Boy Soldiers of the Great War (33 page)

10
Dear Old Blighty

HERE LIES A MOTHER’S SON
AT HEART A MAN
WHO GAVE HIS ALL
FOR US AND MOTHERLAND

14650 Private Fred Thomson
24th Manchester Regiment

Enlisted 17, France 18, Killed aged 19, 6 February 1916

Instruction 1186 of June 1916, clarifying the issue of underage soldiers and releasing them from frontline duty, had been announced by the War Office three weeks before the launch of the Somme offensive, but there was a time-lag between the procedural decision and a public announcement reaching the press. This meant there was no time for anxious parents to make any meaningful application for a son’s release before the battle. In any case, a rush would have implied foreknowledge of the events of 1 July and no one, least of all civilians, predicted any calamity. The public feeling, such as it was, had been to presume success, in which case seeking to remove boys such as Horace Iles or Cyril José would probably have left them unnecessarily devastated. Horace was after all the son of a former soldier who had also fought for his country.

Despite their own anxiety, parents were aware how much service to the country and particularly loyalty to their friends meant
to boys who had rushed to join Kitchener’s Army. But then what if their son were killed? Could they live with the knowledge that they could have saved him? It was a terrible conundrum, and the decision to recall a son from the trenches was invariably agonizing.

In July 1916, an unknown but undoubtedly significant number of boys began to be sent down the line. The adjutant of the 2/5th Gloucestershire Regiment chose to record their passage not by name but by number, noting down each occasion when each one left the battalion. One underage boy was removed on 11 July and another six days later. Two more went on 20 July, followed by two more on 24 July. Yet another left on the 27th and another one eighteen days later, followed quickly by a further three before the end of August. More boys followed the well-worn route later in the year: and this was one battalion of many hundreds serving on the Somme.

When reclaiming a son the first logical step for parents was to contact their local Member of Parliament in the hope that he might give advice or point the family in the right direction. There was no guarantee that they would receive a sympathetic ear, and an approach could result in more confusion and doubt. There were, after all, MPs not averse to boys serving at the front. Sir Henry Craik, an MP and former army officer, was approached by a family in his constituency, asking if he would make an application to the War Office on their behalf. Craik refused unless they could produce a letter from their underage son actually asking to be discharged.

I said to the parents, ‘Do you realize what responsibility you are taking in the eyes of your son? It is not a responsibility I would care to take in the case of my own son. Do you think, if you summon him home, and he is sent away from his comrades in the trenches, he will ever get over it in later life, or that he will ever forgive you for what you have done?’

Within days, Craik received a letter from the family. They had been swayed by his argument and their application would not be pressed.

I am perfectly certain that that is the feeling of many parents, and I am proud of it. I am still more sure that it represents the feeling of these young fellows … they do not wish to be treated as children, misled or misguided … They are keen to serve their country, and they are proud of the opportunity to do it.

Craik’s eldest son George was serving in France, and in due course he was awarded the Military Cross of which father and son were no doubt rightfully proud. Yet Craik’s opinions were as unfortunate as they were patriotic. Everybody’s circumstances were different and a number of parents had sought to withdraw one underage son from service only after the death of another, elder son. Notions of responsibility and pride were of less importance to the terror of losing further sons. In January 1916, Rachel Appleyard wrote to the authorities seven days after the death of her son Leonard. ‘I have just lost my eldest son, he went down on the [HMS]
Natal
last Thursday and I don’t want to lose all I have got …’ Her other son Albert was serving aged sixteen in France. Likewise Walter Barter requested the removal of his fifteen-year-old boy from the front line after ‘he had the sad news a few days ago that my elder son – twenty-two – had been killed in the Dardanelles …’

One tragic case concerned that of Jane Walsh. All four of her sons had joined the army, the youngest, Samuel, aged fifteen. The first son, William, had been killed in April 1915; the second, David, in March 1916, after which she wrote seeking the discharge of Samuel. While the process was under way, her third son Thomas was wounded (he was later killed in August 1917) and Jane was clearly desperate to have her son home. ‘He is all that I have now left to me … it has been very hard on
me, the loss of my sons, [and] it has left me broken-hearted and lonely.’ Samuel was soon withdrawn from the front.

There was no doubt that boys were proud to serve, although after a winter in the trenches some were less keen than they once were. A few lads themselves hinted that they had had enough. Private James Walters had been overseas for a year and it had taken much heartrending consideration by his mother, Hannah, before she decided to withdraw her son from the front. There was no doubt that he had done his bit. James, a survivor of the Gallipoli campaign, was still only sixteen, and was now fighting on the Somme. Hannah Walters began the process, forwarding his birth certificate as required to the military authorities, but before her son was taken out of the line he was killed in action close to Delville Wood. James’s body was found and buried in a cemetery adjacent to the wood. His gravestone records that he was seventeen, but his birth certificate, which survives, proves otherwise.

The first that an underage soldier would know about his imminent release was an order to report to the commanding officer. Fear was frequently the boy’s first reaction. Had he done something wrong? It must be serious if the CO was involved. George White had fought on the Somme and survived unscathed. Then one day the sergeant came and asked what he had been up to.

I could not think of anything that would have interested him and so replied ‘Nothing, Sarge’. He then told me I must have been up to something as I had to go before the CO right away, the inference being that I had to face a charge.

The sergeant marched me in and I stood to attention facing the colonel, somewhat perplexed as I knew I had not done anything to warrant ‘being on the mat’. To my surprise, the CO asked me how old I was and, automatically, as so many times before to others, I told him I was nineteen.

The officer explained that George’s stepfather had provided proof that he was actually aged just sixteen. George had little option but to agree.

The colonel’s attitude then changed completely and he talked to me quite informally. He said that he admired my courage in joining up and coming to France. He congratulated me on my service with the regiment and wished I could remain with them. However, he could not keep me in France and I would have to return to England as soon as arrangements could be made. He then shook my hand and wished me good luck.

When a boy had distinguished himself by his conduct, it would have been extremely hard for the CO to berate him for having enlisted in the first place. Archibald Dall was a private with the Machine Gun Corps in the 30th Division and had served with distinction in some of the thickest fighting near Bernafay Wood on the Somme. He was keen to stay in France.

I managed to survive and hide my age for some weeks before the fateful letter arrived informing my CO that I was only sixteen years old. I won’t repeat what he said before he sent me, a very proud boy, ‘down the line’ to Camiers, near Étaples, where I found myself just one of several hundred such lads, of ranks ranging from private to CSM [company sergeant major] and CQMS [company quartermaster sergeant].

Not every officer had reason to be so accommodating. George Maher had run away from home to join up, and had been in France a matter of weeks. He had not had time to prove his worth to anyone; on the contrary, he was shocked by what he saw and burst into tears on several occasions although he sought to hide his shame. The winter of 1916/17 turned out to be the harshest of the war, and George was overwhelmed by the squalid
conditions of the camp – and he had, as yet, not even gone into the trenches.

I was lying on my ground sheet crying in the tent when this man said, ‘What are you crying for?’ Then it all came out, that I was thirteen. He went and reported what I’d said and I was taken to see a major. I can see him now, wringing wet, with rain dripping from his helmet. He swore at me. ‘You bloody fool, it costs money to get you here and you bloody well cry.’

The officer would have no interest in keeping a boy so evidently unsuitable for war and, as George was a boy of ‘extreme youth’, the regulations enabled the major to circumvent the requirement for a birth certificate and set about sending George home; it was still a time-wasting administrative problem and one he could certainly have done without.

If a boy was removed from the firing line, it would be up to him to make his way back to safety, armed with an officer’s docket confirming his status, and giving him permission to leave the forward area. Seventeen-year-old Private George Fortune of the 18th Lancashire Fusiliers had been steeling himself to go over the top when he was given instructions to leave the line. At about midnight, he heard the sergeant calling out his name but George steadfastly ignored it in the belief that he was about to be given a job. He may have been under age but he had been long enough in the army to know that it was wise to try to melt into the background. The sergeant persisted and in the end George had no option but to respond. Then, to his surprise, the sergeant said, ‘Give your bombs to your section commander and go to battalion headquarters.’ At the last moment George was being sent away owing to his age and so he left, finding his way by the light of bursting shells.

It was a dangerous trip and George was blown off his feet by at least one explosion. Then, as he found a road, the Germans
opened up again and started to drop shells uncomfortably close. ‘I wandered about for hours. I would watch the Very lights go up and walk the other way; I knew I was going away from the line then.’ George had been fortunate to escape so far unscathed. As he pressed on he met an artilleryman whose friend had just been killed. The man was visibly upset.

He had been with him all through the war, he said. I told him I was going out because of my age. The man collected himself. ‘Good luck, mate’ and he gave me a good swig of rum from a petrol can.

Private Frederick Bird was on his way back home to Britain, just so long as he could get out of the line safely. Fred, a butcher by trade, from Kilburn in London, had grown considerably since the diminutive boy, weighing marginally over seven stone, and five feet tall, went to enlist in September 1914. He was well under the minimum height for the army but he had been lucky to find a ‘cooperative’ medical officer. A year’s training had built him up sufficiently to enable him to embark for France with the battalion in November 1915.

The only thing he was missing was his parents’ blessing, and it was not long before Daniel and Kate Bird made an application for their son’s release; it was granted. As far as they were aware, they could expect their sixteen-year-old son through the door at any time. He might be peeved at his removal from France, but at least he would be safe and sound.

The order for Fred to leave the trenches arrived at an extraordinarily inopportune moment. The front and support lines occupied by his battalion were being subjected to a prolonged bout of shelling resulting in several casualties. It would have been safer to stay put until the shelling stopped, as Private Horace Ham, a friend in the platoon, advised, but ‘Dickie’ Bird, as he was affectionately known, was to be on his way. Horace recalled:

We all knew he was just a lad and it did not surprise us when we heard his mother had applied successfully to have him withdrawn. He packed his kit, and although we were under fire, we all shouted our goodbyes and he made his way off down the communication trench. It was only as he reached the end of the trench that a shell landed, killing him.

In fact, Fred was not killed outright but had been seriously wounded in the back by shrapnel. He was still alive when he was taken away by men of the 19th Field Ambulance but died before reaching the advanced dressing station. The news of his death was a terrible blow to his friends in the line. Not only was he one of the first to be killed but the circumstances surrounding his death had made the loss all the more tragic.

No one could legislate for bad luck, but the new instruction would save the lives of the majority it was designed to help, and at the end of June 1916 MPs were apparently sufficiently satisfied with the safeguards to let the matter drop for the time being. It was a month before the issue returned to the House when questions were raised about the efficiency with which the instruction had been implemented on the ground. On 1 August, MPs went straight to the point.

Backbencher Henry Watt, a stalwart campaigner for the cause, spoke first. Citing the case of a Private William Dalziel of the Highland Light Infantry, he asked if the War Office’s attention had been drawn to the boy:

who, although only seventeen and a quarter years of age, has been sent to France and to the trenches, and has been refused leave to return to this country, the commanding officer at the end of June writing that he has no authority to send [home] youths of that age.

The boy, according to Henry Watt, had been wounded in mid-July and was told while in hospital that he would be sent back
into the line after recovery. ‘Will he [the Undersecretary of State for War] see that promises made in the House with reference to boys under eighteen are fulfilled in this case?’