“May blossoms and war seem as though they ought to be impossible in the same world”

The minister of Maidenhead Congregational Church tried to encourage members to look on the bright side of life despite all the horrors and losses of the war.

May blossoms and war seem as though they ought to be impossible in the same world. The dreadful mud in the midst of which our soldiers have been living is more congruous with the spirit of warfare than sweet grass and hawthorn buds. Many letters from the front have spoken of the start of surprise with which a lark’s song is heard over the trenches. We have all, when some sorrow is heavy upon us, felt a sort of astonishment that the sun should go on shining, and the birds twittering, and passers by smiling, as though nothing had happened. But the worst of sorrows cannot cover the whole sky. We want taking out of ourselves at times. Evils won’t bear brooding over, we only make them worse. We shall be able to bear “the strain of toil, the fret of care” better, if we make rich use of the ministry of the blossoms.

OUR SOLDIERS.

We are glad to hear that Reginald Hill is progressing, though slowly. He has had several operations, and probably must undergo two or three more. The doctors think he may have to be in bed for at least three months yet, but they hope he will make quite a good recovery.

We regret deeply to have to record that John Boyd, formerly the Caretaker of the Chapel, was killed in action on March 29th. He enlisted in the 2nd Berks. In June 1916, and was sent to France on Sept. 22nd. He was a most genial and kind-hearted man, and had a wide circle of friends among whom he was very popular. We offer our Christian sympathy to Mrs. Boyd and her family.

It is distressing too to hear that Stephen Harris is returned as “missing.” The Captain of his Company has written to Mr. and Mrs. Harris that he has made all possible inquiries and can gain no information. The best that can be hoped for is that he may be a prisoner in German hands. Robert Harris was killed in July last. May God grant His patience and consolation to the distressed parents.

Wallace Mattingly has been admitted to Sandhurst Military College for eight months’ training. G. Frampton is expecting to be called up immediately. We are glad to see Cyril Hews at home again on leave, looking in the pink of health. P.S. Eastman writes in good spirits from “somewhere in the East.”

He says, “I have not yet left for the special work for which I was sent out, but may do so any day now. In the meantime I have had quite a variety of work, until at present I find myself in the C.O.’s office. Yesterday I had a line from Frank Pigg, who is with the R.F.C in Salonica; may be one of these days I shall be able to pay him a visit.”

Maidenhead Congregational Church magazine, May 1917 (D/N33/12/1/5)

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“The mud up to one’s knees everywhere is very trying”

A soldier wrote to his aunt, a farmer’s wife in north Berkshire.

5/4/17

My dear Aunt

I am writing to thank you for that most welcome letter I received. I am sorry I could not answer it before, but we have been busy. We are out of the trenches for a few days’ rest, so now I can write all the letters I owe. How are you all keeping through this very trying weather? I am feeling fit & quite well at present, but of course the mud up to one’s knees everywhere is very trying. It is a terrible job this war for everyone…

In regards to food considering the difficulty of transport we must not complain. Of course it is entirely different from home. It is a job when we come out everyone makes for the Canteen after a few dainties, so if you are not smart you stand a poor chance. Of course I must not tell you any news, but I hope to tell you all one day.

I hear from home very regularly & I tell you I get anxious if the wife does not write. My wife & two daughters are keeping pretty well though it is a nasty separation for them. little Winnie sends me her school work out here…

I remain
Your affect nephew
S H Dowell

Please excuse writing in pencil

Letter from S H Dowell to his aunt Maria Castle of Charlton (D/EX2547/2/4/9/10-12)

“It is a most awful place where we are at present”

Soldiers associated with Maidenhead Congregational Church were grateful for Christmas gifts, and in return shared some of their experiences.

OUR SOLDIERS.

We have already received many acknowledgements from our soldier lads of the Christmas parcels from the Church, and they all speak of kindly gratitude. We can find room for a few extracts.

Edward Howard writes, “Many thanks for the most splendid parcel. It is awfully kind of the Church and Institute to think so much of us when we are out here…… It is a most awful place where we are at present. The mud is something like three feet deep, and we are living in tents, but of course we make the best of a bad job. I send you all a warm and affectionate Christmas greeting.”

Reginald Hill received his parcel in hospital at Etretat, where he has been slowly recovering from his gas injuries. He says “I cannot tell you much of my doings in a letter, but one of these Thursday evenings I will give you my experiences at a meeting of the Literary Society.”

Cyril Hews writes, “I can scarcely tell you in a letter what a great feeling of gratitude and pleasure the parcel and letter gave me…… We out here have no doubts as to the future. We are confident that before long victory will be given to the Allies, and the great cause for which they are fighting will be attained.”

Harold Islip says, “Please accept my thanks for the excellent parcel and letter of greeting sent by the Church, which I received two days ago. Both were most welcome. A letter of that description most certainly helps us all out here to “carry on” with our duties, even though they have now become so monotonous. On Sundays, and often during the week, I think of the Church and Institute, and wish I could be present! But by next Christmas the war will be over, and then…!”

J. O. Wright is overwhelmed with his Christmas duties as Post-Corporal (of course, he had a busy time!), but snatches a minute to send “a few lines thanking you and the Church for the splendid parcel, and also for the Magazine.”

Victor Anderson writes, “Many thanks for the parcel which I have just received, and also for the letter. I am in the best of health, and we are now in a very nice place, so I think we shall have as good a Christmas as can be expected out here.”

Percy Lewis is grateful for his parcel, and ventures to congratulate those who made the purchases. “They are just the things one appreciates most out here.”

And J. Quincy, “I thank you very much for the contents of the parcel, which were much appreciated and enjoyed, and I am sure you will extend my gratitude to the Members of the Church for their kindness. May you all have a truly happy Christmas and a bright New
Year.”

Ernest Mead has been placed in the 2/7th Batt. Devonshire Regiment (Cyclists), and is stationed at Exeter.

Maidenhead Congregational Church magazine, January 1917 (D/N33/12/1/5)

Nothing but wire between us and the enemy

Percy Spencer described the part of France he was based in to his sister Florence – and the musical backdrop of nightingales and mouth organs (harmonicas), not far from the hellish mud of the trenches.

Apl 25, 1916
My darling sister

[Censored, probably by Florence]

It’s the most lovely day that ever was. I’ve strolled out of our chateau straight up into a scrubby copse at the top of a very steep hill and here I am lying on quaker oats, eggs and bacon, writing to you and listening to a nightingale. He’s not quite in full song but for wartime he’s very good indeed and I’m grateful.

Already the sun was getting too hot so I have shifted into the breeze and an even wider view. This is a lovely corner of France. Everything is beautiful and only man is vile – that’s because the women left the corn during a very “unhealthy” period. But that’s not quite true for the lady owner has motored up from the south for a couple of days to settle a few business matters and she’s rather nice. Garwood says she’s “a decent bit of stuff” so taking the acme of perfection in womanhood as being “a posh bit” (Major Trevor’s wife reached that standard), you’ll be able to arrive at this lady’s position.

There’s a mouth organ playing in the valley beneath me, and being played remarkably well – “despise not the mouth organ”. As I think I have already told you, Ian Hay has my hearty endorsement to that remark. Many months ago I remember being largely amused at one of our boys’ letters home – “One thing I’ve been longing to ask you for, but I know how things are at home, and don’t like to bother you, but now Sis has got a job could you send me a mouth organ, a 1/- linnet is the best, but I expect they’re more expensive now owing to the war”. But after April 1915 when one mouth organ played a dozen or so of our weary fellows in from their 3 days cellar and shell experience, I made up my mind that the mouth organ was a noble instrument.

I told you, I think, I went round the line the other day. To complete my experience I went round the remaining portion by night with the General, that being the only time it can be approached with any degree of security.

It was an eerie experience and a fearfully wet one, the ground being as torn and riven with shell fire that it seems to slide away under your feet, and in the trenches, mud and water – water up to your thigh if you were unlucky, and mud that wrestled with you at each step for possession of your gum boots.

We went right out into the open (it’s a curious line about here) and with nothing between us and the Huns 100 yards away but a couple of frail curtains of wire – ours and theirs. Here the officers stood for a little while discussing points. I stood anxiously watching the enemy lights soaring into the sky towards us like evil eyes searching for victims to disclose to the German rifles, and behind me crouched an orderly also frightened to death at his exposed position murmured thro’ his chattering teeth, “C- this is all right”.

Well, we landed home safe and sound at 2.30 a.m. By 3.30 a.m. I’d scraped half of France off my clothes and turned in for an hour; turned in again then for another 2 hours when I got up for good, scraped the other half of France off my togs and “carried on”.
About my commission. There was a strong suggestion that being a sergeant I should probably only get six weeks training out here and then be chucked into some line regiment. That’s not good enough and unless I can see my way to getting a reasonable period of training that would enable me to take command of a platoon with confidence and also give me an opportunity of showing my administrative abilities, I’m not going to proceed any further.

Well. Time’s up.

On the right there’s a dear old chateau, dating back to William I’s time, with many grey limestone towers. To the left stretch the everlasting hills clothed with the wooded promise of summer. Overhead a couple of aeroplanes are humming and Hunning and right at my feet in the hollow stands “my chateau” and there I go – to work.

Yours ever
Percy

Letter from Percy Spencer (D/EZ177/7/5/8-14)

“There is no glory in this war except the glory of sacrifice and friendship”

An anonymous army chaplain shared his experiences seeing off troops headed for the front line with the parishioners of Windsor.

A Draft: A Sketch. By a Chaplain to the Forces at the Front.

Mud and rain and darkness! I looked out of my hut. The station was four miles off. My bicycle was heavy. I was not sure that my lamp was in order. I had already got thoroughly wet. Should I give the train a “miss”?

There were five or six hundred men going from “my” camps. Part of my task is to see men off to the Front. Some chaplains do it, and some do not. One gives out Woodbines and Prayer-card from England, one says something. I am usually reduced to saying “Good luck,” even though I do not believe in luck. (more…)

“Water above their waists” in the trenches – even worse than last year

Maysie Wynne-Finch passed on to her brother Ralph news of the conditions in the trenches from her brother in law William (Billy) Wynne-Finch.

Dec 9/15
Cefnamwlch
Edeyrn
Carnarvonshire
My dear darling R.

Christmas alas will be a poor thing most places out of the nursery this year. I don’t know where we shall be. John’s Board is on the 21st. Even if they pass him, which I hardly think likely, though he does, he must get more teeth out & in before he can possibly go out again, & so I think he’s safe to be in England. If possible we shall be at V[oelas] & his mother will come up – otherwise we shall stay in London with her. She won’t leave London except to come to V. as at any time we think Billy will be sent home. His circulation has never recovered [from] his wound & he [is] certain to get frostbite before long I fear. From all accounts the conditions out there are too awful. The water & mud even worse than last year. Billy, who is not given to exaggerate hardship, writes an awful account [of] water above their waists & continual rain…

I saw in today’s paper at last they put in Admiral King Hall’s dispatch about the Konigsberg show. Why in the world, one wonders, need such things be delayed 5 months…

Your ever loving Maysie

Letter from Maysie Wynne-Finch to Ralph Glyn (D/EGL/C2/2)

Home from home in a German dugout

Percy Spencer wrote to his new brother in law John Maxwell Image with his impressions of trench life – and the captured German trench he was now in.

26.10.15
Dear Mr Image

Almost it seems another world that last I saw you in. We move so often and crowd so many events into our time that the clock seems to have more hours in it nowadays than in ordinary peaceful times.

Here I am in a long lean dugout made by the Huns. [Censored.] Being in a Hun’s trench naturally the parados [sic] is our screen from the enemy. And that makes life fairly exciting for the parados is very low in places with here and there a gap. Bullets are plentiful and shells quite frequent, but at present we are all here still and keeping fit. You can’t be anything else while life overhead is so exciting, and life underfoot is equally so, for swimming, sliding, gliding and staggering along the trenches the slightest error will land you at the bottom of a shoot 15 or 20 feet deep – German funk holes scarcely wide enough to admit a man, diving steeply into the bowels of the earth: a tribute to the power of our artillery.

Another thing that strikes one is this evidence of the Huns to stay for the duration of the War. The officers’ dug-outs are walled, floored and ceiled with wood – spacious beds are built between walls at either end. The walls are papered with a cheerful pattern; the ceiling is also papered. Between beds 2 small tables, a couple of chairs, a comfortable arm chair and a full length mirror. On the floor oil cloth – on the walls a few pictures. A stove with flue carried up and through the wall heats the room. The trench leading down to this palace is floored with wood gratings: at the entrance door there is a good scraper – overhead a porch formed with a circular sheet of corrugated iron – “Home from home”.

Well, we’ve run up against a pretty rotten kind of existence as the result of our “push”, but no doubt if this war goes on through the winter which God forbid, when our line is straightened and settled down we shall get better quarters. At present we are “fighting” our men from pretty close up.

This morning I went round the reserve lines with the Brigadier and at one point got well “strafed”.

The reason apparently was a man standing in full view of the Huns on his parapet. He was looking for a bottle of rum another had taken from him and thrown over the parapet. Queer how men will risk their own and others’ lives.

Well, we’ve a strange collection of men and I find them a humorous one too. We all get as much fun out of this life as we can and the dry hunour of our Signal Section is a constant source of amusement to me. One “Taffy” speaks a weird language he describes as pure English. He’s been advised to have a phonetic vocabulary printed down one side of his tunic with the English equivalent opposite, so that we should only have to run our fingers down until we came to the sound he was making. He’s not at all pleased.

It’s 11.30 pip emma as the Signallers say, so good night my dear friend.

With love to you both
Yours ever

Percy

Letter from Percy Spencer (D/EZ177/7/10/11)

Think of the darkness and mud!

The Clewer parish magazine issued a stern call to arms, urging churchpeople to attend intercession services.

October will see the return of most people from the holidays, and this month usually marks the renewal of the regular routine of Church services and Church life. The dark shadow of the war is still hanging over everything. We seem, indeed, to have passed into the second and deeper phase of the War. And the prevailing note now for us all as we look into the future must be a steady determination, combined with a quiet readiness, to endure to the utmost in the great cause for which our country is fighting. We are told that the war will be a long war, a war of endurance; and that every man and woman must put everything into it and bear their part if our country is to win through and conquer. All earnest Churchpeople will see in this, therefore, a great religious call, a call to sincerity and reality in their own personal lives and a vivid reminder of the presence of God in our midst. No easy callous optimism is sufficient for us at this time of our country’s need: but a whole-hearted personal surrender of ourselves to Almighty God, with Whom lies the issue of life or death, of success or failure. It is doubtful if the Altar of the Church is as thronged with communicant worshippers as it should be. No Churchman at this time will find his religion sufficient without his regular communion (according to his own regular rule which his own better self dictates). No half-hearted religion will stand in the days of heart-searching and testing which lie before us. It is well also, perhaps, to remind ourselves at this time how urgently necessary it is for our country’s welfare and for ourselves, that both rich and poor should cultivate economy and simplicity in every department and every habit of life, avoiding even the least appearance of luxury or unnecessary expenditure upon ourselves. This is both a religious duty and a matter of honest patriotism, as the future must assuredly reveal to us before many months have passed away.

The soldiers remember our prayers for them at Clewer on Wednesday night. We hear this from the Front. It is both a comfort and a strength to them to know that their friends in Clewer are praying together for them each week on the Wednesday night. But, alas, there are too few who come to take part in this all-important duty of prayer and thanksgiving. Most of those who come have husbands, brothers, sons or friends at the Front about whom they are extremely anxious. Would it not be an act of friendly sympathy and help to them, as well as to the gallant soldiers, if others would come and join in these weekly prayers? The dark nights in unlighted Clewer will be an excuse for staying at home this winter. But think of the men struggling up to the trenches in the darkness and the mud! A cheap lantern and extra thick soles for one’s boots – these are simple matters which work wonders for churchgoers during the winter nights, both on Sunday and in the week.

Clewer parish magazine, October 1915 (D/P39/28A/9)

“The narrowest escape I ever want”

A Reading man reported on his experiences in the trenches, transporting food supplies under fire – and one very narrow escape.

IN THE TRENCHES “SOMEWHERE IN BELGIUM”
EXTRACT FROM LETTER FROM HARRY CHANDLER, 4TH ROYAL BERKSHIRE REGIMENT

I am writing this letter in the trenches while off duty for a short time. We marched from our last place yesterday about eight miles; the roads are very bad here for marching, being all cobbles in the centre and mud at the sides.

I do not get much time to write letters or do anything for myself.
There is plenty of hard work to do and I will tell you what we did after coming out of the trenches the last time, that is, the four days we have spent at the ‘Piggeries’.

In the morning we were subjected to a very heavy shelling from the Germans – quite a warm time and not at all pleasant, and you never knew what was going to happen next. After dinner we packed up and when the other company came in about three o’clock to relieve us, we gave over our trench and departed for the Piggeries, arriving there about 4.30, had tea and a wash, and then at 7.30 paraded in drill order and marched to a place where all the stores, rations, water jars, and in fact everything is placed for us to carry to the trenches. There you see piles upon piles of timber, mountains of food of all descriptions in tins, all ready for us to carry the distance remaining between the firing lines and the trenches where the transports cannot go. When it is dusk, if you look carefully, you will see numerous parties of men drawn from all the companies waiting by the side of the roads for the signal to take up something or another and move off. I am in A Company’s party, and when the QMS gives the signal our party slowly moves up and each man receives a load; perhaps it is with another fellow to carry a very large sack of bread or coal, etc, one at each end of the sack; perhaps, if your luck is in, it is only 75 lb of jam in bags in tins, or a side of bacon – of course with these last things you get no help, but carry them yourself all the way. Please remember we are in drill order carrying our rifles slung over the shoulder.

When every man has his load we slowly move off and another party takes your place and so on nearly all night. When you get along perhaps a quarter of a mile all sit down and have a rest, and then go on like that till you come to apart where you are out in the open, under rifle fire from the enemy, and then there is no stopping unless they turn a Maxim on us which nearly always happens, then we lie flat down at once until it ceases. Of course no smoking or talking is allowed.

After you arrive at your destination and deliver your goods you return with the empty water jars, etc, and this goes on all night.
When you arrive at the end of your last journey you are stiff, tired, weary, worn and sad, and are not even allowed to take off your boots and puttees, so have to sleep in them after marching all day. It takes us ten minutes when we wake up to find our feet they are so numbed and stiff. We have not had one complete night’s rest for six weeks.

The other day we went into N—, a distance of 4 ½ miles away, and all of us had a hot bath. Just fancy marching nine miles for a wash!

While I was on sentry duty recently in the trenches, it was just time for all the fellows to come out, when buzz – over came German shells bursting all around us; dirt, sand bags, wood, etc, flew, and we were smothered. It was a very lucky escape for me as one shell burst about two feet from me and I picked up the top of the shell with the time fuse, etc, complete, which I shall be sending home shortly.

The last time I was in the trenches I had the narrowest escape I ever want. A sniper was firing and one of the bullets came through the earth which we were throwing up and just grazed my face, the dirt going in my eye. I really thought for the second that I was done for.

We are now going for four days to a rest camp up on the hills. I am pleased to say I am in the best of health and feeling merry and bright. Certainly my four years in the old Volunteer Cyclist Corps has stood me in good stead.

Please remember me to all friends.

Broad Street Congregational Church magazine, July 1915 (D/N11/12/1/14)

Putrid bodies and foul vapours: “I have really seen the horrors of war”

Sydney Langford Jones (nickname Jonah) was a young artist and conscientious objector with deep seated religious objections to war. He was to spend time in prison as a result of this. However, his close friend Reginald Pearson, another artist, did join up. His frank letter to Sydney gives some of the most graphic details of the horrors of war we have seen, things which may well have been omitted from letters to sisters and churches.

Postmarked 14 June 1915

B Company 1st Bat. Lincolnshire Regiment
British Exp. Force

My dear friend Jonah

How I wish I could have seen more of you and I even wanted to turn back that Saturday night and catch you up to say goodbye again.
Since then I have really seen the horrors of war such as I never dreamed possible, marching at midnight with a lovely moon through the famous old town you have heard so much of, flaming all over the place and not a single house untouched. Stones, bricks, paving stones in what was once the roads, putrid bodies under the heaps of broken bricks once houses, and furniture blown out of the windows.

The old Cathedral and Hall as big as the Doges’ Palace and once very fine I should think now but a skeleton of ragged bones rapidly growing less and less, and the cemetery, no longer sacred, is blown to atoms with holes in it 40 yards round without the slightest exaggeration, for I measured one, and hemispherical shape, and the whole town a collection of foul vapours, still being shelled, shelled, shelled.

From there we were marched to a wood full of dugouts where we remained all next day being shelled, losing many men.

About 4 o’clock the whole lot fixed bayonets and travelled through the wood arriving at a communication trench by dark, full of mud up to the men’s thighs, hundreds of shots fired over it to catch as many as possible who happened to get out.

Along this [wading?] trench about 6’ deep and so narrow the men struggled passing those who were coming out, and eventually I found myself in the most extraordinary position ever created, but which I must not mention though I could draw you a perfect map from memory.

Trenches scarcely 3’ deep, parapets and bullet proof, strobing over dead men, bullets, bullets everywhere and the next 3 days cannot be spoken of. Trenches blown in beyond all recognition, and the first thing I saw when down broke was a dragoon with a little cat on his lap, which he had been stroking, lying both dead right across the trench, horrible, horrible, horrible.

I lost 18 wounded, 3 killed and 1 officer seriously wounded and here was I for the 1st time in charge of nearly a Company in the worst position ever held. Strategically bad, too few men, and for every German shell which came intermittently, every 20 I ought to say, we acquired a little pill in return.

9 miles march 3 days – the trenches 9 miles out with no sleep, little food and small shot, would offend the nostrils of death himself, leave men a bit fatigued, and so my first experience of war is passed and as a matter of fact I did well.

So much for my troubles for at present I sit in an orchard where we are bivouacked, resting.

The God of all the men we love is with me, I know, and this wonderful help and guidance are seared on my brain.

I am too tired to write much and so I must say goodbye.
God bless you always
Your dear friend
RO

Letter from Reginald Oswald Pearson to Sydney Langford Jones (D/EX1795/1/5/2)

We are nothing better than worms – but mustn’t grumble!

Sunday 4 April 1915 was Easter Day. The parishioners of Reading St John (now the Polish Catholic Church) had sent Easter greetings to their young men at the Front. It resulted in a number of letters from the recipients describing their experiences.

Letters from the Front: replies to our Easter letters and cards.

Cards similar to those recently seen on the Church notice boards were sent with covering letters for Easter to some fifty men at the front at the request of their relatives. The following are extracts from some of the replies received by the Vicar:-

A Terrible War.
Here is a much-needed reminder of the seriousness of our task:
‘Two of my men I laid to rest yesterday, just put their heads too far over the parapet; of course killed instantly. It is a terrible business and we are nothing better than worms, dug in and stop there, but hope that happier times are in store and very soon. We all hope and pray for it every day. I don’t think the people at home quite realise what a gigantic task we have; but we mustn’t grumble, but do it.’- GILES AYRES.

Valued Cards.
‘I wish to thank you very much for the good thoughts and wishes of yourself and everyone who remembered us on Easter Day. Thank you very much for the card. I am sending it home to-day so that I shall not lose it.’- A. L. BLAKE.

‘The card you sent me I have hung on to the wall and it shall go where I go. I shall always remember Good Friday, the day I received it.’- D. CAMPBELL.

Neuve Chapelle.
Speaking of the welcome letter just received, the writer adds: ‘Just lately we have been engaged in a big battle at Neuve Chapelle, and it was something awful and also a terrible loss on the German side.’- L.H. CROOK. (more…)

“These Indians are splendid fellows, and such fighters”

A wounded soldier from Ascot had words of praise for the Gurkhas and Indian soldiers he was serving with, while two Bracknell men had been killed.

Ascot

THE WAR.

Two of our Ascot lads, Eric Ferns and Sidney Sumner, are amongst the wounded, of Sidney Sumner we shall have more to say in our April Number. The following extracts from a letter of Eric Ferns will be read with interest:-

“I have been very queer for a month now after my smash up. It was on December 9th. I was taking a car full of Gurkhas on to the field, and there came a German aeroplane, and dropped a bomb, and it missed my car, and a crowd of people gathered round to see if we were hit: and the same aeroplane dropped another bomb and took the back of my car off, and pitched me yards into a ditch. I don’t remember any more until I woke up, and found myself in Hospital. That was on the following Tuesday. I got 3 in me, one in the foot, one in the leg, and the other in the wrist: but the shock was dreadful. My foot and leg are much better: but my wrist is still bad, but I have much to be thankful for, as they told me 24 were killed and 4 injured by the same bomb…

These Indians are splendid fellows, and such fighters, they think of nothing else but this war. It is all rain, and up to your knees in mud…”

Bracknell

THE ROLL OF HONOUR

At the end of January news came that two more of those who are on our list on the Church door and fallen in the war.

WILLIAM KING GEORGE was the eldest son of Mr. S. King George of the Brackens. He was serving as Captain in the 3rd Gloucesters, and was killed at La Bassée on 25th January. His Colonel wrote of him, “We feel that we have lost a most gallant comrade and a true friend.” Captain George was married and leaves two sons.

GEORGE BRANT, who fell about the same time, was called up as a Reservist at the beginning of the war. He was a Private in the Queen’s West Surrey Regiment. His parents now live in Martin’s Lane, and were formerly living at Chavey Down. Brant was a widower and leaves two children.

Winkfield District Magazine, March 1915 (D/P151/28A/7/3)