika. That was cancelled,. however. thank heaven for that.
I went on a draft to France on the second of November 1916. The regiment had got my date of birth wrong, and my official birth day was the 2nd of November, because really, as you know, it was the 22nd of November.
We were transferred from the Norfolk regiment to the Royal Irish Fusiliers. The second .. the Third Battalion of the 49th Brigade, in the 16th Division.
The reason why: most of the 16th Division had been badly cut up on the Somme, and the two battalions of the Irish Regiment - the second and the third - were amalgamated. So therefore we were one of a draft which helped to build up the strength. There were about a hundred men in my draft.
We crossed the channel from Felixstowe to the line. We were not allowed on deck, and we had a destroyer escort. We marched to another training camp - to a place called - as near as I can remember, called - 'Eetaps'[3].
I think it was spelt e-t-a-p-l-e-s, although I'm not quite certain. We used to call this place the bull ring, because the training area was so very very tough indeed. We left Eetaps by train in cattle trucks just a week after to just near St Omer. From there, by truck to a small village a short distance away, called Loker in the Ypres salient. Other places nearby were called Dranuto[4], Montecatts[5], La Clitte[6], and Armentieres, all small villages, except Armentieres, which was a larger place, quite close to the Ypres salient.
Loker was about one and a half miles from the main communication trench leading to the front line.
We spent one night in some hutments in Loker village and then were marched about one and a half miles to the main communication trench, and nearby was a place called the White Chateau, which was then the temporary headquarters of our regiment while we were in the line.
The commanding officer came out and inspected us, and then we were split into four groups, about twenty-four men per group, to be allocated to different companies - A, B, C and D of the regiment. And I was allocated to D company, into the 16th platoon.
So there was about six of us in the 16th platoon, and six more in each other platoon. So we kept a little compact group.
While we were waiting to be allocated areas as platoons, there was a constant mutter of gunfire, and machine-gun fire - and at intervals heavy shelling: which was quite an experience, because all the time up near the frontline, you'd ... [tape is taped over at this point with the following:]
It is interesting to note that the names of the main communication trenches leading to the frontline had various names. The particular one we used quite a lot from the ?sixth? in the old White Chateau, was called ?Va ajelia?, but other names were called Bond Street, Park Row, and all sort of town names, but sometimes they were unusual names. Nonetheless we remembered these, because it was necessary to do that.
Going through the communication trenches up to the front line was a torturous journey on duckboards. And yes occasionally - they were not at all level - and you'd hear the man .. the people in front of you saying 'Step up. Step down. Step up. Step down.' And you'd pass the message along to the man behind you. But of course, you could mistime that a little bit, and often you'd trip and you would fall. And believe me it wasn't very very pleasant. It was very very muddy.
My most vivid recollections of the trenches are mud, lice, rats, and water. We had a frightful time there when it did rain, and that winter of 1916-17 was a real bitter one.
However, we came out of the line about three days before Christmas that year, and went back to Loker, and we had a Christmas dinner outside. The officers sort of waited on us, which was very kind of them - that's what was done, sort of, as a bit of a gesture, and while we were there, there was a jolly old bunch of heavy shellfire a few miles away, and a huge shell came and crashed into the hutment not far from where we were eating, and there was a sudden hush and then when the noise died away, you heard the voice of a man say, "I hope that hasn't hit our bloody beer,' and everybody burst out laughing [laughs]. After due inspection, we found that fortunately the shell hadn't touched the beer, so all the thirsty ones were able to quench their thirst.
We went to the line again on the 31st of December, and I shan't forget midnight, when the new year came in. Half an hour before midnight, it was as quiet as anything, and then at midnight all hell burst out: machine gun fire, mortar shells, and it was a really wicked time.
It's a most uncomfortable experience, I expect you should realise, Rex, with bullets whistling past your ears. Not so much past your ears as over your head, because being in the trenches they did pass over your head, but they hit the paradoes at the back with an awful crack, just like somebody smacking their hands together. You've heard plenty of gunfire yourself in .. [tape cuts out and resumes mid sentence]
..support line, and then three in the reserve line, and then three days out. Sometimes we were lucky and had four or five days out, in which we were able to get a real proper bath, because it was really filthy. That's one thing I hated there, is not being able to get a proper wash with all that water around. Because we were not allowed to use the rainwater and all that, because it was not drinkable, for a start - very dangerous - and of course it could carry a lot of disease. However, trench warfare is not at all pleasant.
I remember very well the first night we were on the front line, and I was posted on the fire-step. The chap next to me was only a youngish man, and we introduced ourselves. His name was Saunders, and he came from somewhere near Manchester, and he told me what to watch out for.
He said, 'If you hear a noise, don't worry about that - any rattling. That's gone past you.' but he said, 'If you see flashes of light in front of you, just duck quickly, because they're probably machine-gun fire, and you'll hear the sound afterwards.' He was quite right. He taught me quite a lot.
When daylight broke and I spoke to him, I said, 'You're very very young, aren't you?' And he said, 'Oh, I'm just turned seventeen.' He said, 'I shouldn't be here by rights. [laughs] They find out my age when we get out of line, I gotta go back to the reserve.'
I said, 'You're lucky!'
He said, 'I'm particularly anxious to go back. I'm enjoying myself here with my mates.'[laughs]
I think I should mention, we were not always in the same part of the line all of the time. We moved up and down at various times, as I mentioned before, we usually went in to the frontline trenches about three days or three nights, then into the reserve, about another three days or three nights, then back to more or less behind the line, for another three days, but always within reach of gunfire.
There was constant noise all the time, not very heavy - intermittent machine-gun fire, and odd raids, and whiz-bangs and whatever used to come over and crash, but nevertheless, taking it all it all, it wasn't too bad at times.
I believe I mentioned that various parts of the line had different nicknames - the communication trenches in particular. The one we used mainly was called ?Via Jelia?. I think it was named by Welsh regiments that had been there before. Other communication trenches we used were called Park Lane, and another one called Watten Row, and another place which we used to call the Chinese Wall, because the emplacements were built very high, so the top of the trenches looked like a wall, and behind was quite a deep hollow, and we could shelter there sometimes, when there were various raids.
The lads all had good humorous nicknames for various places, and the comradeship was really wonderful.
At odd times we had what were called minor raids over the top, to ascertain if the trenches opposite - who occupied them. Those with good hearing often slid over and laid near the opposing trenches to listen to any conversation. It was rather dangerous, but it only took two or three of us to go out together, sometimes four. very rarely ..
I was only required to go a couple of times, but I found it most exciting, and very thrilling, but very nerve-wracking when the verey lights went up and exploded above you in the sky and the whole place was illuminated, and you daren't move. You froze quite still, because any movement would attract gunfire.
These minor raids could be very dangerous and exciting. We often had casualties amongst those who were raiding. I was very fortunate, in as much that I was in a machine-gun group, and was not often required for such work. Thank heaven for that.
In general, the weather in January 1917 was bitterly cold. We had some really bitter cold weather, but on one occasion we had very very heavy rain indeed, and our greatcoats got absolutely soaked through, so we took them off and hung them in the fire-bays to dry out, as the night turned cold and dry. The next morning, they were frozen so stiff you could almost stand them up on their own. It really was bitter.
In early February 1917, we were in a part of the line opposite Messines Ridge, opposite a little village called Woodshed, or Whiteshite[7], I can't pronounce it properly. There, we had a lot of miners from Durham attached to our battalion.
They were working on trenches deep underground, when they were preparing for the big advance later on in the year, when they attacked Messines Ridge. They were tunnelling underneath and digging places for mines, all underneath the German lines. A fine lot of lads they were, and very humorous.
We were quite deep down below, in there, at night time, because they had dugouts - well, places down there - where we could sleep. It was very very warm, being fairly deep underground, and in that bitter cold weather, we appreciated that. But on one occasion we had to come up to do some work in the trenches above, what they call revetting, that is filling sandbags, and repairing the trenches, in the front line trenches the paradoes - which had all been broken down by machine-gun fire and by whizz-bangs.
There, it was so cold when we got out, and I'd just come out of this hot ... I fainted. It was the first time in my life that I'd fainted. And when I came to, the lads were all over me, very considerate, and they tried to give me some water, so they got a hold of a can nearby, and I took a drink, and it made me sick: they'd given me whale oil by mistake. That's the oil we used to put on our feet to prevent frostbite, and this had been mixed up with the watercans.
So instead of getting water I got whale oil. That brought me to quicker than anything [laughs]. However, these things do happen. I was laughing about it, and have laughed about it ever since.
Apart from the mud and slush in the trenches, because of the horrible weather, the lack of a decent night's sleep was one of the things I most remember. It was a joy when we got out of the line, when we could get a full night's rest.
Another discomfort, were the bodylice. We were all infected, officers and men alike. It was really a terrible job to get rid of them. Itch, and scratch. And they were great big things, too, and terrible to get rid of. Rats were also a problem. They often ran over us when we were trying to snatch some rest in the dugouts.
The dugouts, as you no doubt are aware, were little shelters built in the side of the tenches for us to rest in when not waiting our turn of duty. Often before taking our spell on the fire-step, or quite on the front line, we had to turn out on working parties, filling sandbags, and repairing broken down portions of the trench which had been hit by shellfire, and ... [tape ends]
So I'll start again.
As the weather improved in the spring of 1917, we were able to get a bit more relief because of the dryer conditions.
When out of the line, and back in reserve, we stayed in hutments, and were able to march to bath houses for a real good wash and change of underwear. It was a real joy to have a good soak and a shower. When we changed into our fresh underwear, we didn't get the same underwear we had put in, so whoever had it used to swap, because the sizes varied. You never knew who'd worn it before. So we used to swap with each other to make sure we got the right kind of things to wear.
When serving in the line, sometimes, it's quite interesting to watch the observation balloons which were used to spy on the German's trenches on the other side. They did the same things with us, having these long observation balloons on big ropes. And there were a few aircraft about, used to pass over frequently.
I often used to fire with the old machine gun, but then I realised that was hopeless, because the bullets never reached them. It was quite interesting too, the way sometimes used to attack these observation balloons, and I have seen two hit and brought down in flames, but on both occasions the occupants - the observers - jumped out and came out by parachute behind our lines, for which we were very thankful, and used to cheer most heartily.
You might be interested to know that once, when we were in the trenches in the support lines, our platoon was visited by a new young officer who had come from England. We used to call him 'Ginger' Dean. He was a very little red-head. And very very smart and all the rest of it. And he paraded us in the support line one morning, and there was a kit .. you know, an inspection.
We marched along - we were quite well away back from the main front line, quite in the supports, and this young officer had never been out before, and had no idea what the conditions were like in the trenches.
He marched down the line of us when we were parading there, and when he came to me, he said, 'Have you shaved this morning?'
I said, 'Yes, sir.'
'Oh. Don't look like it.' Then he went along to the next man, he said, 'Have you shaved this morning?'
'Yes, sir.'
'You don't look like it either.' And when he went along there he said, 'None of you have shaved or washed this morning! You're quite a dirty lot of so and so's.'
And so our corporal spoke up, and said, 'Well sir, we didn't get any water. We're not allowed to use the water from the trenches round here.'
'Well surely you can get something to wash in?'
'Well sir,' he said, 'we don't have ours carried up by batmen from back down the line like you do. You have water to wash and we don't.'
So he said, 'Well some of you look reasonably clean.' He said to me, 'You look as if you have shaved a bit.'
I said, 'Yes, I have, in a mug of hot water which one of the Royal Engineers gave me. There was three of us shaving with one mug of hot water.'
He then started to realise how foolish he had been. And later on I understand he was told off by the officer in command of our particular regiment about his behaviour. That he should have known what it was like when he got up in the front trenches. He said, I think he was warned - You've got to be very very careful how you treat the men, because they could play unholy tricks, and make things very uncomfortable for him - which was quite easily done.
At the beginning of May 1917, the regiment was marched to a village, a near as I can pronounce called Wizzarns[1], just beyond St Omer. We went there for a so-called rest and manoeuvres. We stopped one night at a little village on the way. No sanitation, no water. We used a little river on the border of the village for both purposes. Shaving with a cut-throat razor, and no hot water, and a broken piece of mirror, was not very easy.
When we reached this place - which as near as I can remember, was called Wizzarns - we were billeted on a farm for about a week. We did manoeuvres in the countryside roundabout, before marching back to the front line. It was a case of spit and polish before we marched through St Omer, because we were then being reviewed by General Plumer.
After reaching the support trenches, a few miles near Mont des Cats, we did a few spells in the trenches. The conditions were much better then, and warmer and dryer. On occasions, apart from the constant rattle of machine-gun fire, and whizz-bangs, and a bit of odd shelling, things weren't at all bad for quite a while.
I remember on one occasion when we were in the reserve trenches, in that part that we used to call the Chinese Wall, because of the way the trenches were built up - you could almost walk across the top of the trenches, just like a wall - there were all broken down emplacements there, and we went rat hunting. And one of our chaps was very very keen on this, and he used to get the old cartridges, which were the old cartridges, open the cases and take out the cordite, wrap it up, into a roll of paper. And then we used to wait and catch one rat, and then tie this thing around the rat's body with a piece of time fuse attached to it. What are called instantaneous fuse. Put the rat's head into the hole, and he used to run underground straightaway, and somebody lit the fuse just as it disappeared, and of course there's be an almighty bang a little later on, and out used to shoot the rats. And then we used to stand there with entrenching tools handles handy and hit the blighters.
We killed as many as twenty five one morning. Great fun had by all!
On one particular day in this same part of the trenches, Jerry opened up with a lot of heavy shell fire - whizz-bangs that came one after the other. We all dived for shelter and the stretcher bearer, a big man called Devanney, I heard him yell out, 'Oh, I'm hit, begorrah! I'm hit!'
And we rushed to poor old Devanney and we found he had got really a nasty good wound in his sit-me-down. A real awful gash.
Anyway, we slapped him over and applied first aid dressings. And then called for a stretcher bearer and got Devanney on and took him back to the base. I heard afterwards, he had a really nasty operation. He had a split in his sit-me-down - in his buttock - oh, about six or seven inches long, and very very deep. He must have suffered a lot of pain, poor devil.
Towards the end of May, there was a lot more activity in the part of the line we were then occupying: a movement of other troops, different regiments, coming up to the rear link lines. There were more men in the front and reserve trenches than usual; rather more artillery firing by our own guns.
We sensed something big was coming up, but of course we weren't then quite aware of what was going to happen, although we sensed there was something big happening. We had had heard rumours there was going to be a big advance, because of the extra people being brought there.
Our own regiment was brought up to the support trenches on the morning of the sixth of June. That night, about ten o'clock, we moved to the reserve line. And at about 2 a.m. went into the frontline trenches.
They were more or less absolutely packed - what we would call double-packed. There was men standing on the fire-step, and then we were in the trench behind them. There was about three rows of men. It seemed very quiet for once. Ever so quiet and still. Very little gunfire or shelling from our side, but quite a lot from the German lines the other side. They sort of sensed, I think, that something was coming off.
At ten past three in the morning all hell was let loose: terrific explosions, all on a stretch of the line to the left and the right of us.
I think there was nineteen mines exploded on the German trenches. I counted at least six, perhaps seven, where there was a glow in the sky, and earth and soil shooting up.
I understand that Lloyd George, and members of the then government, were waiting in London and could hear the noise in London all the away across from France. That was such a terrific din.
Our artillery fire went off with a crash, and it was constantly shell fire. You couldn't hear yourselves speak. At the same time, our first wave of men went over from the front, straight towards the German lines. There was quietness for a while from that side, and then all of a sudden machine-gun fire burst out quite from the back. And then many men got hit. Quite a number of casualties.
I had a very good friend of mine, a young cornishman called Pengelley, he was our company runner. He was running just to the left of me as we went over the ... went advancing. Of course it was reasonably daylight then, because of how early in the morning, we could see quiet well, apart from the smoke and all of the confounded din. Poor chap ..[tape cuts out, starts out again]
...?? that. But then of course Jerry got a lot of his machine-guns going behind and he was letting rip and poor old Pengelley got one straight in the head.
I ran over to him and he was as dead as a doornail. He really got an awful bang. Anyway, we couldn't stop. We were not allowed to stop.
We had to carry on with our advance, and we got up to the top of the Wytshaete Ridge - what you call the Woodshet Ridge - and there we were ordered to dig in, and make a line of support trenches to hold the part of the line there, while other people were still advancing quite through to the village.
After a while, we were ordered on a bit further, and we went up quite in the village. the devastation was terrific. It was only holes everywhere.
Meanwhile, Jerry had now got his big guns going, and he was slamming over stuff as hard as he could at us.
Then our regiment was made to retire to the top of the ridge, where we were digging in, and we still carried on digging there, while other troops passed through us.
The advance went on quite well, apparently - a very large number of prisoners were taken. Heaps of them came streaming past us, poor devils. I was rather moved to see one who was eating a piece of English white bread. Who he got it from, I don't know, but he was thoroughly enjoying it. He waved his hands and grinned. A lot of them were very pleased to be captured.
My particular part of the line we were in, we had to still carry on digging, consolidating our position. We didn't have orders to advance further. We were more or less making lines there, so that if any of the men were forced to retire, they'd got a place to retire to. Well the day wore on, it got nice and bright and sunny, being early May ... it was early June, I should say - it was quite pleasant, except for the incessant gun fire and the constant machine-gun fire, which was very uncomfortable at times.
And then at ten past three in the afternoon, Jerry must have opened up some more heavy stuff, and all of a sudden there was a terrific bang and a whistle near me, and a huge crash. And all I remember now is going spinning up into the air, twisting round and round. Well I don't know if I was knocked unconscious or not, but I wasn't actually - but I just sensed , 'Oh Blimey! Is this death?' And it seemed so peaceful, and then all of a sudden crash! as I hit the ground. And a lot of muck all tumbled bang, and I was more or less half buried. Very nearly buried alive.
It was really most uncomfortable, and I was in a lot of pain.
Any rate, some of the lads who hadn't been .. there must have been eight or nine casualties, cos I can see whether .. almost the faces of my pals as this damn great shell exploded. Any rate. Two or three of them must have rushed over, that hadn't been hurt, and pulled me out, and, well, that was that.
I was carried some hundreds of yards back to what was a first aid station, and there they examined me carefully, and found I hadn't got any what they call 'bad' injuries. I was merely .. my clothes were half torn off me, and I was dreadfully bruised, and very painful all down my right side, and could hardly move my right leg, it was so stiff. That's where I suppose I had been hit with the shell contusions, and the force of the explosion.
I later heard from one of my mates when in hospital, that that particular shell had killed six of our chaps in the trenches - four who I knew personally, and were good friends of mine. But still, that was life.
Some little time later I was carried by two big hefty German prisoners of war on a stretcher way back to where we hopped .. to near our original front line. There was a road nearby.
There I was picked up by a sort of a light truck - a railway which the engineers had built up, and I was rattled back towards - not St Omer, I can't think of the name of the place now - but further back behind the line, and there some old fashioned lorries came along and picked up the casualties and drove us back.
I can still see this particular place - I don't know the name of it - a lot of the villagers as civilians standing and, you know, watching all of the poor walking wounded - and I suppose they would have counted me one of those, although I wasn't actually walking - and watching them being brought back from the line. It must have been rather terrifying for the villagers in the vicinity.
Together with others I was taken on one of these trucks quite a long way back, and we got back towards near St Omer, into a part of northern France where I was admitted to the Number One Canadian General Hospital. They were hospitals all under canvas. There I was examined, and marked 'E' for England.
I couldn't hear a thing or speak. I was semi-dumb, and practically totally deaf, but nevertheless, I sensed enough to observe things.
After about a week in the Number One Canadian General, my hearing with the treatment I'd received, had improved quite a lot. I found out that several batches of casualties had been sent back to England. I asked why I had not been included. I was told there had been complaints from Ireland that Irish men - the wounded - had not been sent back to their own home areas. And I was told to wait a short time before a batch of Irish regiment casualties could be sent back.
I tried to explain that, although I was in an Irish Regiment, I was not an Irishman. This appeared to make no difference, although this so-called rule was changed to allow English in Irish regiments to be sent to a hospital in England which was some little time afterwards I was included in a draft to go home.
Shortly afterwards, I was included in a draft and sent to the coast and boarded a boat to Dover. From Dover we went by train to Holy Head. We were transferred then to another Cross-Irish Sea boat and went to Holyhead. And from Holyhead we went to Dublin. And from Dublin we were put on another train, and went to Belfast.
There, with others, I was sent to the Royal Victoria Hospital, off the Falls Road. On our journeys by train - both from Dover to Holyhead, and also from Dublin to Belfast - we had many many visitors at different stations where we stopped, who brought gifts and cigarettes and that, and made a real fuss of us.
We were treated like heroes, lord knows why.
It was rather intriguing, when we were admitted to the Royal Victoria Hospital, we were sent to a ward on the ground floor - a batch of us, about thirty. practically filled the ward. The sister who greeted us when we - some were carried in, and others walked in, or rather hobbled in - she sniffed and said, 'Oh, all those dirty clothes. How filthy they are.'
And one fellow close to me said, 'Well sister, you'd be filthy if only three or four days ago you were in the trenches. It's not very clean there.'
She said, 'Oh dear, oh dear. I'm so sorry. I forgot.' She really was quite concerned to think that she'd made such a silly mistake.
Any rate she proved to be a real brick afterwards, and treated us well, although she was real hot with her staff.
We received wonderful treatment in the ward,and visitors used to come - quite strangers - and made a real fuss of us. The hospitality was really wonderful And when I was able to walk a little bit and that, we were allowed out of the hospital, dressed in, sort of, hospital blues, and in Belfast itself we had free rides on all the public transport. It was amazing the number of people who wanted to pay your fare, or take you out to tea, or anything like that. It was really remarkable. They made an awful fuss of us.
After a few days, patients like myself who were not seriously wounded and could get about - we were what we called reasonably whole - were transferred to the convalescent hospital at Holywood in County Down. There they treated us well.
When I left convalescent hospital I went out and came to England on leave for two weeks, quite a journey all the way from Belfast across the Irish Sea to North England, and then train all the way down to London. And then London up to Norfolk. It took a long time.
So nevertheless, everybody you met made an awful fuss of you. I was back in ordinary uniform then.
After a short spell of leave in England, I went back to rejoin the regiment in Dublin in Portobello Barracks. A little later on we were transferred to a place called Ballincollig in County Cork, and then when the Feinians started to cause a bit of trouble all around that way in Cork, because the - what you call the IRA now - we were then transferred to England, and went to Rugeley Camp in Staffordshire.
In the summer of 1918, when at Rugeley camp in Staffordshire, there was that influenza epidemic, and my word it was terrible. It swept through the camp. I had a nasty spell of it myself for about ten days. I think at that time in Rugeley I attended fourteen funerals of fellows who had died from the influenza. I was very very fortunate there - very fortunate indeed. I suppose I must have been reasonably healthy.
In the usual army fashion I got shifted about from place to place. I was transferred from Rugeley Camp to a place called Bawdsey in Suffolk, under canvas. That's sort of near Ipswich, and Felixstowe. From there we shifted to Southend-on-sea, and from Southend-on-sea we went to Sheppey on the Sheppey island, in Kent.
From there we were shifted to Chatham, and I was demobbed then from Chatham in late 1919, and went back to Great Yarmouth.
Like so many young men at that time, I was out of work for a short period. Early in nineteen hundred and twenty, I got a job with the Yarmouth & Gorleston Steamboat Company, and was doing tolerably well with them on their finance side. Though really, I was more or less in their ticket and transport office. Still, I used to go up and down the river quite a lot on some of their boats to the Broads, and it was very pleasant.
In 1920 it was a very very nice year. but just before the end of the summer in 1920, the firm went bust, and I was out of work! [laughs] Things weren't too good in Great Yarmouth or Norfolk, as regards jobs, so late in 1920 - November it was - through my brother Bert, I went to London, to Cricklewood, and stayed with him. And of course he'd lost his first wife in that influenza epidemic, and Bob was glad to have some company in a way, although his late wife's sister, she used to see after the house for us.
In the January 1921, when attending the labour exchange in Willesden, which was the nearest one to us at Cricklewood, one of the young clerks there, he slipped me a form for what they called the George substitution board. It was a form that he shouldn't have dished out but on the authority of the manager, but I think he rather took a fancy to me. And this form I filled in, and got two referees to sign it - one my old headmaster in Great Yarmouth, and one my brother Bert's father-in-law. And they sponsored me.
I sent the form on, and I was called up to a panel in Whitehall, and had a very good interview, and they sent me to Richmond in Surrey to the Ministry of Labour. I was posted to the Statistics Department of the Ministry of Labour, who were then working in some temporary offices in Richmond. From there we moved to Kew Gardens, in a big office there, and later on transferred to London.
I was in London quite a long long while, from office to office, up to 1959. I wasn't in the Statistical Department the whole time, because just before the 1939 to 1945 war I was in the Finance Department of the Ministry of Labour. And therefore I was posted from place to place then. And during the war years I was sent to Sheffield, and there engaged in seeing after the training of young men for industry. I was on finance work there, sort of, we had training centres there, and I was an accountant in one of the training centres, and moved from there to another one in Leeds.
I had the general runaround, and had quite a lot of experience, and I got fed up with it and asked for a transfer, and later on I was transferred back to London, and then worked with the Department dealing with the call up of the young men to do National Service. And I was a specialised job dealing with those who had previous service overseas in armed forces in war, which could qualify them for exemption from our National Service Acts. Very interesting indeed.
And I must say I had some very amusing experiences with some of the applicants [laughs]. Some of the tales I got told, [laughs] you really couldn't believe the truth of them.
As you no doubt know, I was married in March ... Correction, as you know I was married in 1927, and we had a flat in Kew Gardens for a short while. I could easily walk to work from there. We bought a house at Laleham, on Mortgage - Laleham-on-Thames - in the autumn of 1930 when I was transferred to the London office. I used to travel by train from Staines to Waterloo daily. We let the house, furnished, in 1940, while I was working in Sheffield and Leeds, and when I got transferred back to Redding, in 1946, I got the house back from the tenants, and remained there until just before I retired in June 1959. I of course had been moved from Redding to the Watford offices, before being moved to another office in the London area.
As you know about the civil service you get shifted about from place to place. You don't play in the fountains of Trafalgar Square from ten to four. I had some very good times, very interesting experiences, especially when I was in the Finance Department on audit work, and going around the country from office to office, auditing some of the accounts. I worked in Liverpool, Cardiff, Leeds, Southampton, oh, I can't remember the places I went to so many. I got to know the British Isles very well. The only part I didn't go to was Scotland. I only went there the once, and neither did I go to Ireland. but I had several trips to Wales, and fell in love with that little country. Some beautiful scenery in Wales. I thoroughly enjoyed it when I was there, although it is a bit crazy travelling around with a briefcase in one hand, and a suitcase in the other. Very uncomfortable at times.
I think you know I lost my first wife in 1962, when we were living in Rochford in Essex, to which we moved after I had sold the house at Laleham. It was there that I met my present charming little wife Doris.
I had known her vaguely before then, however, after a short while, I plucked up the courage and asked her marry me, and she very charmingly consented, and we got married in 1963 and, as the fairytales always told, we've lived happily ever after.
I couldn't wish for a better companion or more loving person. And she's ??? me well. And so here we are, this ends the story of the first, second, third and fourth fifth chapters. I'll try to send you something more interesting the next tape I do. All the best to you both.
NOTES
[1] 2.20
[2] 51 Albion Rd in 1911.
[3] Etaples
[4] Dranouter
[5] Mont des Cats
[6] Klijte
[7] Wytschoete.
[8] Wizernes.
Forester had the following to say about his brother Ralph:
"My brother Ralph often was in trouble himself. I think it was in nineteen hundred and four he slipped and fell down what we called the saw-pit at the back of dad's premises, where he used to saw the logs, ready for making the pumps he used for outside taps, and things like that. Poor old Ralph broke his leg. He was confined to bed for quite a while - it took quite a while for his leg to heal. While he was in bed I visited him from Great Yarmouth, and we had a lot of nuts we were eating there. And I must have dropped one broken nut into his bed. Hazelnuts, they were. Some days after it, poor old Ralph complained of a very very bad pain in his back, and the doctor Deacon examined him and found this nut had got imbedded in the flesh of his back. He had the scar up until the time he died.’
He always told me about one occasion when he was a schoolboy, that he was told to see after the school fire, and poke it and replenish it with fuel, and he left the poker in it, and it got red-hot. And while he was there, one of the boys in the class had trouble with the headmaster, who picked the poker from Ralph, and chased the headmaster around with a red-hot poker. When the poker got cold, as the headmaster thought, he turned around and grabbed it from the boy, and chased him around the class, and gave him a good hiding as well.'
He worked at Hethersett Railway station, then Blofield S..[tape drops out] ..the Great Eastern railway before he joined the Royal Navy.’
He had an operation before he joined the Royal Navy, and he was in Norwich hospital. He's always told me, that when he came out of the anaesthetic, he was singing hymns, because there'd been a church service the day before. He had a very good voice and everybody in the ward was saying how very nice he sounded.