Harrogate Herald - 13th January 1915
Dear Chaps,
I had an agreeable surprise on Thursday afternoon. A
smart soldier, looking well bronzed by service exposure, came into
my office to thank me for the Harrogate Heralds and articles of
comfort which had been sent him. It was Corporal Walter Elsworth, of
the Royal Engineers. He ad been granted a few days' leave and was
due back the next day. He was on his way to the pictures. Corporal
Elsworth is a typical Tommy, calm, unruffled, with set purpose
playing in strong lines about his firm mouth. It is astonishing how
object and undemonstrative are soldiers are. Cool as a cucumber.
They make no fuss, yet one is impressed by their stolidity and
determination. Elsworth has none of the mock heroics about him. He
admitted candidly it was more comfortable at home, and he was not
full of yearning desire to be back at the Front. He knows what the
word "duty" means, and is determined to fulfill his
obligations to the State. He is ready.
To show how perfect is the Army's transportation. On
Tuesday morning at four o'clock he was in the trenches, busy with
the enemy. At five o'clock in the evening of the same day he was in
London.
The wave of patriotism and appreciation of our
soldiers is such that we can hardly imagine there are isolated
people who are unmoved by these sentiments. An incident to the point
is interesting. Corporal Elsworth arrived in the metropolis just as
he left the trenches, with the marks of the struggle all over his
uniform and kit. It was plain to be seen where he had come from,
and, that lately. He jumped into a General motor bus to pay a first
call on is sweetheart in a distant part of London. He had nothing
but French money. When the conductor called for his fare he asked if
he would take French coin as he had nothing else. The manner of the
conductor wasn't accommodating, not to say aggressive. "That
won't pay my wages", said the conductor. "If you haven't
English money that isn't my fault, and you will have to get
out". "Will any lady or gentleman exchange English for
French copper?", said Elsworth. Immediately every lady and
gentleman in the bus stood up clamouring to be first to oblige the
soldier. He did not walk, but he was quietly resentful of the brutal
treatment of the bus conductor. He had had some awful experiences
which I do not feel disposed to relate in detail.
His first introduction to German shells was on his
return from laying wires. He was told to be careful at the cross
roads, as the Germans realised they had four chances to one and were
continuously shelling these. He retraced his steps. With the usual
indifference to danger of our boys, he thought nothing more of
shells and cross roads. It was dark. At one point a shell crossed
his path. "Cross roads", said he. No sooner had he given
expression to the thought than he stumbled over an object. One of
our boys lay prone. The pulse was still. A yard or two further
another inanimate form on the mud furrowed road. Both victims were
beyond help. He remembered cross roads and hastened.
Elsworth told me that the Government were very
liberal with woollen things, that there were a plethora of mitts,
scarves, etc. his lot had but one blanket and an oilskin each. A wet
blanket is not conducive to comfort. It's then that an extra, and
dry one, as appreciated. There is need of blankets. Of cigarettes
there is a prodigal supply - too many. The want is for something to
stop that "tickling". An epidemic in the form of
laryngitis at home and amongst the soldiers at the Front is
prevalent. When the period of sleep comes, sleep does not of
necessity come with it, because of that tickling in the throat which
heralds a cold. A few lozenges to stop this, such as the Liverpool
throat lozenges, would enable our tired men to find release from
throat irritation and afford them sleep. Toffee instead of
chocolate, mint bullets as a change after the German article would
afford relief. Elsworth returned to the Front last Friday.
I had forgotten! Time hangs heavily in the trenches
and when off duty. Playing cards relieve the boredom. The packs
obtainable at the Front are not like our English packs. There are a
few cards short. English packs would be much appreciated. Those who
desire to send some will find a certain brand on which a portion of
the profits go to the war fund. Any stationer will tell the kind.
We are all very jealous of the reputation of our
soldiers. They have behaved so well that if a case of misconduct
arises we experience all the sorrow of a fond parent over the
delinquency of a favourite child. I had a peculiar experience on
Friday morning last. The scene was the Police Station, Harrogate.
The department, the Inspector's private room, where an occasional
Court was sitting. Upstairs in the Borough Court the County Court
Judge was trying civil actions. In the Inspector's room were two
Magistrates, Mr Raworth, the clerk, the Inspector, two or three
constables, a mother and a daughter, the latter the wife of the man
to be tried. There was but one case, and before the principal party
appeared I wondered what the nature of the case would be. A sturdy
soldier in khaki, a Kitchener's man, appeared. I was filled with
apprehension. Nothing can be more pathetic nowadays than a soldier
answering the summons of justice. The case was a peculiar one. The
man had come to Harrogate from an encampment in the South of England
on a few days' furlough. He had not returned at the appointed time,
and an order came from the authorities of the regiment for the
police to arrest the man as an absentee. The police had no
alternative but to comply. It seems the soldier whilst on leave had
been attacked by influenza. A medical man, called in, ordered him to
bed. A doctor's certificate was then presented for the first time,
showing that the man was unfit Flying Officer duty. In war time,
military powers are very pronounced. Fortunately, civil law had a
look-in, for in the absence of the military authority the Justices,
if they find the absence has been caused by unavoidable illness,
have the power to extend the period of leave. The Justices on Friday
exercised that power, granting an additional week's leave, and the
man was permitted to return to bed in search of recovery. Thus
everything turned out happily!. Again there was no stain upon His
Majesty's uniform.
Rain each day till Saturday. Then, the first fine
day. Sunshine. Splashes of blue. Clouds of wondrous form and shade.
You know them? Flame colours, vignetting into rainbow tints.
Cloud-puffs, fleecy as swan's down stirred by a sigh. Calm. Smiling.
Harrogate wears her best clothes. You have seen her apparelled that
way, haven't you?
Two days of broken weather and today finer than
ever. All blue sky, not a cloud to be seen. No wind. The farmers
have not been able to plough owing to the sodden state of the land.
A stiff breeze yesterday, dried things up. We shall have need of
good crops.
At a quarter to twelve, on Friday night, passed away
a man you know. His heart was as great as his stature. His nature as
gentle as a child's by those he was known best was the best beloved.
No one will quite realise the extent to which he indulged his kindly
instincts. A strong man in every sense, he used that strength in
proportion to the just demands of circumstances. He was a dear
friend of mine, therefore I know. His heart never permitted him to
err, save on the side of generosity. That large nature, so full of
sunshine, charity, and good fellowship, came under the cloud of a
great grief in February last. He lost his wife and constant
companion. Half of his vitality went with her. He then fell under
that direct of all diseases - cancer - and after a period of
suffering passed away. Eugene Hayden, so many years host of the
Queen Hotel, will be mourned not only by his personal friends, but
by thousands of guests from all climes.
On Saturday morning, a detachment of picked recruits
left Harrogate for York in the first instance, but for a further
destination, where, I cannot say. They had a fine send-off, the
bugle band adding to the "stir" of the moment. The boys
left behind rather envy the advance party.
You will read of Mr D S Wilson's death in the
Wednesday Gossip. He was one of my earliest friends. I think it was
in 1871 or thereabouts that he and I dashed off to Chislehurst at
night to witness the funeral of Napoleon III. It was interesting to
see so many notabilities of Louis Napoleon's time and Court. The
personages who impressed us most were the Imperial Prince and that
stalwart journalist Paul de Cassagnac. I saw London for the first
time by moonlight at four o'clock that morning. I have not forgotten
the weird romance of viewing the scene of Charles the First's
execution behind Whitehall at such an hour under such circumstances.
Mr Wilson was a student of history, and had a strong vein of romance
in his intelligent composition, though to outward appearances he was
decidedly matter-of-fact and practical.
You remember David Simpson, twice Mayor of Harrogate
and the builder of the beautiful Duchy estate. he had a singular
experience not long ago at Lowestoft, where Mr and Mrs David
Simpson were
staying. One day he was studying a map on a wall of the sea front
when a silly fellow accused him of being a spy. David's indignation
was so unfettered and volcanic that he leaped into good broad
Yorkshire. His accuser saw in the vocabulary fresh evidence, he
thought, of foreign extraction. The foolish fellow did not wait for
evidence of David's nationality, but vanished and was no more seen.
Just as though a real spy would publicly study a map on the sea
front at Lowestoft! Mr Simpson's friends are still laughing over the
incident. He is about as full of patriotism as an egg is of meat.
For years he was in the Yorkshire Hussars, a fine shot, and he
became one of the promoters of the Harrogate Civilian Rifle Club.
His eldest son, "Jim" Simpson, is a sergeant in Kitchener's Army,
and his second son, George Simpson, was one of the first to enlist in
Australia for the Expeditionary Force. His third boy would have
enlisted, but could not fulfil every requirement.
Next week I hope to publish the names and addresses
of the men from Harrogate at the Front who are on my list for
Harrogate Heralds. you may discover the whereabouts of friends.
Please send any address you know of which I have missed.
In reply to Styan : You are the only one on my list
for the 7th Division.
W H Breare
