My father was born on 3rd December 1903, the youngest of eight children. All that I ever learned about him was that his father had died whilst he was still a baby. He had three sisters (Bessie, Maud and Amy, the latter dying from TB at the age of about 21) and four brothers (Walter, Charlie, Frank and Alfred) - three of whom were killed in the Great War of 1914-18. At the age of about fifteen, father ran away to sea, but apparently did not last very long at it. He was then able to lie about his age and just at the end of the First World War joined the army, subsequently ending up in the Coldstream Guards.
He lacked education, and therefore recognisable qualifications; I was to be told time and time again that he spent many years trying to catch up on this shortfall. He was soon to join the Army Physical Training Corps, which he served for something like 35 years. If only he had kept notes of his life!
However, and sadly, I have in my possession the medals of one of his brothers killed in action during the First War; the medals include the large bronze "death penny" which bears the name of the uncle I never knew. My brother, Brian, has a similar reminder of another of dad’s brothers.
In addition I have copies of just a couple of the letters written by these uncles, from the trenches, so many years ago. Their style of writing and the messages they convey are poignant and require no comment from me. I want you to read them now, so that you get a feel for life as it was, for them, at that time in history.
30th Battery. R.F.A.
1st Division
27th October 1914
My Dearest Mother,
I’ve been waiting for some days now for a favourable opportunity of writing to you, but as the days go by the prospect gets no brighter, so I have taken the first chance of any sort today.
We are at present drawn up alongside the road, waiting for orders to go forward, and I have jumped off my horse and sat straight down and commenced to write. I’ve dated my letter the 27th for I don’t expect to be able to finish it until then (tomorrow). As you already know I’ve been pushed about a bit since I got my Commission, first attached to 34th Bde., then to the 43rd Ammunition Column, finishing up with the 30th Battery.
Whether I shall remain here I can’t say, as I have taken the place of an Officer who was wounded, but is expected back shortly. I suppose the first thing you would like to know is how I am faring. I must say I have done very well up to the present as regards food, sleep and general comfort, the latter of course includes the pipe for one thing (a great boon out here). I’ve written to Charles, mentioning an occasional replenishment of tobacco, so I hope he responds.
Needless to mention we had to rough it a bit in the "Great Retreat," but we have done well since. I suppose you did not know for certain whether I was at Mons or not, but I was, very much so, and I shall never forget it and the retreat which followed. I must say the system of supply in this was excellent, and the Army Service Corps have done their work remarkably well. I don’t know whether you remember reading of the battle of Landrecies, shortly after the retreat began; we were nearly caught there by Uhlans. We had been marching for nearly 24 hours without a halt long enough to get a meal, and we halted about 10pm., of course it was pitch dark and at 12 midnight we heard rifles cracking in a half circle around us. The bullets were whizzing over our heads so we could not move. We had this for about two hours, and then the Coldstream and Irish Guards with two of our guns chased them out of our particular neighbourhood, and we went on the march again for another 16 hours. Men and horses were getting well nigh exhausted for want of food and sleep. I used to walk miles along the road because I could not keep awake in the saddle. But the most heartrending sight of all in the retreat was the poor refugees. Poor old women and men who were too old and infirm to walk, huddled together in these country carts. I used to admire the British Tommy then when he would go among these poor country people and share his bully beef and biscuits. Of course there were hundreds of children too and they would run towards the gun carriages and shout "Biskweet" and they always got a biscuit each, sometimes more and the men who gave their biscuits away like this fed that day on apples. Then when we were halted I have seen our Tommies dismount, gather a crowd of the dear little hungry kiddies around them, open their tins of bully beef - their day’s ration - and share it out to them on biscuits. This is a trait in their character that one does not hear much about, but none the less to be admired.
Our Infantrymen are simply superb; their utter disregard of danger, and cheeriness of nature whether in victory or defeat, stamps them as the finest in the world. If one hears of a Company of our Infantry being cut up, one can be pretty sure that the enemy’s losses were about four times as great.
27/10/14. I had to leave off here last night as we went into action where we still remain. Before we moved last night I saw a most awful sight - an aeroplane accident - but I’m afraid I may not tell you more about it now but must leave it for a future occasion. The weather is simply glorious here today, one would never believe we were nearly into November. It seems years since we came out here instead of only about nine weeks. I don’t know how our fellows felt at the end of the Boer War I’m sure. I think everyone is heartily tired of this already, but very few would like to go home until the Germans are absolutely finished. The wish is for the end of this war first and home afterwards.
I have heard several old South African soldiers say that they have seen more fighting here in a week than they saw in South Africa in twelve months, and I quite believe it. A good many still retain the hope that we shall be home by Christmas, but personally I don’t think I ever expected to be home that soon. I suppose a lot depends on the Russians who have already achieved such brilliant victories. I think the great pressure they are bringing to bear now must weaken the German Army here to reinforce the one in the East. As soon as that takes place I expect you will hear of something happening in the West, and the sooner the better for my part. I should not be surprised though if the affair in Poland turned out something like the Battle of the Aisne, a long drawn out affair. I suppose it is rather late in this epistle to turn back now to our arrival in France, but I can’t forget the enthusiastic reception we received both at Boulogne and at places on route to Mons. Everywhere was cries of "Vive L’Angleterre!" and they went wild with delight when our fellows shouted "Vive La Belgique!" Well Mum dear, I think this is pretty newsy for me don’t you? I don’t know what kind of reading it will make I’m sure, it seems to be a jumbled statement of facts and experiences.
I have thought several times of writing a letter to Mr Davies, but I don’t know I’m sure when I shall get another chance. I have to stop writing this at intervals to send a few more souvenirs to the Germans (from our Howitzers), and I have also written one or two postcards between whiles. However I believe you have got an exchange of correspondence, so perhaps you may show Mr Davies this one (Vera told me she read my P.C. to Mr Davies at Abbotscliffe). I wish everyone would be so good as to pass their letters round like this it would save a lot of writing.
Well Mum I really must finish now. I hope you and all the others at home are quite well. Please give my best love to all not forgetting our young tyrant Cecil and Fatty. Best love to Aunt Thirza - I miss all her attentions out here - Fondest love to you Ma, and Bess,
Your loving son
Alf
Abbotscliffe was the name of the house, the family seat in Braunton, North Devon. The young tyrant Cecil mentioned above was my father.
A couple of weeks later Uncle Alfred wrote this letter to his brother, Walter.
30th Battery R.F.A.
43rd Brigade
1st Division
10th Nov 1914
My Dear Walt,
Thanks ever so much for letter received yesterday. I had your card the other day but really haven’t had a chance to write to you before. I had quite a large mail yesterday when yours came; a letter from Bess and a letter and a pair of socks from a young lady in Braunton (no names no pack drill). This is the time to tell which of the young ladies think anything of you isn’t it?
I’ve no doubt the papers give you glowing accounts of the scrapping in the parts you mention (Mons), and I can tell you for real good hard fighting there never was and never will be the like of it.
I’ve been in the infantry trenches for nearly a week now, observing. It’s awfully interesting and exciting, but sometimes it’s like H--- upon earth and worse if possible. I could throw a stone now and hit the German trenches - that’s pretty close isn’t it? One can see them quite plainly entrenching, that is you can see their shovels as they throw the earth up. One of our fellows had a shot at a shovel two or three days ago and the German waved his shovel in the air and shouted "Hard lines!"
It’s marvellous how bright and cheery our men keep in the trenches. Of course they are all looking forward to the end of the war, but there is plenty of fight left in them yet. No doubt there are hundreds of young fellows at home who would like to come out here, but as you say some-one has to keep the ball rolling at home and especially in your line of life.
I don’t know I’m sure how we keep our health. I’ve slept (?) bang in the open now for several nights and have got up in the morning with the old blanket soaking wet either with rain or dew, but I’m as fit as a fiddle every time. I think a number of our Tommies will be disappointed over their Christmas at home; personally I never expected it. After all I suppose it’s possible even now and if it comes off it will be a very agreeable surprise for me. I’m afraid I have a much greater respect for the fighting powers of the German Army than some. I think everyone is heartily fed up with the war and would like to see the end of it.
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I haven’t had a shave for a fortnight and it’s about five days ago since I had a wash. I had a letter from the Rev Morley last night. He says I shall have quite a lot to tell him when I come home. --------- censored --------
I might be like the telephone I’ve got here - it will only work sometimes. I might be even worse and not work at all.
I hope there will be no objection to the breakfast in bed on the next visit; you see I’ve a lot of waste time to make up for.
Remember me to all friends.
Yours very sincerely,
Alf.
Uncle Alfred was just 22 years old, and was killed in action just 18 days later. Here is an account of his Memorial Service, taken from The North Devon Journal, 10th Dec,1914.
DEATH OF BRAUNTON OFFICER AT THE FRONT.
MEMORIAL SERVICE AT BRAUNTON.
A profoundly impressive service to the honoured memory of 2nd Lieut Alfred John Hunt, R.F.A., son of Mrs Hunt of "Abbotscliffe" Braunton, who died in Boulogne Hospital on November 28th, as a result of wounds in the head, received in action, was held in the Congregational Chapel on Sunday afternoon. The very large attendance, which included the family mourners, testified to the high esteem in which the deceased was held in the neighbourhood. The Rev Morley Davies and Mr W Manaton gave addresses.
The Rev Morley Davies remarked that the people of Braunton were proud of all their boys who were serving their King and Country, and they were as proud of Alfred Hunt as of any of them - proud because of promotions. Only a few weeks ago he was made Sergeant and within a short time, Second Lieutenant, and they thought it was fitting to hold a memorial service to him personally. But apart from that, had there not fallen a native of Braunton? A Memorial Service at this time would not be out of place to the thousands who had fallen, not only in defence of their King and Country, but of us. But Lieut Hunt personally deserved this on their part, for he was one who took a deep interest in their Church whenever he was home, and he was faithful in his attendances at the Church services and the Bible Class. He was also a good son who never forgot his home. They were, he was afraid, inclined to look on the dark side just now, and this was undoubtedly an hour of trial, but there was another side. There was a more than silver lining to the cloud, inasmuch as it was a glorious death. He had lain down his life for us all. He was more than a soldier, he did not go blindly into battle, but took the larger view of things. He knew what he was fighting for, inasmuch as he took into consideration that he was defending the weak and the sanctity of treaties.
Mr W Manaton in the course of his address said: "On the previous night when your Pastor, Mr Morley Davies, called on me and asked me to take some small part in the service, I did not at once consent because I felt it was a service belonging specially to you of the Congregational Church. Mr Davies, however, took a wider view, and thought of the young life laid down as being not that of a Congregationalist but a British soldier who has died in the defence of King and Country, which is the common heritage of us all. In the presence of that enlarged outlook, all limitations of a lesser outlook vanish, and we are here as citizens of a great Country to hold our memorial service in the affectionate remembrance of the noble young warrior who has been the first from our own parish to fall on the field of war. It is true that quite early in the war a gallant Officer, who had close associations with us as a parish fell, and today in sympathy and prayer we do not forget the bereaved ones left in our midst by the first fruits of War. In thinking of our brother today our first thought of him is naturally as a soldier."
The scholars of Chaloner’s School, Braunton, under Mr Rolf attended the service, the deceased having formerly been a pupil at the school. The National Reserve was also represented, and several soldiers and sailors were present. The special hymn for men at the front, by John Oxenham, was sung, and Miss Clarke the organist played the Dead March from Saul.
The Rev Morley Davies read a letter, which had been received, from Mr Aubrey Manaton of Braunton, now representing The Times in France, in which he stated that he attended Lieut Hunt’s funeral in Boulogne on December 2nd. He was laid in the Garden du Cemetiere de l’Est with full military honours. Several Officers present included Colonel Albert Stopford, the Queen’s Messenger, who made personal arrangements for the funeral. The number of Alfred’s grave in the cemetery is 878. There was a simple wooden cross bearing the inscription "Second Lieutenant Alfred Hunt R.F.A aged 22 years: died November 28th 1914" placed on the grave. He was in hospital for three days before he died. He had a shrapnel wound in the head, and happily was unconscious all the time. There was no possible hope for his recovery, and everything humanly possible was done.
The esteem with which the deceased was held in the Regiment is shown by the following extract taken from a letter written to Mrs Hunt from brother Officers of the deceased. Major B MacNaughton R.F.A., Commanding 39th Battery, wrote: "It was with the profoundest regret and sorrow that we, the Officers, NCO’s and men of the 30th Battery, heard of your son’s death, the result of wounds received in action on the 19th November in the Battle of YPRES. He had endeared himself to us all by his charming personality and his great personal courage. By his death, His Majesty has lost a gallant Officer, and we his brother officers a great friend, of whom we were very fond."
Another brother, Frank Hunt, wrote this letter on the day that he died, to his brother.
B.E.F.Force
Sunday 18th July ’15
My Dear Fred,
I had been waiting anxiously for your letter, and I just got it yesterday and you know what it means to me.
One more Sunday, Fred, to be spent in France. I wonder how many more will come and go before the one whose dawning shall find us together once more.
We have had a fairly warm time while digging in the trenches this last week, one or two poor chaps will never see their homes again. Most of the Regiment is going back to the old billets today, a few of us were wanted to remain here for an indefinite time, so I am one of them.
We are doing nothing today for a wonder, and the rest is welcome I don’t mind admitting.
Oh! Fred, this morning I heard one of the sweetest sounds I’ve heard for some time. The RAMC have a beautiful band here, and they played some fine hymns, tunes that we both know so well, I was soon carried away my Fred, and there is no need to explain the nature of my thoughts. Oh! Fred I don’t want to be depressed about it, or try to make you so, but should anything happen to me then may it please God to grant us both the joy of meeting again in that beautiful land, where:- Sweet music fills the balmy air, Angels with white wings are there,
Harps of gold and mansions fair, Oh! so bright.
Yes, Fred, "Oh! so bright" for last week’s work told me to put down a few words of this sort, for we know not what a day may bring forth. I want to thank you for your beautiful letter; I have read it over many times and appreciated it. I know that you will tell me of any fresh events in your daily life, because all that concerns and interests you, does the same to me my comrade.
Here I must close with the same words that God will bless you always,
Yours ever,
Frank
I haven’t had Mrs Bradford’s letter yet Fred, I hope it arrives today. You mentioned dear old Aunt Thurza, what memories that brings again to me. I can hear her saying "Frank!, here’s Fred coming!" - can’t you?
God grant that it may be the same again someday.
Uncle Frank lies in the Nœux-Les-Mines Communal Cemetery, Pas-de-Calais, North France. I have visited his grave; the inscription in the Memorial Register at the cemetery reads:-
HUNT, Pte W.F., 13616, 13th Hussars. Died of wounds 18th July 1915. Age 18.
Son of Bessie Hunt, "Abbotscliffe", Braunton, Devon, and the late Charles Henry Hunt.
Sad, isn’t it? However, it is a small, though highly significant part of our archives. I’ve always felt that we could have known so much more about this era, if only a record had been kept of the day to day events. So I’m back to where I started, namely, that a simple record of my own life be recorded in the hope that it can be ‘taken over’ by one of my children, when my own contribution ceases, and so become another chapter of our family history.
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