Soldiers of the Welch Regiment |
In early January
of 1917, a second lieutenant of the Welch Regiment wrote to a friend about the
precarious mental state that, together with his wounds, had landed him in a Red
Cross Hospital in Rouen:
I
am as stupid as an owl & all night I lie awake & perceive the ward full
of Huns of forbidding aspect—except when they give me a sleeping draft. I am in
short rather ill still & sometimes doubt my own sanity—indeed, quite
frequently I do. I suppose that, really, the Somme was a pretty severe ordeal,
though I wasn’t conscious of it at the time. Now, however, I find myself
suddenly waking up in a hell of a funk—& going on being in a hell of a funk
till morning. And that is pretty well the condition of a number of men here. I
wonder what the effect of it will be on us all, after the war—& on national
life and the like.‡
Just two days
later, the soldier, Ford Madox Hueffer (who would later change his name to Ford
Madox Ford), wrote “One’s Day’s List,” a poem that tries to make sense of the
death of friends, his own survival, and the incomprehensibility of war itself.
London Telegraph, 2 Oct. 1916 |
One Day's List
[Killed. – “Second Lieutenants unless
otherwise stated."
Arnott, E. E. – Welch Regt.
Jones, E.B.D. – Welch Regt.
Morris, J.H. – Welch Regt.
And 270 other ranks, Welch Regt.
Died
of Wounds.
Knapp, O.R. – 2nd Lieut. Welch
Regt.].
My dears …
The rain drips
down on Rouen Town
The leaves drip
down
And so the mud
Turns orange
brown ….
A Zeppelin, we
read, has been brought down.
And the obscure
brown
Populace of
London town
Clamouring for
blood
And reductions
in the price of food …
But you – at
least – are out of it ….
Poor little
Arnott—poor little lad …
And poor old
Knapp,
Of whom once I
borrowed a map—and never returned it.
And Morris and
Jones … and all the rest of the Welch,
So many gone in
the twenty-four hours of a day …
One wonders how
one can stay…
One wonders ….
For the papers
are full of Kelch,
Finding rubbishy
news to make a shout of it,
But you at least
are out of it.
One wonders how
you died …
The mine
thunders
Still where you
stuck by Welch Alley and turned it ….
The mine
thunders
Upwards—and
branches of trees, mud, and stone,
Skulls, limbs,
rats, thistles, the clips
Of cartridges,
beef tines and wire
Belch
To the heavens
in fire
Of the craters
where doubtless you died,
With the Cheshires
and Wiltshires and Welch
Side by side.
One wonders why you died,
Why were we in
it? …
At home we were
late on parades,
Seldom there to
the minute,
When “B.” were
out on Cathays
We didn't get
much of the lectures into the brain ….
We talked a good
deal about girls.
We could all
tell a story
At something
past something, Ack Emma!
But why? Why?
Why were we there from the Aisne to Mametz,
Well—there's a
dilemma ….
For we never
talked of glory,
We each thought
a lot of one girl,
And waited most
days for hours in the rain
Till she came:
It is very
difficult to believe
You need never
again
Put in for
week-end leave,
Or get vouchers
for the 1.10 train
From Cardiff to
London ….
But so much has
the Hun done
In the way of
achievements.
And when I think
of all the bereavements
Of your mothers
and fathers and sweethearts and wives and homes in the West,
And the paths
between the willows waiting for your tread,
And the white pillows
Waiting each for
a head,
Well … they may
go to rest!
And, God help me,
if you meet a Hun
In Heaven, I bet
you will say, “Well done,
You fought like
mad lions in nets
Down by Mametz.”
But we who
remain shall grow old,
We shall know
the cold
Of cheerless
Winter and the
rain of Autumn and the sting
And mirrors
showing stained and ageing faces,
And the long
ranges of comfortless years
And the long
gamut of human fears ….
But, for you, it
shall be forever spring,
And only you
shall be forever fearless,
And only you
have white, straight, tireless limbs,
And only you,
where the water-lily swims
Shall walk along
the pathways, thro’ the willows
Of your west.
You who went
West,
And only you on
silvery twilight pillows
Shall take your
rest
In the soft
sweet glooms
Of twilight
rooms ….
No.
2 Red Cross Hospital,
Rouen,
7/1/17
—Ford Madox Ford
The poem echoes
Binyon’s “For the Fallen” (published in September of 1914), asserting that those
who are left will “grow old.” But while Binyon’s poem creates a fellowship of
purposeful tribute (“We will remember them”), Ford imagines a bleak and
cheerless future for Great War survivors. The only certain comfort in the deaths of the young Welch
soldiers is that they escaped the mud and misery: “at least you are out of it.” But so much else is uncertain: Why did some men survive? How did others die?
For what purpose did they fall? Why were they fighting? And what unkind fate
assigned the Welch Regiment to hold the line from the Aisne to Mametz in the
late summer and early fall of 1916?
Ford grieved to
read in the Casualty List the names of men he knew, liked, and admired. Here
are their stories:
E.E. Arnott: Euan Edward Arnott was the eldest son
of Mrs. Mary Morgan from Garth in Monmouth (his mother had remarried after his
father’s death). Euan attended Christ College, Brecon, where he was known for
his athletic abilities (playing football, cricket, and hockey) and his “frank,
good natured comradeship.” With his friend Edward Trevor Akrill Jones, the two
young boys “desperate to enlist … left school during the cricket season of
1915—shortly after their sixteenth birthdays.”* He died of wounds on September
23, 1916 and is buried at Warlencourt. His mother chose the grave inscription, “Come
unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden and I will give you rest,” and
his name appears on the war memorial at St. Mary’s Priory Church in
Monmouth.
O.R. Knapp: Oswald Reed Knapp was a Freemason and
the son of James and Emily Knapp of Roath, Cardiff. According to the Regimental War diary, Oswald
was wounded at High Wood on September 8th: “a vigorous bomb fight
proceeded with varying success until about 3 a.m., when, before a violent
counter-attack our bombers, now very fatigued, were forced to retire. They
fought tenaciously but only managed to retain a part of the communication trench
which they had dug out to the trench they had taken.”** He died five days later
on September 13, 1916. He is buried at Heilly Station Cemetery; his grave
inscription reads, “Greater Love Hath No Man Than This That A Man Lay Down His
Life For His Friends.”
JH Morris: John Herbert Morris was the youngest son
of Watkin and Elizabeth Morris of Cwmavon, Glamorgan and had attended
Llandovery College. He served first with the 20th Battalion Royal
Welsh Fusiliers and was transferred to the 6th Bn, where his unit
was used “to clear the battlefields after the July battles on the Somme, and
then to dig forward and communication trenches when the line moved forward.Ӡ He was twenty-five years old when killed Sept.
21, 1916 (or 22nd) and is buried at Flatiron Copse Cemetery. The notice of his death in the Mid-Glamorgan Herald and Neath Gazette
reported that he “was very popular and well beloved by all in the village. His
father is churchwarden of All Saints’, Cwmavon, and had he lived Lieut. Morris
would have succeeded his father in these duties.”††
EBD Jones: Neither the Commonwealth War Graves
Commission nor the Imperial War Museum’s Lives
of the First World War have any record of a second lieutenant with these
initials. However, it is highly probable that Ford was remembering B.G.D.
Jones, who was killed on the same day as Euan Arnott and whose name appears on the same casualty list as Arnott and Morris (2 Oct. 1916 London Telegraph). Basil Gordon Dawes Jones was the son of William and Emily Jones of
Worthing. Born into a military family
(his father was a Colonel in the Indian Army), Basil had attended the British
military school at Sandhurst. According to the Sulhamstead Parish Magazine, he “was severely wounded in the second
battle of Ypres in 1915, and was taken to Lady Carnarvon’s Hospital for wounded
officers at Highclere Castle [the setting used for Downton Abbey], where he remained nearly four months. He only
recovered sufficiently to return to the front at the beginning of this year,
and had not since been home on leave. He was only 19 years of age when he was
killed.”††† He was awarded a Military Cross and commended for “fine work in the
front line trenches in command of machine guns under very heavy shell fire. He
repeatedly made his way through heavy barrages to ensure the good work of his
guns.” His regiment’s military diary reports his death on September 21, 1916;
however, the Commonwealth War Grave Commission lists his death as occurring on
October 23, 1916. Basil’s body was never
recovered: is it possible that men in his unit witnessed his death, but that in
the fierce shelling described in the war diary, his body could not be
recovered, thus delaying official confirmation? Basil’s name is listed on the
British memorial to the missing at Thiepval and also appears on a private memorial
in St. Mary’s Church, Goring-by-Sea, Sussex.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
‡ Ford Madox
Ford, Letters of Ford Madox Ford, edited
by Richard Ludwig, Princeton UP, 2015, p.
82.
* The
Breconian, vol. IX, no. 6, Dec. 1916 (p. 170 includes a poem dedicated
to him) and “Remembrance
Dispatch 39 Edward Trevor Akrill Jones,” Christ College Brecon.
** “Second
Lieutenant Oswald Reed Knapp,” 2nd Bn Welch Regiment War Diary, 8 Sept. 1916, Lives of the First World War.
† “John Herbert
Morris,” Llandovery
College War Memorial.
††† “Gallant
work with Lewis guns,” Berkshire at War,
quoting from the Sulhamstead Parish
Magazine, Nov. 1916, https://berkshirevoiceswwi.wordpress.com/tag/parsons/.
A brilliant post. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Josie. The research to locate information about the men named in the poem was exceptionally rewarding.
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