Harrogate Herald - 3rd February 1915

Dear Chaps,

Fitter Wilson, of Hampsthwaite, called in to see me on Friday. He is invalided home with a bad throat. He belongs to the artillery, and those chaps are not billeted in the towns and villages, therefore they have to get in where they can and rather further away from the comforts of civilisation. You know what the weather has been and how much there has been of it. Well, he had to sleep over an intensely rural pig sty that had not received attention for - well - ages. He has never had trouble with his throat before, but under these conditions it came, an abscess formed. He was so bad they sent him to a Manchester hospital, where he had an operation. He is nearly well now and will be returning to the Front by the time you read this. Wilson is thoroughly enthusiastic about the artillery, and remarked that if the young men at home only knew the life and conditions of the artillery branch of the service they would rush for it. No trench business. It is life. Full of excitement and satisfaction. Like the rest of the boys he was chock full of admiration and good feeling towards his commanding officer. It was with a regretful voice he told me they were losing him. He has been made a colonel. They had met with very few casualties. This he attributed to the extreme care the officer took of his men. They could and would follow him anywhere. It was nice to hear Wilson speak thus of his major, and he said it with all the enthusiasm of conviction. Between you and me, Wilson is a good sort - a real, white man.

"If any man tells you he wants to go back to the Front, don't you believe it; he's trying to make himself think so. Now, I wouldn't be kicked out of the artillery. I like it; but I'd rather be at home, and so would any man if circumstances permitted it".

The above is what Wilson said to me. I quite understand it. You boys have no wish to creep out of your responsibility. You are, like every other Briton; determined to see the thing successfully through. Like everybody else, you will be glad when it is over; but you are not going to say you prefer war to peace, or the battlefield to the dear home for which you are fighting. You also know that upon your success depends not only the peace and prosperity of the world, but the freedom and protection of the weak against the strong.

G H Topham, son of Mr G E Topham, of Grove View House, Harrogate, senior member of the firm of Topham Bros. Limited, decorators, Oxford Street, has been granted a commission in the Border Regiment, stationed at Blackpool.

One of the traditions of the Border Regiment is interesting, if not a source of pride. It is permitted, on the precedent of that tradition, to drink the King's health sitting. On an occasion, in the remote bibulous era, the Borderers were too drunk to stand, therefore their monarch gave them permission to honour the toast sitting. Thought the Regiment still retains the custom, it is because of a very different reason, for they are now a sober lot. There was a time when a man's capacity for drink carried distinction. Nowadays it is extinction.

You will remember Mr Bateman, who lived at Follifoot Ridge, just on the highest point of the road leading from Spacey Houses to Follifoot. Major Yates lives there now. His son, Lieutenant Hubert Yates, of the Duke of Wellington's Regiment, was dangerously wounded early in the war. He was brought to London and placed in a private nursing home. I am glad to say he is so far recovered as to come home to Follifoot Ridge and be able to get out. I regret to hear he has not yet recovered his eyesight, though there are good hopes that he will. The bullet entered behind the ear, travelled along the back of the neck, and emerged from the opposite shoulder, affecting his sight.

Our men at the Front are delighted when they meet someone from this district they know. Fortune varies in this respect. Smith, of Cold Bath Road, has seven Harrogate companions with him in his Regiment, whilst other men have scarcely come across any home acquaintance. In fact, they have no idea where their friends are, and derive their sole information from the Harrogate Herald. For that reason I am going to tell you about a few of them.

Harry Jenkinson, son of Mr Jenkinson, of Spofforth, is in the Royal Garrison Artillery. He went into hospital wounded, recovered, was discharged from hospital, and now he is again in with an ingrowing toenail.

Conflicting news comes respecting his brother, Private Charles Jenkinson, of the King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry. He was first reported by the War Office, dead. Next that he was wounded and in hospital. Then there was no further news of him. So the Rev Harold Pearson, son of the Rector of Spofforth, went to the War Office and inquired; whereupon he learned that Jenkinson had been killed in action.

Albert E Shepherd, of Little Ribston, I am sorry to say, has also been killed.

George Simpson, son of Mr Simpson, of Spofforth, has been wounded, but not seriously. He was shot through the leg.

William Myers, Robert Wetherill, both of the 1st West Yorks, and George Simpson, all three Spofforth men, had the good fortune to meet in the trenches. You can imagine what a joy this lucky encounter would be to them.

The little villages about here have contributed their share of men for the Front. The small village of Spofforth has sent 38, and in its proportion to its population Follifoot has done even better. That wee hamlet - Little Ribston, has contributed five men to the Army and two to the Navy. It is so small a place that a stranger might pass that way and fail to discover it was a hamlet at all.

Now, don't laugh. The authorities at Spofforth are determined their centre of civilisation shall not be behind the larger cities and towns, so they have ordered that the street lamps be not lighted at night. They are terribly afraid that Spofforth will be mistaken for a suburb of Harrogate, when the Zeppelins come over.

It just shows us how careful newspapers should be what they publish. Some Press men's lust for "copy" outrides their sense of discretion. Coming out of some meeting a nervous old lady was heard to ask of another, "Do you think the Zeppelins will come over Harrogate and throw bombs on our Baths?" This was enough to suggest a sensational subject for the newspaper and the penny-a-liners got to work. They managed, however, to direct the minds of the timid into that foolish channel, and apparently the idea has penetrated to the placid village of Spofforth. Harrogate is probably the safest spot in Great Britain. It is midway between the two oceans and too far inland for the escape of German aircraft to be possible. Besides, what object could be served! Certainly nothing worth the risk.

The nice weather continues. Plenty of sunshine, not too cold. No frost to speak of. Sunday morning when we got up there was the thinnest coating of light snow. It disappeared in next to no time. Latter part of the afternoon a little rain. The latter is fitful. One minute it is there - the next it is gone. Hope the elements are kinder to you, boys.

Have you heard about the wet-proof stockings! A new patent. They have been tried and keep the feet dry and warm. Government has ordered the first ten thousand. They are not cumbersome. Go in the service boot all right, and are said to be comfortable in every way. The patentee is not in for making money. The stockings are supplied practically at cost.

Some of the cavalry horses here are untrained and decidedly independent. I expect they are mostly Canadian. You know the Canadians are, as a rule, very free and independent. They imbibe it from the frosty air of their homeland. But when the horses take it, you never know whether they have four legs or two. They seem fond of dancing. It does happen sometimes that the most experienced riders get the buckers. It is not always so. On the Stray, the other day, a horse was trying it on. The animal looked like a cross between a snake and a windmill. Gee! How he did squirm. The trooper on his back was only a little 'un, and he didn't look a bit like it. But he was. The quiet way in which he countered that animal's tricks would have made a stone wall smile. The brute soon found out who was boss and moved quietly on, in sober thought. He'd exhausted all his tricks and could think of no more.

Knaresborough is having a contingent of Army Service Corps men billeted on them, and Knaresborough is pleased to be in the fashion.

We have lots of churches and chapels in Harrogate, yet on account of the soldiers some of them are having to arrange extra services. St Peter's has had two separate ones in the early morning, and on Sunday a contingent had to go to St Wilfrid's, the new and handsome church on Duchy Road. The most obtrusive objects in Harrogate are the Grand Hotel's golden domes and St Wilfrid's Church. The Grand stands high. St Wilfrid's is "high".

It won't do the boys any harm to go to church. When they are in tight corners, the spirit of that tranquil hour will come back to them, as a gracious message, mysterious but comforting. The solemn incidents of life we may not always understand, it is sufficient that they do not pass us by unheeded.

Two Jack-tars were crossing a pasture. A mad bull sighted them. The tars took refuge in a tree. Unfortunately it was a frail one. The bull attacked, again and again, that tree, which showed signs of falling. When the danger seemed at its height one tar said to the other : "Pray, Bill, pray, quick!" "Don't know one; never heard one", replied Bill. "I heard one once", said Jack. "Say it quick". Both closed their eyes and held fast. Jack solemnly delivered himself thus : "For what we are about to receive, Lord, make us truly thankful".

The tale goes that a sergeant found lamps on in billets after the regulation hour. He went in, doused the gleam and was retiring, when a small, youthful voice arose : "Sergeant! Sergeant!" "What is it?" "You haven't kissed us goodnight!"

To Private C A Gill, 1st West Yorks. Thanks for your post-card. I cannot send your paper to your new address on your post-card for the reason that that address is blanked out. I am sorry to hear you have been in hospital, but I am pleased that you have recovered.

W H Breare.