Letters to Lizzie
When Lizzie’s husband Edward died of his WW1 wounds, she found that she did not qualify as a war widow. Lizzie challenged each bureaucratic obstacle until the Minister for Pensions ruled in her favour, following which many other women in a similar position also received a widow’s pension.
My grandmother kept a bundle of old correspondence in a dark blue stationery box. I first came across the letters in the late 1960s, when my father read them again and again, just after Lizzie had died. The letters tell a poignant and very personal story, about the impact of the first world war on Lizzie’s life, both before and after my grandfather’s early death. In a way, we were forever mindful of Lizzie’s plight as a war widow, as my father was fiercely proud of his mother’s efforts to provide him with a happy childhood. Yet it is only now, having transcribed all of the letters that were filed away for posterity, that we are able fully to appreciate what took place then, both during the war and in the years that followed.
Were we really destined to look through all these Letters to Lizzie, which quite easily could have stayed hidden forever in that blue box? One hundred years on, they can be read again, telling their own tale in a powerful and authentic way.
When we were young, our grandmother’s reputation for tenacity cropped up as part of the never-ending family repartee — a playful kind of mockery to which everyone was subjected, and the very bread and butter of our get-togethers with great aunts and uncles. The stories from the past would be explained by our father on the way home, sometimes candidly and without the rosy retrospection. Other distant memories were evoked by Lizzie herself, quite wistfully I recall, and with more than a hint of rancour surrounding the ordinary soldier’s lot in WW1. But we were all caught between a rock and a hard place then. We only had to listen in at those family gatherings to understand how pervasive was the devastation wreaked by that most questionable of wars, and how difficult life was for shell-shocked survivors and bereaved families. At the same time, we quickly became aware of the social significance of the red poppy — the widespread symbol of remembrance, of restrained respect for unknown lives lost in foreign fields. But that seemed to change in the early sixties when nonconformists like Joan Littlewood confronted the deep-seated reticence head on, in her case by ruthlessly satirising the flawed strategy of the top brass in Oh, What a Lovely War! Further unsettling questions were raised at school when we came across the gritty realism of the first world war poets, who had written convincingly at the time about the brutality and desperation of trench warfare. Nevertheless, closer to home, it was evident that many people still kept their views firmly under wraps, and perhaps for good reason.
As children, intrigued by the pictures of two young men that could be swivelled around in her double-sided sweetheart brooch, we learned of the inconsolable loss to Lizzie of her first fiancé, who died in France early on in the war; and, of course, behind her resolute façade, we could see the sadness in Lizzie’s eyes when she — or indeed anyone else — mentioned her few years of marriage to our grandfather, who was not just hit in the head by enemy fire at the Battle of Loos but, quite incredibly, also gassed there by his own side, and then discharged at a later date with a large scar on his scalp and damaged tissue in his lungs; and, to add to that, we knew of the grief for the eldest of her brothers, who survived WW1 only to succumb to chronic infection shortly afterwards. The letters, postcards and other messages — from her fiancé Bobbie Rice; from Irma Andrieux, who gave shelter to British soldiers in her home behind the battle lines of the Somme, and who wrote in French of the unbearable chagrin that Lizzie would be feeling; from friends and acquaintances, who subscribed sympathetically to Lizzie’s evocative book of autographs and drawings; from her brother Edward George Copeland, sending silk for a skirt while he waited in India for his demobilisation papers; and the many more from her husband Edward Joseph McLeay, during his declining months in a TB sanatorium— together they provide a remarkable testimony to those whose lives were cut short; and also to Lizzie, a very determined woman.
The loss of the men whom Lizzie loved resonates closely with the experience recounted by Vera Brittain in her autobiography, Testament of Youth — that anguished requiem for a lost generation. Vera Brittain describes in her book how, when sitting in St Paul’s cathedral one day in 1916, the inscription under a nearby painting by Watts — “Will the night soon pass?” — caused her to wonder how many other women there at the service, numbed and bewildered by blow after blow, were asking a similar question. Although my grandmother was unlikely to have been in St Paul’s on that day, and the men in Lizzie’s life were not commissioned officers but regular soldiers and volunteers, her situation was particularly befitting nonetheless. She too will have asked, many times, if and when the darkness would lift. Just like Vera, Lizzie had to stand by helplessly when those she cared for so deeply were sent into danger— she too looked on as her fiancé took the future that they were planning together with him to the front, and then again as her brother carried away some of her past.
In a sense, these Letters to Lizzie are just fragments of a fuller picture. Perhaps that is always how it is with a chronicle of war and its consequences. Like the Bayeux tapestry, Lizzie’s correspondence needs to be stitched together in some way in order to make sense of the events that unfurled, and to tie in the various vignettes that were stored away — the picture post card from Sergeant Bobbie Rice, with his men on Salisbury Plain at the beginning of the war in 1914; the messages in French from the Western Front, concerning Bobbie’s friend George McLeay; the note from the Royal Engineers at the end of 1916, rebuffing the rumour that Edward George Copeland was a casualty in Mesopotamia; the letter posted later on from the near-mutinous Poona Garrison, just after the signing of the armistice in 1918; and the small chits that accompanied her brother’s posthumous medals, complete with the detachable return slips that went unacknowledged, hinting at a deep resentment over the loss of a young life to disease and the callous refusal to attribute his sickness to war service.
What can it have been like for Lizzie during that war… imagining that her fiancé Bobbie might never come home, or wondering if her brother Edward George would ever be the same again? What’s more, what can it have been like trying to track their every move far from home, waiting to hear who had survived the latest battle, even learning after the event of a hideous wound or a life-threatening disease? There is clearly a story to piece together, sad though it is, and one that is much more than the sum of its parts.
Like so many others, Lizzie faced one tragedy after another, both during the war and afterwards. Nevertheless, when the time arrived, she challenged the petty-minded decisions that tried to brush aside the third of the forfeited lives, that of her husband Edward Joseph, the younger brother of Bobbie’s friend George. Lizzie persevered with her appeals until the Minister himself changed his mind, whereupon she was awarded the widow’s pension to which she was entitled. Indeed, Lizzie made history in her own unassuming and steadfast way. As the later letters show, her case was a turning point, and her great resolve meant that, for many other women in the same position — whose husbands did not die of their injuries during the war, but some time afterwards — they too would benefit from Lizzie’s persistence, and receive the financial support needed to bring up their fatherless children.
Reconciling the two Lizzies was always a challenge, especially when we were young— it is never easy for children to re-imagine how their grandparents might have been in their prime. On the one hand, there was our resplendent Grandma whom we saw every week, who was ahead of her time in some ways given that she always had a steady and responsible job when we knew her (before retiring, she was the Company Secretary of a North London auction house), who liked a smoke, and who studied form in the racing papers in her sitting room early in the morning (I can remember taking the betting slip with a few silver coins down to the bookies — but only if I caught the 313 green Country bus into London early enough to get to her house well before the first race). On the other hand, there was the Lizzie before our time, a young widow with two small and sickly children who must have been at her wits’ end on many occasions, yet still strong-minded enough to fight a landmark appeal that improved the rights of women, and who held on to her mementos and photos and — above all — the letters that she received, which leave behind this remarkable record not only of the hard times but also of the minutiae of everyday life, all cast in the long shadow of WW1.
Bobbie & George
Like Lizzie, Bobbie was brought up near the Holloway Road in Islington. His full name was Robert Douglas Rice. A few years before WW1, he had joined the 2nd Battalion of the Cameronians, an old regiment that had been refashioned as the Scottish Rifles in the late 1800s. Somewhat confusingly, the convention from then on was to refer unofficially to the 1st Battalion as ‘The Cameronians’, and to the 2nd Battalion as ‘The Scottish Rifles’.
Maybe his given names, Robert Douglas, hint at a Scottish connection — who knows if this was the case? But what we do know is that, by 1911, Bobbie had enlisted with the Scottish Rifles at their Colchester barracks. In the following year they were posted to Malta, where Bobbie can be seen sporting a neat moustache and proudly wearing the tartan plaid in his dress uniform.
Bobbie Rice reached the rank of Sergeant by the time WW1 began. He was friendly with another Sergeant in the same battalion, my great uncle George. In September 1914 they both returned from Malta to Salisbury Plain as the Scottish Rifles prepared for action, and they served together during the first of the major planned offensives on the Western Front.
A Message from Salisbury Plain
Bobbie Rice, Lizzie’s first fiancé — a brief message on a postcard sent from his army camp near Winchester, 10th October 1914
Dear Lizzie — Just a PC hoping you are in the Best of Health as am the same myself. Hope to see you this weekend. — Love Bobbie
This photograph of Bobbie’s platoon, with war horses in the background, was taken on Salisbury Plain as the regiment prepared for action in France. It was printed as a post card — the one reproduced here, which Lizzie kept in her blue box for all those years. Sadly, Bobbie lost his life a few months later, in March 1915, at the Battle of Neuve-Chapelle. Now, when I hold Bobbie’s post card up to the light in order to read it, knowing the outcome, I can sense the unbearable despair approaching, the moment when Lizzie’s world will be turned upside down.
Shortly after the battle, in April 1915, a clerk at the Scottish Rifles’ headquarters in Hamilton opened an account book, and entered a record of the date and place of Bobbie’s death, his name and regimental number, and a calculation of his outstanding pay and personal effects — in a bespoke cash ledger, one that accounts for the fallen, a roll of honour in pounds, shillings and pence.
An amount of £25-14-7 was made payable to Bobbie’s sole legatee, his mother Rosina Rice. Later, when an additional War Gratuity was awarded to all those who had seen service, this too — £8 for a sergeant — was recorded in Bobbie’s account, and the final payment was made in July 1919.
As mentioned, through Bobbie’s friendship with George, Lizzie went on to meet George’s younger brother Edward Joseph, my grandfather, whom she married soon after the first world war. In the 1950s, on the way to Lizzie’s house one lunchtime, my father decided to call on great uncle George. We sat with him in the parlour, as he hit the coals with a long-handled brass poker. Elsie was out the back somewhere, and my father prompted George to talk to me about the Somme, which had been mentioned that week at school. Even then, I was half aware that this was a subject better avoided, given that so many had not survived, or, in the case of those that did manage to come back, had not survived for long — except for the few like the ebullient George, who made light of his gammy leg and smiled his way through the next 50 years.
I still remember how, on that particular day, great uncle George became uncharacteristically sombre. It was his hope and aspiration, he said, that future generations would never have to experience what he had been through. His description of the mud in the waterlogged dugouts was frightening, intentionally so, and this — without a doubt — was the moment when I understood that the trench warfare in which Bobbie had met his end was nothing short of hell on earth.
This is what happened, it seems. At the beginning of November 1914, with six divisions of the British army already on the Western Front, the 2nd Battalion of the Scottish Rifles left Southampton for the French dockyard of Le Havre in order to join them. They made the crossing on the SS Cornishman, a White Star Line steamship built to carry livestock, which had been requisitioned as a troopship and horse transporter once before, in the Boer War, and was now put to the same use again in WW1. The Battalion stayed near the French port for a few days, in №6 Rest Camp, before taking a train to St Omer. From there, they gradually made their way to the front, finding overnight billets along the way. Their first experience of the trenches was on 14th November 1914, when the Scottish Rifles took over from a French regiment for three days at Messines, which is just to the south of Ypres. Like a rite of passage, the first snow fell on their second day on the frontline and the temperature dropped like a stone.
On 17th November, they moved southwards to Estaires, within easy reach of the trench system that lay to the north of Neuve-Chapelle. From then on, the Scottish Rifles would spend a few days at a time in action in the Chapigny sector dugouts, followed by a short break away from the front line, mainly in billets at Laventie, sometimes in the 23rd Infantry Brigade’s Reserve at La Flinque and occasionally in the 8th Division’s Reserve at Pont Rinchon ….. after which they would go straight back into the trenches again. The usual rota was for the Scottish Rifles to relieve another of the units in their own Brigade, most often a battalion of the Devonshires, and sometimes either the Middlesex Regiment or the West Yorkshires. At Chapigny, the trenches were directly facing enemy lines and in close range of snipers—the Scottish Rifles’ War Diary records deaths and injuries from rifle fire almost every day in the run up to the Spring offensive on the Western Front.
On 10th March 1915, the War Diary entry for the planned breakthrough at Neuve-Chapelle begins as follows: “At 2am, marched across country to Signpost corner — single file — formed up in trenches at 5am”. Two hours later, the gunners started an intense artillery bombardment of the enemy’s positions all along the frontline, which lasted just over half an hour. The shelling was followed immediately by an infantry assault, and the village of Neuve-Chapelle was taken quickly, along with prisoners and machine-guns. The British Commander in France then sent in the 5th Cavalry Brigade to build on the expected breakthrough, but the attack collapsed when they ran into enemy defences that had not been targeted earlier by the British artillery. The new technology of aerial photography, which was used for mapping the initial advance, had failed to identify some of the enemy’s strong defensive points with sufficient accuracy. In addition, the military histories now tell us, the continued use of traditional means of communication meant that the British regiments were unable to keep in touch with each other. Chaos reigned, and the death toll was enormous.
Before the troops were sent over the top of their trenches, long-barrelled howitzers were supposed to blast a way through the enemy’s defences. However, it is now thought that some of the big guns only arrived in position on the afternoon before the attack, which was too late for their sights to be registered, due to the poor light. As a result, the way ahead was not cleared sufficiently during the early morning barrage in the Scottish Rifle’s sector, and the troops were held up by the enemy’s barbed wire entanglements when the advance began. As they tried in vain to cut their way through, two undetected machine gun emplacements brought down the men in their hundreds. The catastrophe that befell the 2nd Battalion of the Scottish Rifles that day has been well-documented, and it is made particularly memorable in the 2016 book by Allan Mallinson, Too Important for the Generals, in which the fate of the Scottish Rifles is singled out to epitomise the failure of the uncompromising policy of ‘pressing ahead regardless’, even against overwhelming odds. Nonetheless, there were many fearless acts of bravery, duly recognised afterwards, as the troops tried to hold on with great determination to whatever positions had been gained. Of more than 600 men in the Scottish Rifles who went into battle on 10th March, it is reckoned that only 143 were still standing three days later. Their dead, wounded and missing included 22 commissioned officers and 29 sergeants, Bobbie Rice among them.
It was not just the 2nd Scottish Rifles who were decimated. In total, of the 40,000 Allied troops at Neuve-Chapelle, about 7,400 British and 4,200 Indian deaths and casualties were recorded, including those who went missing in action. At the time, it was claimed that the enemy’s losses were even higher, but it is now thought that the numbers were similar on the two sides.
The reports in the press at home presented a more nuanced picture. On 12th March 1915, the newspaper on which Lizzie’s father worked as a printer — the Evening Standard — led on its front page with “Great British Onslaught”. A week later, on 19th March, a detailed eye-witness account appeared in the Daily Telegraph, under the headline “Battle of Neuve Chapelle: Splendid Story of British Heroism”, hinting again at British military supremacy in the trenches. Only one phrase, which comes at the very end of the column, foreshadows the later realisation of the monstrously high price that was paid — “In the fighting that has taken place during the last week, our losses have, of course, been heavy”. In the House of Lords, Kitchener conveyed much the same information in a similarly cagey way, trying his best to spin good news out of bad — “Our casualties during the three days’ fighting, though probably severe, are not nearly so heavy as those suffered by the enemy” (Hansard, 15 March 1915). For Lizzie, at home in London, any attempt to make sense of the various headlines and communiqués must have been a nightmare, given the authorities’ never-ending tussle between the urge to talk up the news and the instinct to suppress it. Yet, for all the bombast, the telling revelation was there to be seen — the losses were undoubtably “heavy”, and, as Lord Kitchener put it, “probably severe”.
The British captured just 1.2 miles of ground at Neuve-Chapelle, a pattern often repeated on the Western Front. And for that, as we know, Lizzie’s fiancé Bobbie was dead.
Amongst those who survived was Bobbie’s close friend George McLeay, my great uncle, who remained nearby for another twelve months, moving in and out of the trenches to the north of Neuve-Chapelle on a regular basis. The dangers were ever present. On 30th March 1915, not long after the disastrous battle, a high explosive shell pitched into one of the Scottish Rifles’ dugouts in which there were eleven men, killing five and wounding four. The War Diary then adds, with an almost discernible sense of relief … ‘and two were untouched’.
The diary also tells us that the full fighting force of the 2nd Scottish Rifles was replenished almost immediately by a new draft of over 500 men and officers. However, the battalion suffered more casualties during the next assault, which was carried out on 9th May 1915 at Aubers Ridge, about four miles from Neuve-Chapelle. The advance began at 6.30am, and later in the day the enemy’s front line trench was captured. The Scottish Rifles lost 58 of their soldiers, and another 100 were wounded. During the initial advance from their assembly point to the firing trenches, the troops had to cross open ground where enfilade fire was brought to bear on the entire battalion, with enemy gunners strafing the whole length of the advancing column. At dusk, the survivors withdrew to their designated bolthole and remained there during the next day, whereupon they were required to relieve the Middlesex Regiment for a further five-day stint in №2 trench. Reading such detail in the War Diary certainly brings home the draining intensity of the rifleman’s burden in WW1.
For Bobbie’s friend George, the Battle of Aubers Ridge introduced a new dimension to his war — the close proximity of his younger brother, for a short while at least. After the carnage at Neuve-Chapelle, George had been tasked with conducting the volunteer reinforcements from Le Havre to the front. As if it were predestined, amongst the latest arrivals waiting to be escorted by George was none other than the young Edward Joseph McLeay, my grandfather, who had just signed up with the Poplar & Stepney Rifles. Edward’s first engagement in action was at Festubert, in April 1915, a month before the Battle of Aubers Ridge. A few weeks later, the 2nd Scottish Rifles and the Poplar & Stepney Rifles formed part of the same hastily-assembled army, made up of the survivors from the initial Expeditionary Force in Flanders — often referred to as the Old Contemptibles — together with the newcomers known forever more as Kitchener’s Volunteers. As it happens, Edward’s company was held in reserve during the fighting at Aubers Ridge, away from the front, and they moved back to Festubert immediately afterwards. George, on the other hand, was to spend ten more months in the trenches in the vicinity of Neuve-Chapelle.
At the end of March 1916, the Scottish Rifles left the area and took the train south, in their case to new billets not far from the battlefields of the Somme. Somehow, George found his way to the village of Molliens-au-Bois. One of the campaign records sets the scene for us:- “On a bitterly cold day, the Battalion marched eleven miles to Molliens-au-Bois, … the outstanding feature was that, from the high ground above, there was got [a] glimpse of the illuminations provided nightly … all along the battle front.”
Eventually, Lizzie received a brief note from the village. But it was not from George. It had been sent by a young French woman, Irma Andrieux — George had been billeted in the house where Irma lived with her mother.
A Postcard from Molliens-au-Bois
Irma Andrieux, writing in French — a post card from Molliens-au-Bois, La Somme, April 1916
Mademoiselle — Nous avons en ce moment le sergent chez nous. Il est en bonne santé et nous sommes heureuses mère et moi de recevoir chez nous ceux qui luttent pour la grande victoire. — Je vous envoie ma photo en face de la porte. — Je vous embrasse. Votre amie Française, Irma Andrieux
We have the sergeant with us right now. He is in good health, and mother and I are happy to welcome into our home those who are fighting for the great victory. I am sending you my picture in front of the gateway. With love and kisses. Your French friend, Irma Andrieux
We can imagine Lizzie’s surprise at receiving that card, out of the blue, reporting that le sergent George is fit and well, and conveying a deeply felt appreciation for those who have joined the French in their struggle. Moreover, it is not an anonymous official telegram, but a post card from deepest France, picturing the benevolent Irma with others in front of the École et Mairie — a building that announces proudly, on a large slab standing at the front of the roof, that it serves both as the village school and the town hall, a unified symbol of the community under threat.
Interestingly, we do not need to guess or deduce what it may have been like then at Molliens-au-Bois. The US infantry set up its divisional headquarters in the nearby château later in the war, and another visitor to the village, some time after le sergent George, was the American poet soldier John Allen Wyeth. He published a volume of verse as an autobiographical account of his service in France and Belgium, detailing his duties as a military interpreter travelling from town to town. Although he lapsed at times into doggerel rhymes worthy of William McGonagall, like ‘trucks’ with ‘ducks’, John Allen Wyeth still had an unwavering eye for singular detail, and his poems leave behind a lucid impression of the rural setting at Molliens-au-Bois, with a hint of nostalgia for a vanishing world beyond the battlefront — the mud-walled barns, the fire in the hearth of a brick farm house, the occasional farm worker and the dirty village pond, all painted with a palette of green, grey and brown, plus a touch of blue and violet.
George would probably have seen the ‘mud-walled barns’ and ‘brick farmhouses’ of Molliens-au-Bois for the first time on 3rd April 1916, when the Scottish Rifles moved from their arrival quarters on the Somme, at St Vaast-en-Chaussée, to new billets centred on the village of St Gratien, which is just two miles from the Andrieux home. The 2nd Battalion then went on to spend three months some ten miles further east, during which time they alternated between the front line trenches at Authuille and rest periods that were spent mostly in the woods at Hénencourt, in one of several army camps that were set up there. On occasions, the troops did not return to the camp in the woods, but were placed elsewhere instead, in alternative billets in nearby Millencourt or Albert — perhaps it is then that George returned to the Andrieux family, with whom he seems to have struck up a firm friendship.
In May 1916, a football tournament was organised for the entire 8th Division in the woodland camps behind the front line. The Scottish Rifles made it to the final, which took place shortly after a tour of duty in the Authuille trench. They beat the Divisional Cyclists 3–1. The odds are that George would have been in the team, as he was an all-round sportsman — a pentathlon athlete, a boxer, an excellent swimmer (one of his medals was for saving a drowning soldier) and, perhaps unsurprisingly, a competitive rifle shot (he won Silver in the King’s prize at Bisley).
This period was the prelude to the Battle of the Somme, which started near the city of Albert on 1st July 1916. The Scottish Rifles took part in the advance on two outlying villages, La Boisselle and Pozières, situated next to each other on the main road running from Albert towards Belgium. The battalion spent the night of 30 June in the assembly trenches, and then they were in action all day at La Boisselle. They remained on duty throughout the next night, defending the Brigade frontage while the other battalions withdrew — the records show that George’s unit eventually went into the woods to bivouac for a few hours at 9am on 2nd July. In the afternoon, having lost seven dead and over 60 injured at La Boisselle, those still standing marched about 12 miles across country and then travelled on the local railway to their overnight billets at Yzeux. The orders were to move back north, so the Scottish Rifles crossed the river to Crouy-sur-Somme and on 4th July 1916 they left by train for Barlin. On that same day, La Boisselle was secured as a base for the continued advance on the neighbouring village of Pozières, and the horrors of the Somme offensive continued until well into November 1916.
Some months after sending the picture post card from Molliens-au-Bois, Irma felt the need to get in touch again with Lizzie in order to ask after George, albeit worried that her letter might rekindle Lizzie’s grief for Bobbie.
A Compelling Letter from the Somme
Irma Andrieux, Molliens-au-Bois, 10th October 1916, asking for news about George.
Ma chère amie — Vous voulez bien m’excuser à vous écrire, peut être est ce pour renouveler votre chagrin. Mais sur les instances répété de mère, je me decide, nous voudrions savoir ce qui est devenu notre cher grand ami, le Sergent Georges McLeay. Il y a un très long temp que nous n’avons eu de ses nouvelles. — Serez vous assez aimable chère amie Anglaise pour me donner les nouvelles. — Chez nous il fait terrible en ce moment. La bataille de la Somme est effroyable. Il est impossible à croire, ceux qui n’auront vu cette lutte. Nous n’avons pour nous soutenir la grande confiance en la victoire proche. Mais malheureusement nous, comme vous, aurons à regretté la mort d’êtres chers. — Notre petite village est bien triste aussi depuis trois mois nous avons à deplorer la mort de plusieurs de vingt ans, qui luttent à quelques kilometres de nous vers Péronne. — Maintenant chère amie il me faut conclure en faisant mes meilleurs voeux pour votre santé. — Bonnes amitiés de votre amie Française. Irma Andrieux — PS. Présentez mes amitiés à la famille du Sergent Georges.
My dear friend — Forgive me for writing to you, if perhaps it renews your grief. I have decided, given my mother’s repeated requests, that we would like to know what has become of our dear friend, Sergeant George Mcleay. It has been a very long time since we heard from him. — Would you be kind enough my dear English friend to send us his news? — Here it is dreadful at the moment. The battle of the Somme is appalling. For those who have not witnessed this fighting, it is impossible to believe. All we have now to sustain ourselves is great confidence in the coming victory. But unfortunately we, like you, will have to mourn the deaths of loved ones. — Our small village is very sad, as in the last three months we have had to lament the death of several twenty year olds, fighting a few kilometres from us towards Péronne. — Now, dear friend, I must conclude by wishing you well. — Kind regards from your French friend. Irma Andrieux — PS. Please give my regards to Sergeant George's family.This request for news about George is much more than that — it is a haunting message from the past, an eye witness account written with the Battle of the Somme raging nearby. Those who have not witnessed the horror, Irma says, would simply not believe it. Her little village is filled with sadness, she adds, as many of their young men have perished while fighting close by, near Péronne. To keep ourselves going, Irma implores, all we can do is hold onto our firm belief in an imminent Allied victory.
Sad to say, there is no further correspondence from Molliens-au-Bois amongst Lizzie’s papers. However, one month after Irma sent her letter of 10th October 1916, George was awarded the Military Medal for an act of great bravery — one of the first to receive the new gallantry award for the ordinary ranks. The conferment was announced in the supplement to the Official Gazette on 10th November 1916.
I did not hear directly from my great uncle about this critical moment in his war, when he was badly injured. We rarely saw a sombre side to George, except on the one occasion when he described the ghastly, sodden conditions in the trenches for my benefit. The full story behind the award of the Military Medal was recounted by the battalion’s Regimental Sergeant Major to George’s son, who wrote it out afterwards. This account has been kept by his grandson, which is certainly providential as there exists no other version — detailed citations for brave deeds were not entered in the field records by the Scottish Rifles, and information other than the recipient’s name, rank and number was seldom given in the Official Gazette with respect to the new Military Medal, even though it had long been customary to provide a precise description for other gallantry awards.
On the day in question, the battalion was advancing towards enemy lines when it was pinned down in shell holes by a machine gunner who was traversing his fire across the battlefield. As the stream of gunfire moved away from George’s direction he leapt out of the hole and charged the machine gun post with rifle and fixed bayonet, diving over the gun and killing the gunner. However, the magazine had been swung back towards George at the last minute, and the bullets hit his legs. The advance was able to continue as a result of George’s assault, but he was thought to have perished, and was reported as killed in action at the end of the day. In fact, he lay wounded in no-mans land overnight, and the blood loss caused gangrene that fused the bones in his right leg. The miracle is that George McLeay actually survived. Even his leg was saved, although it remained fixed rigid for the rest of his life, and from then on he had to wear a braced boot with an elevated heel and sole. To be frank, that is what you first notice as a child — the platform shoe and the knee that will not bend. Now, however, I mainly see George’s ready smile in my mind’s eye, and think about an entire generation that kept its silence, put a lid on its bravery, and rarely dwelt on the horrors of war.
The account left by George McLeay's son, following his briefing by one of the Regimental Sergeant Majors at a Cameronian reunion... the battalion had advanced towards the German lines but was pinned down in shell holes by a machine gun post. The German machine gunner was traversing his fire back and forth. As the gun traversed away from George he leapt out of the shell hole and charged the machine gun with rifle and bayonet. When the machine gunner saw him approaching he traversed his gun back towards George, who dived over the gun killing the gunner with his bayonet through the neck. Bullets from the machine gun had, however, hit George in the legs causing massive wounds in his right leg and flesh wounds in his left leg. The advance was able to continue but George lay wounded in no-mans-land for 30 hours and was reported killed in action. He contracted gangrene in his wounds, but his legs were saved although his right leg remained crippled and fixed rigid for the rest of his life.
As for Irma Andrieux, remarkably I have happened across her in the eloquent war diaries of a certain John Duncan McRae, an Australian soldier with a keen eye for the ladies, and yet another visitor to the village of Molliens-au-Bois during the first world war.
“Contay, May 19th 1917. Our Kits were inspected this morning and then I had a splash in the Creek that runs alongside our village. It is a beautiful little streamlet bordered with trees and with lilac bushes covered with sweet-smelling flowers, and the coolness from the sheltering boughs is altogether delightful, even on the warmest day. After lunch we had a route march for about six miles, passing through the villages of Esbart & Beaucourt. After that I walked to Molliens-aux-bois and visited a café house for tea.”
“There I met a sweet Mademoiselle (of 21 years). She is very pretty, with pink cheeks and bright eyes and quite captivated me for the time being. I promised to return and see her again before we left Contay.”
“May 22nd 1917. No parade in morning on account of the rain. In the evening I went to Molliens-aux-bois and had a café and biscuits at a diminutive Estaminet. After that I met M’selle Irma and spent an hour at her place. I met her mother and quite a number of others who seemed to regard me as quite a curio. I believe that no Australians have ever been billeted here before and so the appearance of one is quite a novelty. I like M’selle partly on account of the fact that she supplies me with cider and café gratis.”
“May 23rd 1917. Usual drill in morning and half-holiday in afternoon, I walked to Molliens-aux-bois and visited a quiet home in a side street for a cup of café. I love visiting these places, for by so doing, one is enabled to see into the inner side of a French home and to hear, from the lips of those most deeply concerned, opinions upon the war. And besides one’s heart is often set going pit-a-pat by the sweet smiles of some mademoiselle. But at this particular place my expectations did not tally with my realisations. Instead of a smiling ‘damoiselle’, an elderly, rather bulky old dame prepared my coffee, and when I was drinking it she asked me about my doings etc. She then proceeded to tell me how dreadful she thought the war was and how she wished it would end. For, she told me, three of her sons had gone to the trenches, and brushing aside a tear from her eyes, she said that one had been Killed in September 1914, and she pointed, half in sorrow, half in pride, to the picture on the kitchen wall of a fine, strapping young soldier, in the prime of existence; that was what the war had cost her. And every home in France is the same. I said ‘good afternoon’ to Madame with a heavy heart, despite my endeavours otherwise.”
“Mademoiselle Irma-Marie received my next visit, and we enjoyed one another’s chatter for a couple of hours. While there I was once more reminded that there is a war on. A neighbour came running through Irma’s house and across the street in a great flurry. The two letters in her hand suggested the cause of her haste and Irma showed me the photos of her [the neighbour’s] two sons, both of whom were at the Front.”
Two days later, John met another charming young lady in a nearby village, and added a further name and address to the margin of his diary. He did not return to Molliens-au-Bois again. He was wounded some months later and died near Dickebusch, on the outskirts of Ypres, in September 1917.
It is thanks to the erudite John Duncan McRae that we are still able, after all this time, to have a truly existential glimpse into the life of the kindhearted Irma Andrieux, who looked after Bobbie’s great friend George and wrote so movingly to Lizzie.
Verses and Drawings
In 1915, Lizzie invited a few friends and acquaintances to contribute to her autograph book — the entries include some small drawings, as well as a few verses and other messages. Unsurprisingly, some of these allude to the loss of Bobbie, the first having been written in Lizzie’s little book by Vera Wright, with a title that hovers somewhere between an encouraging pat on the back and an exhorting slap on the wrist.
The second, initialled DH, hints at Lizzie’s solitude. What is more, if we were to take it literally, it also seems to convey the interest of a new admirer, although it seems more likely to be a popular rhyme that was in common use at the time.
And there are a few more playful entries, such as the following couplet.
Looking now at the small, leather-bound album, it invokes a more carefree image of the young Lizzie, as she collected these sentimental rhymes from her friends in north London and at her workplace in the city.
Further on in the book, Cecil Dando added a carefully crafted caricature of an Edwardian gentleman. It would be an agreeable bonus if this were a self portrait of CR Dando himself, but it looks very much as though it could be a sketch of George V at the races.
On another page, Edgar Haynes provides a trenchant quotation: “There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries” — the words of Brutus in Shakespeare’s Julius Ceasar. Was Edgar thinking of military strategy during the opening months of the war when he wrote this, or were the opportunities to be grabbed more likely to be political — women’s suffrage perhaps? Or maybe something more personal?
Elsewhere in Lizzie’s book, Nellie Hollick painted her own scintillating likeness alongside the verses that she penned, which bring to mind early ragtime lyrics — the wording is reminiscent of the street talk in I ain’t got nobody, which was composed in the same year, 1915, and in slightly later jazz standards such as T’aint nobody’s business if I do, from 1922.
Yet another meticulous contribution is a fine miniature painting of a yacht that has some of the features of a Thames sailing barge, with its distinctive top sail, although it is a much smaller version, for one mariner only.
Yachting in halcyon days, the jazz age to come, the King George V stakes at Royal Ascot — these 1915 pictures in Lizzie’s book suggest a parallel world, a very long way from Islington. More likely, they provide a degree of reassurance in chilling times, a reminder of the ordered society that was. After all, it was already clear that this war was far more than an overseas expedition — the first zeppelin raid on London was in January 1915 and the submarine blockade of Great Britain began one month later.
Interestingly, the final entry in Lizzie’s autograph book reflects on the economic impact of the ensuing attacks on merchant shipping. When food supplies were gravely depleted by the U-boat action during the following winter, flour became increasingly hard to find. Steps were taken to introduce a scheme of voluntary rationing by encouraging people to use home-grown ingredients or other substitutes in their baking, and government posters began to appear, calling upon the population to “Eat Less Bread” as a way of reducing the number of convoys, and thus of limiting the exposure of the fleet.
Further government advice encouraged people to avoid waste by buying bread by weight rather than by the loaf, and the Ministry of Food made a sidelong attempt to influence bread consumption by requiring loaves to be at least 12 hours old when sold. There was even an exhortation to eat more slowly, and only when absolutely hungry. In retrospect, it is not surprising that the following adage was penned into Lizzie’s little book by Vera Wright at the later date of June 1917, reflecting sardonically on the continuing shortages:
The worsening situation led to the introduction of rationing, when legal restrictions were placed on the amount of sugar that families could buy; after that, rationing was extended to meat and dairy products. All in all, these few entries in Lizzie’s book were witness to the growing uncertainty surrounding life on the home front throughout the war, giving testimony to the undeniable craving for a return to normality.
Edward George’s Story
Lizzie’s brother Edward George became an indentured messenger boy with the Post Office when he left school at the age of 14. Two years later, in 1912, he was an assistant postmaster, and his name cropped up again one year on in a hand-written list of Post Office appointments, this time as a newly qualified telegraphist. During the long summer of that year, 1913, he signed up as a volunteer with the Post Office Rifles, accruing 94 days of part-time service in the next eighteen months. But instead of staying with his territorial unit after the outbreak of war, Edward George took the spirited step of enlisting as a regular ‘Sapper’ in the Royal Engineers. His training as a telegraphist meant that he was well suited to join their Signals division.
The entry of Turkey into the first world war led to the campaign in the Dardanelles to cut off the southern access to Constantinople (now known as Istanbul), with a view to seizing the Ottoman Empire’s capital. The Strait of the Dardanelles is a narrow waterway that joins the Aegean to the Sea of Marmara, and the first attempts to force a way through the Turkish defences there had been a humiliating failure. Winston Churchill was held responsible, and he was demoted straight away from his post as First Lord of the Admiralty. Reinforcements were required for the campaign, and Edward George’s unit — the 13th Signals Company — was amongst those assigned to strengthen the Expeditionary Force. They were in the second wave of landings on the Gallipoli Peninsula, but the entire campaign was abandoned soon afterwards, and the whole army was evacuated to Egypt. The troops then moved to the new front in Mesopotamia (modern day Iraq), where they continued fighting against the Ottoman forces until the end of the war.
The 13th Signals assembled for their training at Bulford Camp on Salisbury Plain in January 1915. Before embarking for the Dardanelles, Edward George would have heard the news of Bobbie’s death in the Battle of Neuve-Chapelle, and then said a distressing farewell to Lizzie before leaving for the front himself. The Sappers boarded their troopship at Avonmouth on 15th June. They docked in Alexandria in Egypt en route, and from there they steamed north into the Aegean Sea, heading for the British base at Mudros, a small port on the Greek island of Lemnos.
The first entries in the 13th Signals’ War Diary describe how, on arrival in Mudros, they immediately set about installing the latest telegraphic equipment for the use of the Naval and Military office located in the port. Nonetheless, time-honoured methods of delivering messages were not forgotten — a number of horses soon arrived for the Signals Company, together with their handlers. The crucial contribution expected of Edward George and his fellow Sappers to ensure the army’s ability to communicate on and off the battlefield still relied on these traditional modes of transport, with messages delivered by despatch riders on horseback if pedal cycles or motorcycles were precluded. The presence of the despatch riders turned out to be more than a contingency, given the regularity with which the telegraph wires were brought down — by enemy bombardment, stormy weather, local agitators, or simply by troops on the move with their pack mules and draught horses.
The 13th Signals landed on the tip of the Gallipoli Peninsula at 4am on 17th July 1915, having made the crossing from Mudros to the Dardanelles on a transporter known as The Whitby Abbey. There were 83 men and officers in the advance party, including Edward George. They disembarked onto an old collier, The River Clyde, which had been converted into a troop-landing ship and deliberately run aground near the Turkish fort of Sedd-el-Bahr at Cape Helles, which is on the tip of the peninsula. Holes had been cut in The River Clyde’s steel hull to provide ports from which the troops could emerge on to gangways down to landing stages by the beach.
From there, they marched along the coast, passing the long lines of tethered war horses, those innocent witnesses to the deadly chaos to come, much celebrated in the meantime by the writer Michael Morpurgo. When the Sappers reached the divisional headquarters that had been established one week earlier in the newly-captured Gully Ravine, Edward George and his fellow telegraphists in the 13th Signals took over the buzzer and telephone circuits, while others in their unit set about laying new communications to the frontline. The Company’s War Diary tells us that these wires were destroyed almost immediately by the enemy, and had to be relaid under heavy shelling.
Although the Sappers were armed as infantrymen, and apparently carried the Short Magazine Lee Enfield rifle (known as the ‘Smelly’), we do not know if and when Edward George was in the direct line of fire himself — sometimes the Signallers were required to take up vulnerable forward positions, in order to provide information on enemy targets for the artillery, instead of remaining in the telegraph office at headquarters. Whatever his role, it proved to be a very challenging beginning for Edward George. On his third day at Gallipoli, he was docked some pay. Any lack of concentration by telegraphists was dealt with harshly, as neglect of duty, even though fatigue and debility were the predictable results of night-time landings and constant bombing. Indeed, the War Diary of the 13th Signals Company records a separate incident where the operators in one of the regimental telegraph offices were all found to be asleep on duty. We do not know the outcome in that particular case, but it is on record that, on another occasion, one of the telephonists in Edward George’s own unit — Sapper Reynolds — was courtmartialed for falling asleep on duty and sentenced to the cruel retribution known as ‘field punishment’. As it happens, Edward George’s own brush with authority seems to have been of only limited consequence — he was upgraded after a few weeks, although the appropriate increase on the Royal Engineers’ supplementary pay scale, from ‘proficient’ (1/- per week) to ‘skilled’ (1s4d per week), was not paid until later.
After their two week initiation, the 13th Signals were taken back to the safe haven of Mudros, for four days’ respite. This was in preparation for another dawn disembarkation, which took place on 5th August 1915 at Anzac Cove. The first task early the next day was to wire the British troops up to General Monash’s Australian Brigade as the joint August offensive began, and also to the New Zealand Infantry and Mounted Rifles, while other ANZAC forces launched an effective diversionary attack known as the Battle of Lone Pine.
Three weeks later, at the end of August, Edward George’s unit moved up the coast to Lala Baba, a hill overlooking Suvla Bay, where the main disembarkation by the Allied forces had taken place on the day after the Sappers had arrived at Anzac Cove.
The Suvla Bay invasion was almost as chaotic as the costly landings earlier in the year, and led ultimately to the Allies’ complete withdrawal from the Dardanelles. As mentioned, the Gallipoli campaign has gone down in history as a tragic disaster. The toll in casualties was extraordinarily high. One week after their arrival at Anzac Cove, the 13th Signals Company sent a wire requesting another 27 men, to replace those in the unit who had been injured or killed. The conditions were frightening, with wounded soldiers even caught up in bush fires started by the gunshots. Sniper attacks caused further casualties, including men with the 13th Signals. They had to learn quickly from experience — when a consignment of bamboo was delivered for use as telegraph poles, it was soon evident to the Signallers how easily these could provide the enemy artillery with clear markers of Allied positions.
Following Edward George’s departure from Avonmouth, several weeks went by before the family could read in the newspapers that another invasion of the Gallipoli peninsula was in the offing. A special despatch by Reuter’s, dated 23rd July 1915, talked along these lines under the headline “Gallipoli Waiting: New and Rapid Development Expected”. Intriguingly, the Reuter’s bulletin appeared in the papers after a two week delay, on 5th August, the very day that the 13th Signals made their landing at Anzac Cove, and one day before the mass landings that took place at nearby Suvla Bay.
Two weeks later, in the final edition of the Evening Standard on 19th August, and again in the morning papers on 20th August, the news broke that Lizzie and the family must have greatly feared — “New Landing in Gallipoli … Heavy Losses on Both Sides”.
In early October 1915, a statement to Parliament brought home the true scale of the calamity on Gallipoli, which Edward George was experiencing at close hand. The Under-Secretary for War reported on the large number of men in the Allied Expeditionary Force who either were killed, wounded or missing. It was calculated afterwards that about 35,900 Allied soldiers and sailors died at Gallipoli, and that the number of those wounded totalled 73,500, with a further 7,650 either missing or taken prisoner. As we know now, the Allied and Ottoman forces had quickly reached a hapless stalemate on the Gallipoli peninsula. The final evacuations were made from Suvla Bay at the end of December 1915, and from Cape Helles at the beginning of January 1916.
In the meantime, before the withdrawal of troops began, Edward George was admitted to a Field Ambulance on the beach, and he was then transferred to the Convalescence Depot in Egypt — the location was the Winter Palace Hotel in Luxor, which had been requisitioned for this purpose, and he spent about two months there recuperating beside the Nile.
Elsewhere in the Ottoman empire, in Mesopotamia, the Turkish army was putting up strong resistance on a second front. Early in the war, Indian and British troops had occupied the southern port of Basrah in order to safeguard oil supplies for warships. The Allied forces advanced up the Euphrates and the Tigris to guard against counter-attacks, but they carried on much further than necessary — nearly as far as Baghdad, some 400 miles to the north of Basrah — and were driven back. The Ottomans cut off the retreat at Kut and placed the Garrison on the Tigris under siege.
A relief force was put together with new regiments from Lahore and Meerut along with thousands of the British troops who had been in the Dardanelles, including the 13th Signals, who had to re-assemble and re-equip. Accordingly, when Edward George left the sick bay at the Winter Palace Hotel at Luxor, he rejoined his unit in Port Said, where they were collecting together horses, mules, wagons, motorcycles and other equipment. On 31st January 1916, the Company’s War Diary records the return of the invalids, specifying that one of the lieutenants, who was also rejoining following convalescence, “brought 63 men, some new and many back from sick leave,” adding that the Company then drew its “flags, 5 helios, 4 electric lamps and 10 watches from Ordnance.” Major Crocker, the commanding officer — now back in charge of the 13th Signals following an injury received in Gallipoli — was not at all satisfied that, at this point in time, his troops had the means to carry out their duties properly. He recorded his thoughts in the diary with an unusually uneasy comment, albeit concise and to the point — “My Company is not complete in either personnel, horses or equipment.”
Throughout the war, there are occasional references in the diary kept by Edward George’s unit to the various signalling devices needed to supplement the telegraph and the telephone, in addition to the semaphore system. Coded messages could be flashed at night using a Morse code key transmitter attached to an electric light, but only when power could be generated — oil lamps with shutters were an alternative, similarly employed for dusk to dawn communications. But a big disadvantage in both of these cases was that the beam could be seen from a wide angle, and the messages easily intercepted. The heliograph was much less diffuse, although only for daytime use. It was designed to transmit flashes of sunlight that were produced by interrupting a sunbeam reflection with a shutter, or by tilting the mirror up and down a few degrees at the push of a lever at the back of the instrument. The sender aligned the heliograph by siting the target’s reflection in a mirror, until the target disappeared into a bare spot at the centre of the mirror, after which the apparatus was adjusted again until the reflected sunbeam was also pointing at the target. The sun’s rays were cast back either directly from the mirror, or, if the sun was behind the sender, a second mirror was used to bounce the sunlight onwards from the main mirror. The Sappers were able to communicate over surprisingly long distances using these portable devices. Unquestionably, however, the 13th Signals Company would need far more than just five heliographs for daytime signalling and four lamps for signalling at night.
Despite the apparent lack of resources, the Company received orders to leave Port Said on 13th February 1916, and to take the train to Suez, where the men embarked on their troopship, The Kalyan, and headed for the Persian Gulf. After two weeks at sea, The Kalyan anchored overnight in Shatt-el-Arab — the confluence of the Euphrates and Tigris that flows into the Gulf — and then steamed up to Basrah the next day, where the troops moved into the military camp at Makina Masus. If Edward George was looking forward to a comfortable night’s sleep under the palm trees, he would have been disappointed — that first night, the camp was completely flooded by heavy rain.
Amongst the more famous arrivals in Basrah at this time were Gertrude Bell and TE Lawrence, who were both stationed at the British intelligence office in Cairo, and who have been credited with facilitating the subsequent Arab revolt against their Ottoman rulers. Gertrude Bell was sent from Cairo to Basrah as a political adviser, employed initially at Military Headquarters to draw maps that would help the British army advance towards Baghdad. She stayed on as a liaison officer into the 1920s, mediating between the British officials, the majority Shias in the south, the Sunnis in the central region, and the Kurds in the north. Lawrence of Arabia is more famous for his exploits between Damascus and Mecca later in the war. His mission to Basrah was to help relieve the Siege of Kut, supposedly by bribing Ottoman officials, but without success on this first occasion. A third noted historical figure also arrived in Basrah then — Clement Attlee, who later became leader of a Labour government. A serving officer, he was the last man to be evacuated from the Suvla Bay sector in Gallipoli, and was then posted to Basrah. He returned home injured in April 1916, and transferred to the Western Front in France after recovering. It is tempting to conjecture that Edward George, as one of the few trained telegraphists in Signals, might have sent coded telegrams on behalf of the two espionage agents, or perhaps even transmitted battle orders to a future Prime Minister….
From Basrah, Edward George’s unit moved up the Tigris by boat, camping on the river bank at night. They went first to Amarah, and then to Sheikh Saad, where the large numbers of the troops who had made their way from the Dardanelles were congregating once again. Given the heavy rain, and the lack of paved roads, the 13th Signals returned their motorcycles to the stores at Sheikh Saad and requested more horses and mules. The next shipment from Basrah included 39 of each — there should have been 40, but regrettably one horse died of pneumonia on the journey up river (apparently there were no horse rugs), and one of the mules fell overboard and drowned. In the following days, 16 more horses and 50 more mules arrived, together, we are told, with 9 wagons and 4 cable carts for the 13th Signals’ use.
While Edward George was in Sheikh Saad, the newspapers in London ran a number of reports that must have put Lizzie and everyone else at home in a cold sweat. The Times offered a particularly pointed criticism, following the short and sweet headline Mismanagement in Mesopotamia, which detailed the deplorable medical conditions under which the Expeditionary Force was still operating. The problem was not just the insufficiency of doctors and medicines, but that the wounded soldiers were sometimes left for days without further attention, and that the decks of Tigris river boats were strewn with injured men who had to travel for nearly a week in order to receive treatment. There had already been much criticism of the military errors that had led to the earlier retreat from Baghdad, and the Siege of Kut, but it was becoming clear to the public that the lessons had not been learned, and that the relief force itself was very much at risk.
At the front in Mesopotamia, the 13th Signals spent their time wiring up the trenches at Falahiyah, the next objective on the way to Kut. When the fighting started, at 4.30am on 5th April 1916, they formed telephone parties that followed immediately behind each of the attacking battalions so that communications would be established without delay. The battle was won by the evening, albeit with more heavy losses, and Edward George’s unit bivouacked by the Tigris overnight.
The next assault was just along the river from Falahiyah, at Sannaiyat, but the Ottoman forces quickly recovered their positions and the British suffered greatly. The news of more heavy losses broke in the British papers a few days later, on 13th April 1916, based on Turkish reports. Immediately, there were indignant remonstrations in London that the enemy’s news flash had found its way onto the front pages in the absence of a statement by the British government, and it was announced without delay that the number of fatalities had been greatly overstated. On the same day, a further Turkish news report appeared in the Evening Standard, albeit under the acerbic headline “Constantinople Sends out More Lies”. It was claimed that the British soldiers killed at Sannaiyat were from the Expeditionary Force’s 13th Division, the very brigades to which Edward George and the other Sappers were attached.
We can only imagine the reaction of the family at home — not just Edward George’s parents, but the children as well, including Lizzie, all of them trying to make sense of the jumbled bits and pieces of information. After all, as mentioned, their father was a compositor who typeset news for the Evening Standard, thus getting sight of these despatches as soon as they arrived in the print room.
The Evening Standard’s printers worked in a letterpress unit, where the compositors had to stay on their toes in all senses, picking out the individual ‘sorts’ in order to set them in composing sticks, upside down and from left to right. They took good care to avoid typesetting gobbledygook, by not confusing q for d, for example, or b for p — minding their p’s and q’s so to speak, and never out of sorts, to use yet another printers’ cliché. Back home, after the blocks had been assembled, we can readily conjure up a vision of Lizzie with her father, talking about the latest bulletin from the Tigris front, where Edward George was in the thick of it.
Following the defeat at Sannaiyat, even worse news was to come in, which shook the British establishment to the core— after a siege of 145 days, and with the relief force not far away, the men holed up at Kut surrendered to the Turkish army. Around 13,000 soldiers from the original Allied Expeditionary Force were taken prisoner at the Kut Garrison. Following the capitulation, the relief forces withdrew back down the Tigris until their numbers could be strengthened.
Curiously, Edward George did not stay with his own unit then. It seems that he was out of action for the next five months, although it is hard to interpret the handwritten entry in his service record. Indeed, like an attempt at reading tea leaves in a cup, the whole exercise could lead easily to an answer that is entirely fanciful, if we are not careful.
Edward George’s service record would have been compiled from a variety of Army forms that had been prepared during the campaign. A forensic reading of the desk clerk’s handwritten transcription — based on the likeness of similar letters and words elsewhere in the document — suggests that Sapper 56671 went “To Hash.”, or some other abbreviation whose meaning has been lost in time.
A letter dated 21st August 1916, which was kept on file at the Royal Engineers’ Record Office in Chatham for all these years, throws a little light on this perplexing question. The letter seems to be in Lizzie’s well-formed writing, suggesting that she wrote it out neatly on her mother’s behalf in response to information passed on by a friend of the family, that “Sapper EG Copeland … is in hospital in Mesopotamia.” The letter goes on to ask quite simply “Will you kindly let me know if this is so, and if so, what he is suffering from, as I am very anxious about him.”
A Puzzling Reply from Chatham
Royal Engineers Record Office, Brompton Barracks, Chatham, September 1916
'Alive'Madam - I have to acknowledge receipt of your letter of the 21st ulto, concerning No.56671 Sapper EG Copeland, & in reply to inform you that no casualty regarding him has been reported in this office during the last 10 months, & our records show he is still serving with his unit. - I am Madam, yours faithfully, for Col. i/c R.E. Records.
The file copy of the reply is annotated “Alive” in one corner — a stark reminder a soldier’s prospects, with life and death balanced on a knife edge. One hundred years on, we still have no clear answer to the question that was asked, only the sense that Lizzie and her mother Ellen had good reason to be concerned. Perhaps Edward George was taken to a convalescence camp. After all, the conditions were dire — “To Hosp.” would be a far more plausible interpretation of the record entry in the circumstances. For instance, although the entire unit was inoculated against cholera a week after Edward George’s departure, up to 30 Sappers were reporting sick each day one month later. The situation worsened — one of the doctors in the field ambulance died of dysentery, and then two more doctors died similarly a few weeks afterwards. To add to the problem, the temperature reached a high of 122°F (50°C) in the shade, with one member of the 13th Signals Company, Sapper Talbot, expiring of heatstroke. Later on in the campaign, the news would break that the commanding officer of the army in Mesopotamia, Stanley Maude, had died after drinking milk contaminated with a virulent strain of the cholera bacteria. Clearly, Lizzie and Ellen were right to be anxious about Edward George. After the war, it became abundantly clear that the soldiers in Mesopotamia were more likely to succumb to disease in the swamps and the desert than to be wounded in battle.
One of the NCOs in a field ambulance, Lieutenant Edwin Jones, wrote about it all in his personal diary — the lack of food, the vast numbers of wounded, and the spread of disease. With a pure sense of authenticity, the following extracts capture the reality of the appalling conditions that prevailed during the attempt to relieve Kut in April 1916. “Not had any rations for three days, and my stomach was like a lump of lead … Boiling hot day and very little water. Disinfected in various places as several cases of small-pox had broken out … Reported myself with dysentery and was inoculated and told to rest”. Just before the failed advance towards Kut, he wrote “ We marched about eleven miles during the heat of the day, and immediately went on duty. An attack was in progress, so had plenty of wounded to attend to … We settled down for the night, slept with all clothes on and in the open … It was impossible to make tea, as fires were quite out of the question”. On the next day — the day when Edward George and the other Sappers had formed telephone parties to follow behind the attacking battalions — Edwin Jones made another entry in his diary at the field ambulance station: “4 am. What’s happening? Terrific fire and the bursting of shells, like the lights of the West End of London, and the smoke like a thick fog. The great bombardment had started … Attack still on and over 600 cases passed through our hands. Bandages and splints had run out, and we got about 30 Indians working making bandages, and as fast as they were made, so they were used, and in many a case men’s shirts were torn, and used as bandages.”
Then Edwin Jones records news of the development that they all feared — an isolation camp had to be set up quickly: “Cholera has started and we had to erect a separate hospital. I was feeling very ill at the time, but it was impossible to give up … Cholera was still getting worse, and we were losing about 80 percent.” A few days later, on 1st May, the lieutenant walked for six miles in the sun and dust in order to disinfect the trenches, and he recounts an incident that could so readily explain what happened to Edward George, who, like the man mentioned here, was also a Sapper in the Royal Engineers: “On the way back I came across one of the Royal Engineers lying in the open hopelessly ill. He had been lying there for hours waiting for assistance ... Helped him along to First Aid Post and discovered he had cholera.”
The British Army Service Records on file tell us that Edward George rejoined his unit on 8th October 1916, back at Amarah on the River Tigris, where the 13th Signals were preparing for another move on Kut. While they waited, the Sappers were inoculated again, this time against intestinal disease (enteric), and any horses that had lost weight were removed to the veterinary hospital to recover. There was even time for examinations to determine each man’s proficiency pay. The War Diary also describes how the Signals Company was tasked with laying new telegraph wires to various outposts during this time, including the villages of Sodom and Gomorrah, two biblical connections transposed from Jordan — for reasons that we can only surmise.
The British Tigris Corps was now better organised for another campaign, and better equipped, having brought in armed river boats and a larger number of supply ships. All told, the assembled force totalled 166,000, two thirds of whom were from India. In December 1916, Edward George and the rest of the Signals Company started back upstream to Sheikh Saad, which yet again served as the forward base for the Expeditionary Force. From then on, the Sappers were almost always on the move and in the field, providing tactical support, eventually being deployed beside the Hai River, a distributary that branches off the Tigris near Kut. In the new year, the Hai suddenly began to rise. The War Diary entry describes the odd sight of “water bubbling up from the bed of the river”. After two days, the level had increased by 20 feet, and the Sappers started to use the high-reaching telegraph poles that had been ordered in anticipation of such floods. The Hai River salient was secured at the beginning of February 1917. After crossing the Tigris at the Shumran bend, the British and Indian regiments recaptured Kut on 24th February, following which the Turkish army was mostly in retreat.
As the Allied armies made their way towards Baghdad, the heavy transit of men, pack mules and wagons broke through the wires installed by advance parties of the Signallers, who temporarily had to resort to visual communications using the blue and white semaphore flags that had been collected from the stores in Port Said. Further on, Edward George’s unit found their wires damaged yet again, but this time by their own cavalry advancing through high grass.
The Sappers camped in new locations each night (Azizyah, Zeur and Bustan), before crossing another tributary of the Tigris, the Diyala River, on 7th March. They were now approaching Baghdad, and the city’s night time candlelit glow could just about be seen in the distance.
When the Expeditionary Force marched into Baghdad on 11th March 1917, Edward George and his fellow Sappers received orders not to enter the city itself but to skirt around it with a number of other Divisions in readiness to pursue the Ottoman Army northwards. A letter written by a junior officer in one of those Divisions describes the march to Baghdad, and reveals how he actually managed to see the capital, but only through a stroke of bad luck:
“There has been little time for letter writing during a pretty strenuous march up river from Kut. The letter I wrote just before we crossed the Tigris at Shumran will have supplied … a fairly good account of proceedings up to that date, and from [the] letter written at Azizyah … further news of the crossing, and the early part of the march, including the fight on the first day. Since that letter I have been in another scrap, got a very ‘cushy’ wound, entered Baghdad next morning in the motor car of the colonel commanding our field ambulance, had a bullet pulled out of my leg (this operation about like a tooth, less acute but more prolonged) and rejoined for duty, the whole being accomplished well within the space of 48 hours … I didn’t want to have to spend a tiresome week or two in some dull hospital at Sheikh Saad or Amarah on account of it and am very glad to have got straight back … My chief anxiety now is to get a cable through to you to let you know how completely right I am; only at present it cannot be done owing to all private cables being prohibited for a fortnight part in consequence of pressure on the limited wires available.” (from the diary of Cyril Edgar Sladden, 13th March 1917)
Cyril Sladden was keen to send off a cable about his quick recovery, but, to his disquiet, the wires were few in number and fully employed, presumably by Edward George and his fellow telegraphists in the Royal Engineers. Indeed, it was at this time that the new commanding officer of 13th Signals, the sanguine Captain St John, noted unapologetically in the War Diary, in his matter-of-fact way: “We have very much work and are very hard pushed for operators”.
After the fall of Baghdad, the Allies took steps to control a wide area beyond the city. The main objective was Samarra, further up the Tigris, which was an important junction on the former Berlin-Baghdad Railway, and still central to the Ottoman army’s supply route. Some 45,000 British and Indian front line troops would be deployed in the Samarra campaign. At the same time, another division was sent westwards along the Euphrates, with the aim of quickly seizing Falluja in order to prevent the anticipated flooding of the plains, a likely Ottoman strategy that would greatly hinder the British advance if not prevented. To the north-east, the Ottoman troops who were not captured at Baghdad were retreating up the Diyala River, first to Baquba, and then onwards to camps in the Jabal Hamrin mountains, hoping to be joined there by the Turkish army that was being pushed south by Russian forces in Persia. The Russians were in alliance with the British but, as it happens, they too were in some disarray, as the situation at home had changed following the February revolution of 1917.
Aerial reconnaissance showed that the Turkish troops leaving Persia were now congregating in considerable numbers at Khanaqin, just on the other side of the Jabal Hamrin range. On 17th March 1917, a special force was sent up the Diyala to prevent the consolidation of Ottoman divisions in the Jabal Hamrin. The force comprised two Indian Raj divisions, and included a number of cavalry brigades — even though modern weaponry was overtaking horsepower rapidly, it certainly had not replaced it. En route, the Allied Expeditionary Force secured the village of Baquba, which would become their command centre in the region at a later stage, and a key link in the communications network to be operated over the next 18 months by Edward George and the other telegraphists. They would be based later on at the Duwalib camp near Deltawa — with evident foresight, the British also secured the village of Deltawa at this time.
The attack beneath the Jabal Hamrin ridge took place on 25th March. The Ottoman defences were well prepared, so the direct assault was discontinued in order to prevent further casualties. Although the Ottoman troops were pinned against the mountain range for another week, the push by the Russians had stopped at the Persian border, so the Turkish army was able to decamp towards the west. It was thought at the time that they planned to reinforce their presence on the River Tigris, at Duqma. The British quickly sent infantry and cavalry regiments to Duqma, and the next assault took place there on 29th March. Although successful this time, once again it was costly in terms of casualties. The front line soldiers in Edward George’s own division took part in the Duqma attack, but according to their War Diary they found the Ottoman positions to be empty by the time they moved in the next morning, so they headed back to Deltawa.
Intelligence reports at the end of March 1917 indicated that Turkish troops were still arriving at Khanaqin from Persia, in retreat from the Russian Cossack cavalry. But instead of passing southwards through the Jabal Hamrin mountains, the Ottoman army was now heading for Kifri along the north side of the range of hills. According to the reports, their strength was 60 heavy armoured guns, 11,500 rifles and 1,350 sabres. It still comes as a grisly shock to be reminded that, when my grandmother Lizzie was young, a war was being fought not only with cutting edge weaponry for the time — howitzers, mortars, machine guns and field artillery — but also with the more traditional cutting edge, that of the sword and the sabre, wielded by the cavalries.
With the Tigris now under British control as far as Duqma, further intelligence suggested more troop movements upstream, with Ottoman reserves coming down the river from the Turkish border to Samarra, and some getting as far as the Adhaim River, yet another tributary of the Tigris that flowed from the Jabal Hamrin mountains. It was estimated that there were about 4,000 Ottoman troops on the Adhaim River, and another 6,000 to the east of that, between the Adhaim and Diyala Rivers. The British response was to split the Tigris Corps into two columns, one to head for Samarra along the railway line to the west of the Tigris, and the other to make its way up upstream on the east bank of the Tigris towards the junction with the Adhaim River. Named after the General in charge, this second attacking force became known as Marshall’s Column, to which Edward George and his fellow Sappers would provide logistics support.
To begin with, the 13th Signals Company had remained in camp just north of Baghdad, sending out advance parties with cables to Yahoudie and Jemadin. The rest of the Sappers marched to Yahoudie on 26th March 1917, a journey undertaken mostly in the dark, over bad roads and in a cloud of thick dust, the War Diary tells us. They continued to Jemadin on the following day, and then to Jadida, from where they sent the advance parties out again. This time, it was to provide the communications during the operations at Duqma, after which the entire Signals Company advanced to a stretch of the Tigris known as Kuwar Reach, where they camped from 6th to 11th April.
On 9th April, a section of Marshall’s Column started its march towards Bint-al-Hassan on the Khalis Canal, ostensibly to rescue two isolated cavalry regiments who had found themselves outnumbered near Shiala. The Sappers moved across to join them, marching overnight from Kuwar Reach. To everyone’s surprise, the relief force unexpectedly encountered the Ottoman army heading in the other direction, making their way to Duqma along the road between Deli Abbas and Deltawa. The Sappers took cover at this point as their wagons were heavily shelled at close range, but a scramble for the high ground ensued, with the British reaching it first, together with their heavy guns, apparently gaining a commanding position. Edward George’s unit remained in this area throughout the operation, moving every other day while still maintaining communications for Marshall’s Column — the 13th Signals’ War Diary records them being shelled on the Khalis Canal, then camping on the plain near the Turkish garrison at Deli Abbas, then at Bint-al-Hassan where they took shelter in a nearby mosque, and finally back at Shiala.
Further intelligence reports suggested that the Turkish garrison at Deli Abbas doubled to 2,400 at this time, and that they were preparing to advance on Deltawa. But this did not occur, and in due course they withdrew to the refuge of the mountains beyond the Jabal Hamrin ridge. Back by the Tigris, Marshall’s Column took over the Ottoman trenches at the Adhaim River junction on 17th April. This was a successful operation for the British as they suffered hardly any casualties while capturing an entire regiment of 1,200 soldiers. On 18th April, with Edward George’s unit continuing to provide communications links, Marshall’s Column crossed the Adhaim River a few miles up from where it flows into the Tigris. The Turkish divisions in that region then assumed defensive positions at Istabulat, further up the Tigris close to Samarra. Heavy fighting on 21st April saw the upper hand switch several times, and approximately 2,000 were killed on each side. Early on the morning of the 22nd April, the Ottomans withdrew from their position, ceding the Samarra Rail Depot on the following day, and withdrawing their troops up to Tikrit.
During the action at Samarra, Edward George and the other men of the 13th Signals prepared to set up base at Sindiya, moving there on 23rd April. But there was to be one further action in the campaign waged by Marshall’s Column before the temperatures soared. The Turks who retreated up the Adhaim River had congregated once more in the foothills of the Jabal Hamrin mountain range, this time at Band-i-Adhaim, purportedly the ‘gateway’ in the hills from which the river flows. Some of the telegraphists in the 13th Signals were assigned temporarily to Marshall’s Column, which left Samarra and marched towards Band-i-Adhaim over the following days. The consequent conflict became known as the Battle of the Boot, named after the shape of the peninsula of high ground where it was fought.
In high winds and dust, Marshall’s Column took up positions and brought in their field artillery. The troops from Edward George’s division (the 38th and 40th Brigades) were on the east bank of the Adhaim, with the 35th Brigade behind a mound in the river bed. The main attack began on the morning of April 30th. To begin with, Marshall’s forces advanced quickly, taking prisoners and two lines of trenches within a short time. A sandstorm halted the onslaught, and the Turks mounted a counter-attack, taking British prisoners up into the mountains. The combat at Band-i-Adhaim continued until 5th May, according to the records kept by Edward George’s unit, but the punishing heat prevented Marshall’s troops from pursuing the Ottoman army into the Jabal Hamrin, where they then remained, preparing for a renewal of hostilities in the autumn.
Throughout the operations north of Baghdad, the British had found themselves facing not only the Ottoman army but also another menace, from local factions. Edward George’s duties must have been affected, and the safety of the troops jeopardised, because the telegraph lines were often sabotaged. On the first occasion, while they were still camping outside the capital, the 13th Signals’ wires were brought down by stone throwers, it is reported. Then, near Jadida, a mile of cable was cut out, and the linesmen carrying out repairs were attacked by locals. Another cable was taken at Bint-al-Hassan, and the linesmen were fired upon once again — the marauders came to the 13th Signals’ camp later, but only to steal a horse. The vandalism continued throughout the year, and the British began to exert their powers as an occupying force more formally — on a number of occasions, the linesmen reported cable damage by “a sharp instrument” in Deltawa, so the entire village was fined heavily for “cutting wires persistently”. Sometimes, however, the cause of their problems was found to be more benign — the War Diary tells us that a farmer pruning a date tree sawed through one of the wires and then knotted the ends together; a linesman had to climb every tree for a mile and a half to find the break!
On 7th May, the Signals’ commanding officer Captain St John, wrote in the diary “The River Tigris is going down considerably”. The hot season was upon them once again. Some of the Signals teams had to abandon their site owing to a failure of water, and the animals were moved around for the same reason. During this time, when it seemed as if hostilities were suspended, the War Diary records that recreation was provided for the men in the form of bathing and rugby football, and that a Signals Company Aquatics Sports meeting was held, occupying two evenings. A riding school was inaugurated for motor-cycle despatch riders, although it was limited to six participants at a time, as there were few horses available.
A first party of Sappers left Sindiya for a period of leave in India after the Battle of the Boot, and the last party to do so left on 16th June 1917. However, Edward George was not amongst them. He remained in Sindiya, where the Sappers received further training in buzzing and visual signalling.
At this time, back home in London, the constant unease surrounding Edward George, being out of reach overseas, was intensified by the conscription of his younger brother Bob, now seventeen. In September, Bob registered as a boy mechanic in the Royal Naval Air Service, and was designated as a trainee Wireless Telegraphist, following in the footsteps of his elder brother. As it happens, however, Bob moved to Cranwell with the RAF just two weeks later, and seems to have remained there until the end of the war.
As for Edward George, he and the other Sappers relocated at this time to the Duwalib camp, a mile from Deltawa. On 16th October 1917, they were involved in a brief foray along the canals beneath the Jabal Hamrin ridge, which involved laying wires through the palm groves and beside the irrigation canals as they advanced towards the Turkish detachments that were still there.
The next sortie took place between 2nd and 6th December. There was snow in the hills by then, and there are reports that water froze in the troops’ drinking bottles. The plan was that the Brigades would stay connected to headquarters by unreeling drums of wire from wagons as they moved forward — eleven miles of connecting cable could be laid by each wagon. On the first day, one of the linesmen reported that, yet again, a length of cable had been removed by locals. The notes in the War Diary convey the general frustration: “Could only advance slowly in hills, and roads are littered with Turkish transport carts etc.. Communication by wagon impossible when line continually cut….”. On the second day, they were at Suhaniyah, at the foot of the Jabal Hamrin ridge, where they set up store in the dark, by the side of a road. There was no water for the animals, and only one cable wagon out of six made it through owing to the difficult country. Captain St John’s indignation welled up when the five other wagons were turned back, clearly against his wishes: “My control and authority over wagons much handicapped by Brigades issuing orders to them”, he wrote.
From Suhaniyah, the 13th Signals climbed up through the Sakaltutan Pass to Narin Kupri, where they camped by the bridge over the river. On the way back, they reeled up all the wire — “over hills & thro marsh”, the diary tells us — noting with a hint of sympathy that the “cable wagon animals [are] rather exhausted owing to heavy work of picking up back lines”. The Sappers had found it difficult to use the heliographs in the mountains, but were able to do so back in the marshes — “through by visual”, they registered when successful. But on the next day, a new constraint became clear. It was a heat haze, where the refraction of light rays simply produced a bewildering image in the distance — “Visual no use owing to climatic conditions, mirage etc.” is the explanation on file.
Although the war in Mesopotamia is sometimes thought of as the forgotten war, Lizzie and the family at home had been able to follow the operations to the north of Baghdad in the British press in some detail, including the Samarra offensive, the Battle of the Boot, and the skirmishes into the Jabal Hamrin. Following the death of Stanley Maude from cholera, William Marshall had taken over as the overall Commander in Mesopotamia. He sent a news bulletin on the expedition over the Sakaltutan Pass, for which Edward George’s unit had provided the tactical support. It appeared in some of the morning papers on 10th December 1917, which was just a few days later. Although the Sappers had stopped at Narin Kupri, according to their War Diary, the press release tells us that the fighting force itself had carried on to Kara Tepe, where they engaged with the Ottoman Army.
On new year’s day 1918, the 13th Signals prepared for an entirely new Column to go out again, this time to Ain Lailah, but the weather held up the mission — as the War Diary entry for 5th January 1918 explains: “Roads very bad, Column unable to move”. In the end, though, some of the Sappers in Edward George’s unit were able to a install a signal station at Ain Lailah, after which the Column returned to base. Later in the month, it seems, the weather improved: “Moonlight almost as clear as daylight enables men to ride along broken line by night”. Accordingly, the normal Despatch Rider Letter Service was resumed, with two runs daily to headquarters and brigades. But the foul weather returned soon afterwards, with the attendant effect that the DRLS was then curtailed to one run per day “by mounted man”.
New orders were processed on 5th February by one of the telegraphists — perhaps it was Edward George himself. The orders instructed the Ain Lailah Column to leave on a follow-up mission as soon as the sodden conditions dried out. In fact, the Column was able to march off just two days later, at 8am on 7th February. The Signals’ detail comprised “one cable wagon attachment complete, one lumber for same, twenty miles of good D5 cable, two AT carts to carry cable & rations, [and] three telegraph operators under Sgt Clewlow DCM”; the diary entry added that “They have their own office tent, living tents, etc.”. By 14th February, the Sappers had climbed to the top of the Sakaltutan Pass, from where they established visual communications with the other units in the Column — a section of Mountain Battery, the infantry of the 6th East Lancs Regiment, half a squadron of cavalry, and the 41st Advanced Dressing Station Field Ambulance.
On this occasion, however, the entire mission was a bluff, designed as a subterfuge that would “give the enemy the impression that some operation is about to be undertaken” in order to put them off the scent when the real attack began at a later date. The handwritten orders (referred to as GS685 in the telegram) are attached to the 13th Signals’ War Diary, marked SECRET in capital letters at the top. Although now available for all to read, it is nonetheless gripping — with a sense of the clandestine — to be able to turn the page onto strictly covert military instructions that laid down the blueprint for manoeuvres devised to hoodwink the enemy, especially as we know that Edward George was involved in one way or another. The orders required the Cavalry to mount patrols during the morning, when presumably they would be spotted from afar; also as part of the deception, four vehicles from the Mountain Battery were assigned to reconnoitre near the Adhaim River, leaving from Deli Abbas at 8am; one party of troops was instructed to traverse a ford beneath the ridge just before dusk “and form a screen as if the remainder were about to cross”; finally, the rest of the infantry were to march to a specified map location at 4pm where, the orders say, the squad should “remain unsuccessfully concealed” before continuing in the direction of Kara Tepe, and then turn back towards the command post at dusk.
By all accounts, the ploy went to plan.
At this time, a disproportionate shortage of telegraph operators continued to be an issue for the 13th Signals— “We are now well over strength in all ranks except office telegraphists”, the War Diary tells us in February 1918. As it happens, Edward George and the other Sappers had seen their supplementary war pay go up twice during the previous months, to 2d per day in September, and to 3d per day in November. Presumably, any increased efficiency reflected in such upgrades was not sufficient to meet the growing demand for telegraphic messaging.
In spite of the apparent shortages, the 13th Signals sent a further detachment of three telegraphists to join the next task force, Campbell’s Column, in April 1918. They went over the Jabal Hamrin mountains to Narin Kupri once again, and this time continued to Umr Maidan and Tuz Khurmatli. Whether Edward George was one of the three is open to question, given the timing. The war in Mesopotamia was in its endgame, and many of the troops were being reallocated to other fronts. Edward George left Mesopotamia at the end of the month, although not for another war zone. He went to India, initially on leave, and was then stationed at the Poona Garrison.
To make the journey to Bombay (now known as Mumbai), Edward George embarked on the troopship Egra, which left Basrah on 30th April 1918. Following the three months’ leave that he had accumulated, he signed on again at Poona (now usually written as Pune), the garrison hill town that is near to Bombay, where he bided his time for five months. During his stay in Poona, there was growing unrest amongst the troops that gathered there from Mesopotamia. The dissatisfaction was exacerbated by the slow pace at which they were being demobilised and shipped back to Britain, and the uneasiness became more acute following the signing of the October 1918 armistice in Mesopotamia and the November 1918 armistice in Europe. Many of the troops stationed in India and scheduled for demobilisation were unconvinced by reassurances that they would be home by Christmas.
It is said that up to 5,000 men, including some of those transferred from Mesopotamia, were asked to ‘volunteer’ to quell riots and uprisings in India, but, to their credit, they demanded that this assignment be backed by an explicit order from London, which was not forthcoming. Nevertheless, their protest led to accusations of mutinous behaviour and noncooperation (there is a detailed account online in Mutiny in India, by Julian Putkowski). The men of the Signal Service Depot at Poona — Edward George’s unit — were said to have been at the centre of the outcry to begin with, and particularly incensed. Their grievances were aired later on in the House of Commons, when the new Secretary of State for War, a re-installed Winston Churchill, assured MPs that the Mesopotamian veterans would get the highest priority for return home, although he only managed to inflame the situation further by referring to their “continuing detention”. Parliamentary questioning about the emergency situation in India continued along these lines well into 1919 (see Hansard, 6 August 1919). According to press reports in the Bombay Chronicle, the growing resentment had led to further challenges by the soldiers. In a telegram to Army headquarters, the officer at Poona wrote of the men that “They are most determined and their attitude is practically mutinous … They claim that the Territorial units are receiving preferential treatment, as 1916 and 1917 men of these units will get back before 1915 men who are not Territorials … Some of the men who were sent back from Mesopotamia complain that they are still here and are trained as signallers. The men are very discontented, and state that they consider themselves no longer soldiers but civilians …”
As a result of their stand, the Signallers did not become embroiled in the ignominious punitive action that took place in India when martial law was imposed. Interestingly, along with others who were kicking their heels in Poona at the end of 1918, Edward George found that his pay supplement as a Royal Engineer was docked for a second time, for inefficiency on this occasion — a bizarre turn of events, given that his war pay supplement had been increased the week before, to 4d per day. We can be thankful in retrospect that, with officers sending accusations of mutiny up to higher command, the Signallers’ principled stand only resulted in a minor pay deduction. Edward George’s letter to his sister Lizzie, which was sent from Poona a week later, makes little of all this. Sadly, the other correspondence to which he refers has not survived. Nevertheless, the end of his war service was now firmly in view.
Good News from India
Edward George Copeland, Lizzie’s brother — a letter from the Signal Depot, Poona, 6th December 1918
Dear Lizzie — Just a line to tell you I sent a packet yesterday containing some silk. I hope it is suitable. I could not afford to get much but I think there’s enough for a skirt. There’s about 5 yards single width. It should arrive at least a few days after this. I also wrote you a letter a few days ago so having nothing much to say now. — The papers say demobilisation for troops out here starts early in 1919 so hope to be home before long. — Tata. Best love to all. From Your Loving Brother, TedIn order to obtain his demobilisation papers, Edward George first had to make his way back to the 13th Signals Company. To this end, he embarked from Bombay on 14th December 1918, arriving once again at the port of Basrah.
Edward George then retraced his steps up the Tigris. He rejoined his unit in Amarah on 22nd January 1919, just after Captain St John had moved the 13th Signals base there from Duwalib. Within days, the first list of men to be made ready for demobilisation was prepared — there would be 67 departures in January 1919, including Edward George, and 93 to follow in February. Together with six officers, this brought the total strength of the 13th Signals in Amarah at this time to 166, which included some 50 Pioneers, who had been engaged in the construction and repair of railways and bridges, and about 60 Sappers.
Edward George returned to Basrah, and set sail on the homeward journey on 23rd February 1919. Back in London, his much anticipated discharge from the Royal Engineers was processed at Crystal Palace, by №2 Dispersal Unit. His Certificate of Identity, on which he was categorised as a “soldier not remaining with the colours”, was issued in March, following which he was transferred to the Army Reserve. Finally, in May 1919, he was able to leave the service as class Z, which indicated that he could be recalled if required. The Royal Engineers Record Office in Chatham calculated his bounty pay at £15, plus a further £15 by way of additional credits in the form of a bonus.
Edward George went back to his old job as a GPO telegraphist, but he was then diagnosed with acute spinal meningitis. When his claim for an army disability award was considered, the invalidity was assessed as not being attributable to war service and the claim was marked “Rejected”. Perversely, the claim form was date-stamped 13th July 1920, which is perhaps when it was processed. Whatever the reason, it was already too late — Edward George died of meningitis at home on 17th March 1920, after a final illness of just over two weeks. Lizzie’s husband Edward Joseph McLeay was there when Edward George Copeland died, and it was he who went to Islington Town Hall the very next day in order to inform the Registrar about his brother-in-law.
Lizzie’s youngest sister Peggie remembered clearly the occasion of Edward George’s funeral, although she did not attend the burial — she was at school when the cortège passed in the street on its way to St Pancras cemetery, and she recalled how the teacher had announced to the class that a war hero was being carried by outside. By all accounts, Peggie was greatly saddened when she thought back on her exclusion from the funeral, however well meaning, and she placed a poppy at the church memorial every year from then on.
According to my father, his grandparents never really recovered from their eldest son’s death. There was the evident distress that a young man had had to endure such awful conditions, which had damaged his health irreversibly, but the boorish refusal to ascribe his terminal illness to war service was unpardonable. And there was heartbreak too over what ensued.
During the war, the government had commissioned a memorial plaque that could be given to the relatives of those whose deaths were attributable to the war, together with a commemorative scroll — the plaque became widely known as the Dead Man’s Penny, owing to its coin-like appearance, albeit much larger than a penny, about the size of a saucer. The next of kin named on the soldier’s service record was sent a form to complete. This was Army Form W5080, and Edward George’s is still on file, showing the handwritten name and address of the person to whom it had been sent, Edward George’s mother Ellen. On 13th October 1920, the form was countersigned by TA Davis, the vicar of St Stephens, a now demolished church that was in the same street as the family home — Elthorne Road in Upper Holloway. On the next day, the completed form was date stamped as received by the Royal Engineers Record Office in Chatham. On one side, at the top of the form, the officer in charge of records had completed a few details — Royal Engineers, 56671 EG Copeland deceased — below which is the section set aside for the names and addresses of close relatives — father Edward William, mother Ellen, brothers James William 20 [always known as Bob], Henry Arnold 18 [Harry], and Robert Douglas 5 [Jock], and sisters Elizabeth Mary Alice 26 [Lizzie], Ellen 13 [Nell], Cecelia Irene 9 [Renie] and Rose Margaret 8 [Peggie]. On the reverse is printed the following covering letter, with its intriguing deletion of the words plaque and scroll:
A Request for the Next of Kin Declaration
Royal Engineers Record Office, Chatham, October 1920
The typed words “plaque and scroll” were neatly crossed out by hand in the covering letter, which says it all, in an unsuitably graceless way. For several years after the war, over a million plaques and scrolls were sent out to next of kin, in commemoration of those whose death was attributed to war service — but only those who had died before 30th April 1919 while on military service, or as a result of sickness or wounds incurred. Even quite recently, a discussion in parliament referred to this point: “While most were issued in the years immediately after the war, the fact that they were issued until the 1930s reminds us that the loss of life from the first world war continued after the guns fell silent on 11 November 1918” (Hansard, 20 October 2017). There was some latitude, it seems, but not for men in Edward George’s position.
It was calculated after the war that the total number of British military deaths attributable to the Mesopotamian Campaign was precisely 38,842, including 28,578 from sickness and other non-battle causes. Given such statistics, it beggars belief that Edward George’s disability due to a disease that proved fatal was judged to be unconnected to his war service, in view of the circumstances that prevailed in Mesopotamia. Behind the false façade of such meticulous counting, who knows the true extent of the aggravated deaths that were unattributed — lives that were shortened in subsequent years by the effects of the war, but not recorded as war deaths?
A week later, the next letter arrived from the Royal Engineers Record Office, and a further one the following February, accompanying the medals awarded to Edward George.
Covering Letters for Posthumous Medals
Royal Engineers Record Office, Chatham, 21st October 1920
Sir - I am directed to transmit to you the accompanying 1914-15 Star which would have been conferred upon E.G. Copeland R.E. had he lived, in memory of his services with the British Forces during the Great War. In forwarding the Decoration, I am commanded by the King to assure you of His Majesty’s high appreciation of the Services rendered. - I am to request that you will be so good as to acknowledge the receipt of the Decoration on the attached form. - I am Your obedient Servant, GE Collier Major, for O.i/c Records, R.E.- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I hereby acknowledge the receipt of the 1914-15 Star granted in respect of the Service of 56671 EG Copeland R.E.
Date _____ , Signature _____ S.3237 R.9/13441/W.5132/223 1016Keep top part, sign & return lower portion
Royal Engineers Record Office, Chatham, 1st February 1921
Sir — I am directed to transmit the accompanying British War Medal which has been awarded to you in respect of your services with the ROYAL ENGINEERS. — I am to request that you will be so good as to acknowledge the receipt of the decoration on the attached form, which is to be returned to the above address in the enclosed addressed envelope, which needs no stamp. — I am Your obedient Servant, RB Bingham Lieut., for Colonel i/c. R.E. Records- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -I hereby acknowledge the receipt of the British War Medal RS/M/IV202
Date _____ 1921, Regimental Number 56671, Rank _____,
Signature _____, Unit _____
“A medal glitters, but it also casts a shadow” was Churchill’s view some twenty years later (Hansard, 22 March 1944). That is indeed the impression that has been handed down the generations … a strange combination of emotions. My father told me — with much conviction, and some deeply felt vexation — that, in spite of their immense admiration for their son’s service in the Royal Engineers, Edward George’s parents never looked kindly on these letters in view of the off-hand attitude of the military authorities towards his ill health. The acknowledgement slips relating to their late son were never returned.
Although the first of the letters from the Royal Engineers Record Office was addressed to Edward George’s father (Mr EW Copeland), the second, a month later, was sent directly to Edward George himself— a clerical mistake no doubt, but nevertheless a lamentable error in the circumstances, which must have reinforced the sense of a life brushed aside, disregarded by some. Lizzie held onto it all — the letters, the envelope that had been sent On His Majesty’s Service, and Edward George’s medals, tucked away in Lizzie’s box of memories together with their brightly coloured ribbons, along with a photograph that conjured up the halcyon days of their childhood.
Edward Joseph’s Story
Like her brother Edward George, Lizzie’s husband Edward Joseph also left school at the age of 14. He had been captain of the school football team, and was given a great leaving report in this regard — the headmaster, John Richardson, commended him as follows: “He has taken a very considerable share in the School Sports, and in his management of the School Football Team, of which he is captain, he has shown judgement and ability”. On leaving school, Edward Joseph started as a delivery boy in his uncle’s newsprint distribution firm, Mayor Brothers of Bethnal Green, but he was intent on moving on, and found a clerical job soon afterwards. However, in January 1915, at the age of 17, he left his employment and enlisted in the Poplar and Stepney Rifles.
Known also as the 17th London Regiment, the Poplar and Stepney Rifles arrived in France on 10th March 1915 — the very day that Lizzie’s fiancé Bobbie Rice was killed in action at Neuve-Chapelle. Two months later, Edward Joseph was involved in two offensives close by, first in the front line during the Battle of Festubert, and then in reserve at the Battle of Aubers Ridge, where his brother George McLeay was in action with the Scottish Rifles. Four months on, at the end of September 1915, Edward Joseph took part in The Battle of Loos, where he was badly injured. His tour of duty overseas as a volunteer lasted for 208 days altogether, up until his return home on 2nd October 1915.
The following March, six months after receiving his head wound, Edward Joseph was assigned for duties at the Seaford Command Depot, prior to his eventual discharge in January 1917 as unfit for further service. Surprisingly, he rejoined his regiment in the meantime, in August 1916, and was even able to play some football at that time. A photograph amongst Lizzie’s papers, picturing the 17th London Regiment’s D Company team in November 1916, provides the only evidence we have for this — no stories handed down, no certificates, just a photograph.
Of course, on the subject of football, the one famous event in the Great War that everyone has heard about is the game that took place during the Christmas Truce of 1914, between the two frontlines — a symbolic moment of peaceful fraternisation. Apparently, the top brass did not want to hear about football after that, even behind the lines. But they very quickly relented, and British troops are said to have enjoyed a great deal of soccer when they were away from the trenches, aiding recovery and building morale. After all, as we know, the battalion in which Edward Joseph’s brother George was serving won the 8th Division cup that was played out behind the Authuille section of the front line, in Hénencourt Wood, in May 1916.
Another notable event in footballing history actually took place during the Battle of Loos, about the time when Edward Joseph was injured. The men of the London Irish Rifles came up with the madcap idea of kicking six balls ahead of themselves towards the enemy trenches, in spite of the ongoing ban on the game. The commanding officer guessed what his troops were planning to do and shot five of the balls with his gun, rendering them useless. But Frank Edwards, a keen footballer and captain of his battalion’s team, managed to smuggle the sixth ball out of the trenches and, in the midst of all the horrors, dribbled it towards enemy lines under heavy fire. Amazingly, he survived to tell the tale. The ball came to a stop after being pierced on barbed wire, but was later recovered — the Loos football appeared on a commemorative stamp in 2015.
But there is no record of football matches in the War Diary of the Poplar and Stepney Rifles during Edward Joseph’s time in France. Instead, the one and only sporting activity that is mentioned is athletics. During a two week period in August 1915, a number of Sports Days were organised in Allouagne, far behind the frontline. The Poplar and Stepney Rifles had their own regimental games on one of the days, and similar arrangements were made for each of the other regiments; afterwards, a final meeting was held for the entire infantry brigade. The events included the long jump, the high jump, one hundred yards sprint, together with quarter mile, one mile and relay races, as well as a catch-weight Tug-of-War in teams of eight. And there were also prizes for the Best Turned Out Pack Mule, and the Best Turned Out Lumber Pair, and some time for fooling around, in the Officers’ handicap race, a pick-a-back tournament, the sack race and the Sergeants’ boot race, and, last but not least, the costume parade. Indeed, the Poplar and Stepney Rifles won first prize in the costume event at the Brigade Sports Day, and the final gathering was rounded off with a concert in the evening. But no football!
There are two versions of the War Diary in the archives, and, whichever one you look through, apart from the athletics meeting at Allouagne, it often makes grim reading. Once again, I have mapped the daily entries to show where the regiment spent its time, both behind the lines, and at the front in the trenches (as outlined in red), together with the general locations of the major battles in which they were involved during this period: Aubers Ridge (9 May 1915), Festubert (15–25 May 1915) and Loos (25 September–2 October 1915) plus, for reference, Neuve-Chapelle (10–13 March 1913), which George McLeay survived but Bobbie Rice did not.
Edward Joseph’s regiment marched some 300 miles during his 208 days on active service in France — from billet to billet, to new trench excavations, where they dug out the fortifications before returning to their lodgings each night, and, finally, back into the trenches as they took their turn in the firing line. Sometimes they marched platoon by platoon, sometimes company by company, and occasionally as an entire regiment, which started out with 849 men, according to the War Diary. I have looked through the medal rolls and the lists of those who died in action to see who they might be, these men who accompanied Edward Joseph to the front. All told, there were 4,855 riflemen and officers with the Poplar and Stepney Rifles in the four and a half years of WW1, moving from the Western Front to Salonika and Palestine, and then back to France again. The view expressed in poet Robert Graves’ autobiography — “After each catastrophe the ranks were filled up with new drafts from home” — certainly chimes with these numbers, which imply that the initial fighting force was replaced about five times.
Although such exact counts of serving soldiers give an impression of military precision in administrative record keeping, it has to be said that the operational log in the form of the War Diary is not entirely reliable in all respects, even though it contains detailed accounts of each day’s activities. For instance, on 3rd May, at Le Plantin, A and C Companies are in the trenches, B Company is assigned as a working party, rebuilding the trenches, and D Company — Edward Joseph’s unit — is on fatigues, fetching water, food and wood. The diary entry reveals that two men in A Company are wounded by a shell fired by their own side: “Two casualties early morn by shell from our own artillery. Casualties : Rifleman 1740 Walker F. wounded in thigh by shell; Rifleman 2777 Shipp J. wounded in shoulder by shell.” Interestingly, the day’s entry in the second copy of the diary does not mention that the men were hit by their own side: “Casualties two. Rifleman 1740 Walker F. wounded in thigh by shell. Rifleman 2777 Shipp J. wounded in shoulder by same shell.” The cynic could imagine how this information is collated, copied over and over again, summarised as it flows up the hierarchy, providing the opportunity to carefully exonerate accidents on the spot — no need to point the finger, no need to drop anyone in the mire, when the mud in the trenches is mire enough.
The Battle of Loos was part of the Autumn offensive on the Western Front known as ‘The Big Push’. As at Neuve-Chapelle, the commander of the British First Army, Douglas Haig, directed the battle under the orders of John French. Once again, one of the strategies adopted by these commanders was, to put it bluntly, simply to push hundreds of thousands of troops forward from their dugouts until they overwhelmed the enemy. At the Battle of Loos, the records show that there was the usual shortage of artillery shells, which meant that the preliminary bombardment, essential in this kind of trench warfare, was once again far too weak. That was not the only thing that went wrong. Following the gas attacks on them at Ypres, the British used their own toxic chemicals for a first time, but much of the asphyxiating vapour was blown back onto their own trenches, and they found that the gas masks were not up to the job. Afterwards, it was suggested that things may have gone better had General Haig been in overall command, rather than Field-Marshall French. In the end, Haig did replace French, but the same tactics were continued throughout the war, with the tragic loss of life on a gargantuan scale that is so well known.
A month before the battle, in August 1915, a pilot in the British Royal Flying Corps (Major FW Smith) took a remarkable aerial photograph of the two opposing sets of trenches just outside Loos. The frontlines are etched into the terrain in white, running across this bird’s eye view, and a straight road is just about visible that stretches from Béthune (bottom left) to Lens (top right). The British offensive at Loos involved six army Divisions plus two in reserve, and was preceded by the ill-judged chlorine gas attack. The first wave infantry assault was stopped by machine gun fire. On the second day, the reserve Divisions moved forward meeting a similar fate. The battle continued for three weeks. The British gained a narrow salient two miles deep for the loss of 16,000 dead and some 25,000 wounded, all in that tract of land photographed by Major Smith.
Rudyard Kipling’s son John was one of the many who died at Loos. Kipling was still a public mouthpiece for the British government at that time, extolling the virtues of flag-waving imperialism in his jingoistic manner. But he had used his influence to gain a commission for his son in the Irish Guards. Kipling went on to suffer great guilt over his son’s fate, leading eventually to the poignant lines:
Here we are again, confronted by a dilemma, between that rock and hard place. Certainly, it is difficult to hold these ideas together — the thought of young men loyally serving in the armed forces, set against the doubts sown by history regarding the military commanders and politicians who allowed so many to go to their deaths.
The battle of Loos has been documented in great detail by military historians, so we can work out roughly what took place. The map shows the frontlines before the battle, the British marked in red and the enemy positions in green, including their defensive emplacements — Major Smith took his aerial photograph from behind the British frontline, flying towards the east (i.e. from the far left of this map, looking across the red line). The British bombardment of enemy positions started on 21st September 1915, but two days later a violent thunderstorm flooded the communication trenches. The delayed assault began in earnest on 25th September and the fighting continued for about three weeks. It was during this campaign that Edward Joseph was wounded and gassed.
The Poplar and Stepney Rifles formed part of a larger unit, the 47th London Division, located on the southerly flank near Loos itself. The accounts tell us that, with the gas cloud actually moving forward over enemy lines in their area, as planned, and with cover from the thick smoke from mortar shells, the leading units of the 47th London Division captured the first positions before the enemy were aware of what was happening. Nevertheless, many men struggled to breathe in their gas helmets and had to remove them as they advanced into their own gas cloud.
As shown in the battlefield map, there were some very large slag heaps near Loos, which were key features of the battle, two of them being to the south of the Béthune-Lens road (the Double Crassier) and another on the very edge of town (the Loos Crassier). These dirty reminders of an industrial past are now seen in a different light, as symbols of a proud mining community. Indeed, the Loos slag heaps have become a Unesco world heritage site, with their own vineyard. Notwithstanding their newly acquired status, it would be surprising if, in 1915, Edward Joseph had not looked through the mist swirling around these mounds of desolation in some disbelief, in something of a fog himself, as the operation to take possession of the black pyramids commenced.
The 47th London Division secured the Double Crassier in the morning of September 25th. By noon, they were able to capture the town centre, although they met resistance and were threatened by counterattack from beyond the town on what was known as Hill 70. The next day, 26th September 1915, they continued to consolidate the positions that they had won, now including the slag heap by the town.
On 27th September 1915, although the enemy forces counterattacked, the Loos Crassier was held by the London Division. Unfortunately, due to the late arrival of reserves, the breakthrough around Loos itself could not be exploited further along the frontline. This was attributed not only to a lack of men, but also to the lack of ammunition, a disturbing finding that was made public by the Committee of Imperial Defence in May 1916.
In effect, the so-called Big Push had only broken into the enemy positions, but not through them, and further attempts to continue the advance were repulsed. A renewal of the Loos offensive was planned for 4th October 1915, but by this time Edward Joseph had returned to the UK with a head injury, suffering also from the effects of gas poisoning.
Description on Leaving the Colours: Rifleman 3339, EJ McLeay, 5'8" tall, grey eyes, with a scar on the right side of his scalp. The following was noted in his military records: “This man bears a good character, is steady and well conducted, has served abroad and was wounded at Loos”.
By early 1917, Edward Joseph was back with his parents in Tagg Street, Bethnal Green, and was employed as a wages and costings clerk in the Royal Army Clothing Department’s boot depot, at 761 Old Kent Road — a letter of 24th August 1918 indicates that he had been working there for one and a half years. In the following month, in September 1918, he was appointed to a temporary post in the Civil Service, as a clerk in the War Office, under the national scheme for assisting injured men. We do not know precisely when he first received his disability allowance, which was in addition to his wages, but a letter from the newly-created Ministry of Pensions — still located then at The Royal Hospital, Chelsea— confirms an amount of 22/- per week from April to July 1917, indicating that the payment would then be reduced to 16s 6d per week until January 1918. This period was later extended until May 1918, at which point Edward Joseph had to be medically examined with a view to the consideration of his claim to further disability pay. Based on the Medical Officer’s report, the payments were continued, although the amount was reduced to 13s 9d in April 1919 …. not long before the wedding.
Lizzie and Edward Joseph married on 7th June 1919, in St Mary’s Church, Hornsey Rise. The wedding photograph was taken in the backyard of Lizzie’s parents’ home in Holloway. Big hats were still in favour. I can see my great grandmother (whom we knew as Nan) sitting demurely next to her son, with daughter Bett kneeling in front of her, her long locks of hair in ringlets. There too are the other great aunts and uncles of my London childhood, Bob and Harry further back, and Renie, Nell, Peggie and Jock at the front, still young themselves in 1919. Next to Nan is the matriarch of the East End family, Edward Joseph’s grandmother Maria Louisa McLeay, who lived on Roman Road in Bow, and who is distinguished by her fabulous toque hat and swarthy looks. And on the other side, next to Lizzie, are her parents — her mother Ellen, a lay midwife who ran a stall two days a week on Caledonian market (and whose own mother was a Romany traveller), and Lizzie’s father, Edward William Copeland, the Evening Standard compositor. Sergeant George McLeay is there too, standing to the side, and Sapper Edward George Copeland might be peering past one of the wide-brimmed bonnets. But the bridegroom’s father is not there. Having signed up for military duties at the outbreak of war (he served for a while in the Army Service Corps’ Labour Company at Aldershot), George McLeay senior was one of the many who died in the great influenza pandemic of 1918.
Edward Joseph continued to work for the War Office until the end of 1921, under Captain Vero. For some reason, he bought an officer’s camp bed costing £2–5–0 for the captain, but there is no further explanation and we are left to ponder on why this happened. Edward Joseph’s workplace was not always at the imposing main offices in Whitehall. More often, it was at Birdcage House, the temporary War Office premises in St James Park, and at three other locations further afield: the Royal Army Clothing Department headquarters in Grosvenor Road, Pimlico; the Signals Factory headquarters in Stanley Road, Teddington; and the Park Royal Inspection Depot in Willesden. We know that one of his responsibilities was to collect monies to pay the wages in Teddington, which he drew each Thursday from the London & South Western Bank in Oxford Street.
Throughout 1921, Edward Joseph continued to receive his disability allowance, which had increased to 16/- per week, and which topped up his weekly pay packet of £6-16-10 from the War Office. His diary entries show that, regrettably, he was still in great pain at times, and he spent ten days under investigation in Hampstead General Hospital, on Haverstock Hill, where he was X-rayed and then diagnosed with gastric bronchitis. Immediately after this hospitalisation, Edward Joseph was given £30 by Harry Mayor, and he then headed to Bournemouth for two and a half weeks’ convalescence in Mrs Hardy’s guest house by the sea— his scrupulous records tell us that he left on the 9.45am train from Waterloo on 3rd July, and returned on the 6.15pm train from Bournemouth on 21st July. I would like to think that Lizzie went as well, and baby Teddy, but it seems unlikely.
Back in London, there were walks on Hampstead Heath, in Parliament Fields and around Alexandra Park. Edward Joseph was fit enough to help his brother George to move a piano, and to build a hen house. He went to the football regularly, seeing Arsenal beat Spurs (3–2) and then lose to Sunderland (1–2), and he also watched Spurs win at home over West Bromwich Albion (1–0) and then again over Aston Villa (1–0). Moreover, he went to the Cup Final with Lizzie’s brother Bob (Spurs won, against Wolverhampton Wanderers), and to an England v Scotland fixture — Edward Joseph was clearly an ardent football fan. And there were regular card evenings as well, at brother George’s and at uncle Harry Mayor’s.
On top of that, he went to shows with Lizzie at the London Hippodrome in Charing Cross Road, which had a long run of the musical comedy Mercenary Mary at the time, and the Finsbury Park Empire in St Thomas’s Road, where they heard the variety singers Florence Smithson and Harry Lauder. A year before this performance, Harry Lauder had published Keep Right on to the End of the Road, the song written in honour of his only son John who had been killed in action in France. The reverberations of the 1914–1918 war were indeed inescapable.
Another important development in 1921 was that Edward Joseph sat for the Civil Service entrance exams, scoring particularly well in one of the tests — 200 out of 200 on the Arithmetic paper. This was followed by another medical examination, as part of the process of obtaining a permanent post; the diagnosis on this occasion was different — possibly he was suffering from a ‘nervous breakdown’, from which, it was said, he would recover gradually. Happily, at the end of 1921, his efforts to improve his job security succeeded and he moved into a new position in the Civil Service, as a clerical officer in the Post Office, which would give him the status of an ‘Established’ employee following a probationary period.
This job too was sanctioned under the National Scheme for Disabled Men. Edward Joseph’s disability pension remained payable, and he attended his next examination by the Chelsea Medical Board in September 1923, following which he received the seemingly obvious statement that his entitlement arose from a “Gunshot Wound to the Head” and was “Due to Service” — the need for such a description was because the 1921 War Pensions Act had extended pension entitlement to also include disabilities aggravated by, if not directly attributable to, war service. The pension almost doubled to the princely sum of 32/-, only to be discontinued altogether after one more year. In September 1924, Edward Joseph was notified that he had been “considered for a final award” but that it had “not been found practicable to make such an award.”
It was about this time that Lizzie and Edward Joseph purchased their own house in Hornsey Rise, registering the £400 mortgage charge in favour of the National Safety Permanent Investment Building Society in September 1924. Five months later, however, in February 1925, Edward Joseph had to retire from his job in the Civil Service on the grounds of ill health and was admitted to the Crooksbury Sanatorium shortly afterwards.
Crooksbury Sanatorium. “Opened 1900. Specially constructed and equipped for the Open Air Treatment of Consumption in one of the most beautiful parts of Western Surrey. Sheltered from east, north and south on a sunny southern slope over 400ft. above the sea level. Electric lighting. Bracing inland climate. Large grounds covered with pine woods and heather. Two Resident Physicians. Trained Nurses. Terms, 4 to 5 guineas a week. For particulars apply to Dr. F. RUFENACHT Walters, Crooksbury Ridges, Farnham, Surrey. Registered Telegraphic Address : Sanatorium, Farnham.” Advertisement in The Journal of Balneology and Climatology
The Crooksbury Ridges are just to the south of the Hog’s Back, a narrow elongated hill running between Guildford and Farnham, and part of the North Downs. In 1813, many years before the sanatorium was built, Jane Austen had written admiringly of the location, after travelling in a stage coach along the ancient ridgeway on her way to London. “It was an excellent journey and very thoroughly enjoyed by me; the weather was delightful the greatest part of the day,” she wrote. Her brother Henry found it too warm, she continued, “but to my capacity it was perfection. I never saw the country from the Hogsback so advantageously.” The view is still quite unspoiled. When Edward Joseph made his way there in 1925, travelling in the opposite direction, from London, his destination was the small village of Seale, which is just below the western tip of the Hog’s Back, home then to the Farnham Golf Club, an elementary school and a church—and, last but not least, the Crooksbury Sanatorium for the Open Air Treatment of Tuberculosis, under its enterprising and scholarly medical director Frederick Rufenacht Walters.
Frederick’s equally enterprising father was a silk weaver who had bought a surgical instrument business, so the youthful Fredrick had been able to gain useful experience in the firm before training at St Thomas’s Hospital as a physician. Fredrick went on to specialise in the treatment of TB, and the Royal College of Surgeons remembers him in the following brief acknowledgement of his contribution to medical knowledge:
Frederick Rufenacht Walters (1857–1946) “set up the Crooksbury Sanatorium near Farnham in Surrey, and ran it most successfully for many years with hardly any help. He was his own manager, physician, dietitian, almoner, and recorder. He made time, however, to publicise his observations and opinions, and to follow and discuss the work of others. His Sanatoria for Consumptives, 1899, described the work at all important centres. The Open-air or Sanatorium Treatment of Pulmonary Tuberculosis, 1909, advocated the division of sanatoria into two departments, one for complete rest-treatment, the other for ambulatory occupational therapy. While at Crooksbury he acted as joint County Tuberculosis Officer for Surrey. Walters was a most painstaking pioneer, who did excellent personal work in a field that was afterwards more elaborately developed. The good reputation of Crooksbury won him the trust of many distinguished patients.” The Royal College of Surgeons of England
Edward Joseph writes numerous Letters to Lizzie from Crooksbury, in April, May and June 1925, trying with great difficulty to remain optimistic while battling all the time against fatigue, and tormented by a high temperature that refuses to go down. His letters always start affectionately, and end just as lovingly, expressing concern for Lizzie’s welfare. Although the backdrop is overcast by the ever-present and inconsolable fact that Edward Joseph is there because he is gravely ill, in addition to telling us much about his confinement in the sanatorium, the letters also convey a mirror image of Lizzie’s life in London.
There is a timelessness to these letters, even though they transport us back into a different world. They still seem to strike a chord today, and perhaps they are enduring because they reveal something inherently heartfelt in otherwise heartrending circumstances. We hear about Dr Walters’ other patients — Edward Joseph likes to report their good news. When Edward first arrives, two other cases are also admitted, and they start moving about quite quickly, he says. A Miss Baker is discharged early on, looking a picture of health. Another new patient arrives some weeks later, and he is soon able to walk two miles per day. And as for Mr Barnes, who is getting on for 50, after six weeks he improves so much that he is taking all meals, putting on weight and walking four miles each day. A favourite is Miss Knowles, who used to work at a grocery store that he knows, in Bishopsgate — Miss K knits her way through her time at Crooksbury, steadfastly towards her eventual recovery, when she hopes, so to speak, to cast back on to her life outside. There is also a Miss H, who joins Miss K in knitting a few items for Edward Joseph and Lizzie — a woollen coat, a dress (perhaps for daughter Nellie, who is eleven months old) and a tea cosy with a lining the colour of saffron. When Miss Knowles leaves, the patients celebrate surreptitiously with a glass or two of port. Unfortunately, Miss H does not fare so well, and eventually she starts to run a high temperature too. And very sadly, just after Edward Joseph arrives, the staff stay up all night with a young girl, whose mother is sent for. On the same day, the old man in the next room is ominously quiet, but what a relief it is to find that he is still there a few weeks later, when his laundry gets mixed up with Edward Joseph’s. And there is also news concerning the staff — a new nurse arrives, and promptly gives two week’s notice!
We also hear about the children — Teddy (Edward James), born in 1920, and Nellie (Helen Elizabeth), born in 1924. Edward Joseph is concerned about his son Teddy, who is under the weather at home at one point, as is Lizzie. “I feel quite worried over both of you not being well and do hope I get better news in your next letter,” he writes to Lizzie. Edward Joseph’s instincts are right — unknown to him at the time, the TB had taken hold in Teddy as well. But there is also something very pleasurable to talk about — Nellie’s first birthday party. “You appear to have had a nice little party for baby’s birthday, how I wish I had been there! I guess it was a merry little affair and I fully enjoyed reading your description of it. My word, Nellie came off alright for presents, didn’t she? I heard from Mother and Bett this morning, and as usual they gave detailed accounts of Nellie and Teddy’s antics. Nellie seems to be a continual source of amusement to them. I hope she will be able to amuse me very soon, if only for a couple of days.” It is hardly possible to read these last few touching words without agonising for Edward Joseph.
The Letters to Lizzie present an understandably disjointed picture of the extended family, given the snippets of information that they contain. Edward Joseph’s mother acquires two rabbit hutches. Lizzie’s brother Bob has a look round a new racecourse. A few weeks later, Bob goes somewhere to recuperate, to Bournemouth perhaps, and brings back a souvenir. Lizzie gives her mother-in-law a letter to post, but Mary Ann appears to forget about it, and the delivery is delayed — Edward Joseph, still observant in his fastidious way, is able to infer all this from the Bethnal Green postmark, and the date and time when the letter was franked. Bob is the eldest of Lizzie’s surviving brothers, and in May he accompanies her on one of the visits to Crooksbury. Later on, when Edward Joseph can no longer concentrate, Lizzie has to explain both to Bob and to her mother-in-law Mary Ann why their letters go unanswered.
And there are plenty of telling comments about Edward Joseph’s siblings — his sister Bett (Lillibeth), who is engaged to Jack (L & J), and his brother George, who is married to Elsie (G & E). Edward Joseph frets about young Bett — after all, their father is no longer alive. “Has that Jack gone home yet?” he asks knowingly at one point. Bett suggests the 18th July as the wedding date, but it seems that George and Elsie are going on holiday then, and we are left to wonder which of them will change their arrangements. Edward Joseph recommends a wedding breakfast for just a few people, given the reduced circumstances in which Bett and Jack evidently find themselves. He forwards the details of a honeymoon guest house, via Lizzie, but again he is worried that the cost will be too high. And there is another concern — what is happening to George? “He doesn’t seem to care lately,” Edward Joseph says. In June, Lizzie treks across London on a visit, only to find that George and Elsie have not let her know that they would be in Margate. So she knocks on Winnie’s door, but Winnie doesn’t hear her. A few days later, Elsie and her sister Winnie come over to check that all is well.
There are other names that ring a bell — the Mayors, the Hardys, Lizzie’s close friend Queenie Bayley, and Hugo Hirst, Lizzie’s employer during WW1. He was one of the founders of the General Electric Company, and its chairman from 1910, who became Sir Hugo Hirst while Edward Joseph was at Crooksbury. A story handed down is that, when she was working for Hugo Hirst at GEC, Lizzie somehow got to know the writer and illustrator Beatrix Potter, who drew a delightful picture of a small girl in Lizzie’s autograph book. The drawing is reminiscent of the illustrations of mice with teacups in The Tailor of Gloucester.
It looks as though Harry and Cissie Mayor also do comparatively well for themselves in business — they can certainly afford a good holiday! Edward Joseph notes that “they had two splendid weeks last year” and the letters tell us that another holiday is planned for the summer of 1925. It was the philanthropic Harry Mayor who gave Edward Joseph his first job, when he left school in 1912. It was Harry again who gave Edward Joseph a generous £30 towards his convalescence at Mrs Hardy’s guest house in Bournemouth. After all this, it will be Harry once more — the family’s guardian angel, or conceivably its éminence grise — whose loan of £364 must be paid off when Lizzie has to sell the house in the early 1930s….
As for Bett and Jack, it looks as though they never actually manage the cycle ride down to Crooksbury on a tandem, fifty miles each way from Bethnal Green, the initial fancy when Edward Joseph is first admitted.
Letters from Crooksbury, April 1925
Edward Joseph McLeay, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, Wednesday 8th April 1925
My Own Dearest Lizzie — I am writing these few lines now, as I presume there won’t be any delivery on Friday, & if I waited for a letter from you before writing, you wouldn’t hear from me before Saturday. — Well darling how are you? All merry & bright I hope. I am anxiously awaiting a letter to see what you have to say about Easter. — Heard from Bob this morning, he said the Hardys have made him feel quite at home & on Thursday he is going to have a look round the new racecourse with George Hardy (I suppose he means young George). — It has been like midsummer today. Sunshine all the time. Yesterday was also very nice. I hope it remains the same over Easter. — The old chap next door has been keeping fairly quiet but the girl in No 1 room is very ill. The doctor & nurse had to take it in turns to stay with her during last night. Her mother was sent for & arrived this evening. Two of the patients who arrived after me are now up. My d_ T has been on the 100 mark the last two nights. Talk about get fed up. I am feeling alright however. — This exhausts the supply of news, so good night dear. Heaps of love & kisses to you all. — Your Ever Loving Husband, TedEdward Joseph McLeay, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, Tuesday 21st April 1925
My Own Dearest Lizzie — Received your most welcome letter yesterday morning. I wasn’t expecting anything until the afternoon post & it was postmarked 11.30pm. — So glad to hear you had a good time on Saturday. Fancy going to Bayley’s as well. That Lil appears to be one of the evergreens. I was surprised that Gwen wasn’t with her. I suppose she is big & old enough to look after herself now. — It was nice of Bob to bring you a souvenir from B. I hope he now keeps well. — I have already spent an hour on this letter, but cannot think of much to write. I don’t think I made any remark about that statement you sent me. I only just glanced at it, everything appears to be ok, & we are getting a little balance. — As I anticipated, I have gone back a step, & now have to retire directly after tea. I was rather surprised at being let off so leniently, as I thought it would be a case of back to bed altogether. In any case, my T will have to behave for the next few days or else that’s what it will come to. I haven’t the slightest doubt that the weather is the main cause of the trouble. Fresh air is all very well, but I don’t think it does much good when one is freezing with it. The prescribed remedy is 'more clothes'. I have tried this, but it doesn’t make any difference. The cold simply seems to soak into my body, & refuses to come out. — The sun has come out this afternoon & it is a real pleasure to sit outside & feel warm. — Miss Knowles lent me the negative of that view I sent you & I have had ½ doz prints taken from it, also 3 of each of you & Teddy. They arrived this morning, but so far I haven’t looked at them. She (Miss K) worked at Fitch’s in Bishopsgate. Provision merchants, where the City man does the shopping for his wife. I know the firm quite well & perhaps you do. Lately she has done nothing else but knitting & that basket making. As soon as one thing is finished, she worries herself to death until she thinks of something else she can make. — Miss Baker left here this morning, very happy as you may guess. She is very fortunate as nothing has actually been found wrong in her case & she has looked a picture of health ever since I arrived. — Well darling must now close as it is nearly post time. — With fondest love — Your Ever Loving Husband, Ted
Edward Joseph McLeay, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, 1925 (undated, Thursday)
My Own Dearest Lizzie — Received letter & stamps yesterday afternoon, thanks for same. — I sent a bed jacket & a pair of bed socks to the laundry last week. They charged 9d & 2d respectively. Quite enough for the jacket, although I think the socks were cheap. When I opened my parcel yesterday, I found that none of the things were mine, they belonged to the old chap next door. He had my pyjamas & jacket, but so far the socks are still missing. — So mother has got two rabbit hutches! I guess there won’t be room for much company. I mentioned some time ago about having the piano done up. I should think it would be a far more economical plan to get rid of it & buy a new one. I can quite imagine that now they know I am up, they think I am fit & can walk about. I only wish it was so. — According to what you say, it seems as though J & L have given up the idea of coming here by tandem. — The question of coming down here for a weekend had better be left over. At present I am going more backwards than forward & as far as I can see, my stay here is going to be very much of an unknown quantity. In these circumstances we may as well wait for the warmer weather. — As for myself, well you can judge by what I have just wrote that I don’t feel in an optimistic mood. I am rather surprised at being allowed up at all, as my T has gone back to the first month’s figures. The doctor seems to treat it quite lightly, so I suppose it is no use worrying. — Well Darling, this is all for the present. All my love. — Your Ever Loving Husband, TedLife at Crooksbury brings its tribulations, and fortunately its lighter moments as well, the first of these being the mix up over the laundry, where we discover that Edward Joseph is pleased to get his socks washed for just two old pence!
Soon afterwards, he fixes up a wireless using Miss H’s aerial, and manages to find Marconi’s Chelmsford transmission station, although to begin with it is too faint. Nevertheless, we hear later that Edward Joseph is able to enjoy a splendid evening concert broadcast on 2nd June 1925. He reads the papers too, and, in addition to noticing Hugo Hirst’s appearance in the honours list, he draws Lizzie’s attention to a major fire on 6th June 1925, in Cottenham Rd, not too far from their home in Hornsey Rise — the Daily Express has a picture on page 2 “showing furniture and household effects in the street”, he says.
Edward Joseph tries to keep on top of household matters. In April, he looks at the bank statements — they have a little balance in hand, he is pleased to note. It is not worth having the piano repaired — they would be better off buying a new one. A load of firewood is delivered to Hornsey Rise, and he looks forward to getting some good exercise, sawing & chopping. And then there are the building works, by Mr Wadds — a Dylan Thomas character, a bit before his time, with not one but two Mrs Wadds. Edward Joseph isn’t happy with the builder’s estimate, which allows for too many contingencies. In June, Mr Wadds is behind schedule, but one of the Mrs Wadds stops the men from working on a Sunday. So they work until 11.30pm in the week, to catch up. Edward Joseph wishes he were there to stop that sort of thing. At least “Sid thinks that the work is being executed properly”, he says with a degree of comfort. Finally, to cap it all, Edward Joseph hopes that “this business doesn’t cause the two Mrs W’s to get pally because there will be some nastiness then”. Quite understandably, his frustration at monitoring the building works from Crooksbury spills over — “I have got fed up writing about this affair so won’t say any more about it.”
Although there is variety in the food, the sweetbreads are not to his taste — “served like very tiny sausages and nearly cold,” he says, “like chewing rubber.” What Edward Joseph really means is not that he dislikes sweetbreads, but that they should be better prepared — “Not a bit like the sort Mr Marley used to get,” he adds. But when Edward Joseph is feeling poorly, he certainly does not want the four course dinners — “…just fancy during this heat wave and with my temperature being served up with beef steak pie and jam roll!”
In the first letter to Lizzie from Crooksbury, on 8th April 1925, we hear that it is like midsummer — sunshine all day, as it had been on the day before. The sun is out again when he writes later in April — “It is a real pleasure to sit outside and feel warm” he says. But there are days when the cold strikes right through — “Fresh air is all very well, but I don’t think it does much good when one is freezing with it. The prescribed remedy is more clothes. I have tried this, but it doesn’t make any difference. The cold simply seems to soak into my body, and refuses to come out.” In May, the wind is too boisterous for sitting outside — “I have my chair right across the doorway” he adds. On another day, thunder and rain send the patients back to their rooms, scampering across the lawn, past the wallflowers and primroses. Towards the end of May, it is another fine day, but now Edward Joseph finds that the sun has warmed him up a bit too much. There is more fine weather when he writes on 30th May, but the wind is very gusty. The gardener replaces the wallflowers and primroses with geraniums and other flowers. A few days later, it is sweltering —“I’d like to walk about in my birthday suit” is the picture that Edward Joseph conjures up, his last comment on the weather at Crooksbury.
Letters from Crooksbury, May 1925
Edward Joseph McLeay, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, May 1925
My Own Darling Lizzie — Received yours yesterday afternoon. So pleased to hear Teddy is a little better. I feel quite worried over both of you not being well & do hope I get better news in your next letter.— I read the estimate & am returning same. I expect these chaps are alright, but I would have wanted things worded in a different way, if I had been at home. There is too much scope in the bit about “In the event of unexpected etc.” However, we will see how things go. — I suppose you wont mind if G & E don’t come on Sunday, as you can do with a rest, although of course it will be a change. Received letter & writing pad from L, but she didn’t send any envelopes. Fortunately I got a few stamped ones when I was in Farnham, as I only have one of the blue kind left. I have now got a packet from the Secretary. L says Geo visited them last Sat. As usual he couldn’t stop long, as Elsie wanted to do some shopping in the afternoon. He eventually left at 6pm!! As L says, “He doesn’t seem to care lately.” — I forgot to tell you that when I returned from Farnham on Thursday, the Dr asked me if I had got what I wanted (meaning a present for you). I said “No, I couldn’t see anything suitable etc.” He then suggested that I should send you some views of this place, obtainable from the Secretary!!! I had a good mind to ask him if he thought I wanted a divorce. 
The wool for the coat came yesterday, & the tea cosy stuff this morning. The latter looks very nice in a piece. They (Miss H & K) are engaged on other things at present, but I expect they wont keep me waiting long. Just this very second Miss H has come up & asked me to approve of the lining colour. Kind of a cross between orange & lemon. Have you a card amongst those patterns, corresponding to the one I sent you? If so will you let me have the three prices. — You have evidently got some packet of firewood. It will give me some good exercise to saw & chop it up. I haven’t wrote to Mr Wadds yet, as the weather has been far too miserable to do any unnecessary writing. This morning we have actually got some sun, although the wind is too boisterous for sitting outside. I have my chair right across the doorway. — Pleased to say I am feeling OK, but still get the nasty touch during the evenings. Lost 1oz this week! Am not at all satisfied with this weight business, as I am still 2lbs short of when I came here. — We have a Mr Barnes who has got on wonderfully well. He is about 45 or 50 & has been here 6 weeks. He is more of a preventive case. Now up to all meals & walking 4 miles per day. The records for the gain in weight during the past 4 weeks are as follows: 2lb3oz - 2lb - 7oz - 2lb8oz. That’s the way to do it, isn’t it dear. The best of it is that he doesn’t eat anything approaching the amount I eat. The others all regained the weight they lost last week. — We are now getting a little more variety in the food. This week we have had mackerel, roast pork & sweetbread. The latter was served like very tiny sausages & nearly cold, also it was like chewing rubber. Not a bit like the sort Mr Marley used to get. — The bus times are the same for week-days as for Sundays, i.e., leave Farnham on the stroke of the hour, & from Runfolds at 46 minutes past the hour. If anybody wanted to catch the 8.43 back on Sundays, but didn’t want to use the bus, they could stay in my room while I have dinner (7-7.30 pm) & leave here by car at 8.15. The one big disadvantage of the bus is the weather. If it happened to be raining, the walk would be very dreary. — Well Darling I must now close so as to catch the post. Last Saturday the nurse missed the postman, but fortunately one of the workmen took the letters & posted them in Guildford or somewhere. — With heaps of love, hoping you & Teddy are feeling better. — Your Ever Loving Husband, Ted
Edward Joseph McLeay, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, Monday 18th May 1925
My Own Darling Lizzie — A few lines hoping you & Bob arrived home safe & found everything OK. There isn’t anything to write about, but thought I would drop a line, so as not to keep you waiting too long for a letter. — I was ever so pleased to see you again, but am afraid I spoilt the visit on account of being so dismal. I am ever so sorry dear, but somehow I have got very despondent. There doesn’t seem to be any end to this business. Let’s hope things will improve very quickly, if they don’t, I shall write to Durrant & ask for a transfer. — I felt very fagged after you went, & it wasn’t long before I got into bed. I tried the wireless on Miss H aerial & got Chelmsford, but it was very faint. I didn’t trouble to tinker about with it, as I was too tired, so shall try it tonight. — Have you had the break in the weather? It was quite fine this morning, but the sky clouded very suddenly & there was thunder & rain which sent us scampering across the lawn to our rooms. I don’t think the weather has broke up properly as this only appears to be a kind of summer thunderstorm. — Miss K started on the dress before breakfast this morning. — Well Darling this is all for now, but will write more when I hear from you. Heaps of love. — Your Ever Loving Husband, TedEdward Joseph McLeay, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, Tuesday 26th May 1925
My Own Dearest Lizzie — I was very surprised to hear that you did not receive my letter on Saturday night, as I sent it away from here as usual. I do hope you have got it by now as it contained 4 snaps. Let me know the postmark & time as I will have something to say about it at this end. — You appear to have had a nice little party for baby’s birthday, how I wish I had been there! I guess it was a merry little affair & I fully enjoyed reading your description of it. My word, Nellie came off alright for presents, didn’t she? I heard from M & L this morning, & as usual they gave detailed accounts of Nellie & Teddy’s antics. N seems to be a continual source of amusement to them. I hope she will be able to amuse me very soon, if only for a couple of days. — L mentions the 18 July as a possible date for the “affair”. From what you say, I guess they are in some predicament as regards to where they shall hold it. I think the best thing they could do is to have a wedding breakfast for the absolute intimates, amounting to a dozen at the outside. Don’t you think that would solve it? — The Doctor came along a moment ago & I suddenly took a fit to ask him if I could spend this weekend at home. The answer was in the negative. He said that as I was not yet on walking exercise, it would be a very unwise thing to attempt. So much for that little bit of excitement. — I received a letter from Mum yesterday & will answer shortly. — Well Darling, for the past week or so I have done nothing else but think-think-think about whether to leave here, until my brain has got clogged. It is a case of being between two fires as you can see by the following. If you received my Saturday’s letter you will have seen my Temp. records from last Mon to Fri. They were enough to make me want to get away from here, but since then (for Sat, Sun & Mon), I have registered 99.2–99.2–99. If it was to keep on like this & gradually fall, I would be satisfied. The thing is, will it? Time alone will tell, & that is where I get caught between the fires. To save myself unnecessary worry I think I will remain calm until the end of this month & then make my decision on what happens between now & then. — If I decide to write Durrant, do you think it would be worth mentioning Bournemouth at all? Personally I feel inclined to let him send me where he likes as I am not so certain that the B air is very beneficial to me. Perhaps if I move you could fix up to go to Mrs Hardy’s for a couple of weeks. It would give me great pleasure to know you were having a change of air. In the event of this event materializing I would ask D to let me have a couple of days at home during the change over. If I can keep alright here & get to the walking stage, I would arrange for you to come down the third week in June. The first two weeks are already booked up. — The new nurse is very nice indeed, but we wont enjoy her company very long as she gave a fortnight’s notice yesterday. What a game to be sure. — Weather has been fine today. I think the sun has warmed me up a bit too much again. — Well Darling, this is all for the present. With fondest love & kisses. — Your Ever Loving Husband, TedEdward Joseph McLeay, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, Saturday 30th May 1925
My Own Dearest Lizzie — Don’t know what to write this morning. If I had not promised a letter, I don’t think I would have troubled to write at all. — George says you will most probably go to their place for a day this weekend. I hope you enjoy yourself if you do. — Did I tell you that L wrote & mentioned the 18th July as the probable date of the wedding? G now says that he commences his holidays then, so I suppose L will have to alter her date as G says he cannot alter his. — The weather is very gusty here, the sun is out this morning, but there is a very strong wind. — Has that Jack gone home yet, or is he still staying with Marleys? — The wallflowers & primroses have been taken out of the flower beds & geraniums & other flowers put in. They look very nice. — Well Darling, I hope you & the children are keeping alright. I do not know when you will receive my next letter as I do not know what the postal arrangements are. — Heaps of love. — Your Ever Loving Husband, TedWhen Edward Joseph first writes to Lizzie, at the beginning of April, he is anxious to hear her plans for a visit to Crooksbury over the Easter weekend. Easter Sunday is on 12th April in 1925. But by the end of the month, those high hopes are forgotten, and he tries instead to dissuade Lizzie from visiting, until the warmer weather arrives. “I am going more backward than forward” he says. Edward Joseph already knows that his stay at Crooksbury is going to be “very much of an unknown quantity”. Lizzie’s visit in mid-May is marred by his growing despondency, as those around him improve while he does not. But he is able to bounce back, and soon looks forward to seeing Lizzie, “if I can get to the walking stage” he adds. But, as the letters show, that is not what happens.
At the end of May, when Edward Joseph asks the doctor if he could spend the weekend at home, he is told that it would be unwise. When he is examined again a few days later, things are much the same. He then begins to lose confidence in Doctor Walters. What is worse, the corridor is being refloored, and Edward Joseph is disturbed by the noise all day long. “The sooner I can get away from this place the better” he says. Lizzie must be at her wits’ end, more than fifty miles away, with two young children at home. “I am glad you refrained from rushing down here” he says.
Edward Joseph writes to the providence society that pays his health bills, to ask Mr Durrant for a transfer. He suggests Bournemouth, so that Lizzie might arrange to go to Mrs Hardy’s for a couple of weeks. But he doesn’t know when to expect a reply from Mr Durrant, especially as the Society will need to receive Doctor Walters’ monthly report. Then it dawns on him that it may not be straightforward getting Mr Durrant onside. “A blinking nuisance” he says, “if he gets to know of my present condition, he may not let me leave here until I am more fit.” So Edward Joseph starts to make plans to go home instead. “I feel confident that if I could get home, this attack would soon be mastered, as I would be happy to be near you and the children.”
From the outset, his high temperature has bothered him greatly. “My damned temperature”, he calls it. It is 100 degrees Farenheit when he first writes. By the end of April, he has to retire to bed directly after tea, although he rather suspects that he should have been sent back to bed altogether. “The temperature will have to behave for the next few days or else that’s what it will come to” he says. But he does try to look on the bright side as well. “The doctor seems to treat it quite lightly, so I suppose it is no use worrying.” Concerned how others at home might read the situation, he says to Lizzie “I can quite imagine that, now they know I am up, they think I am fit and can walk about. I only wish it was so.” He is clearly becoming more and more alarmed, and does “nothing else but think-think-think about whether to leave.” The temperature then falls to 99.2–99.2–99.0 on three consecutive days, but it goes back up to 100.8, whereupon Edward Joseph realises that he hasn’t pulled round as much as he had hoped. This is so infuriating, he says, that “I jabbed the thermometer back into the pot with such force that I broke it” adding “This little jab will cost me 3/-”
And then Lizzie receives the letter in which her husband prepares her for the unpleasant news to come — “I am gradually getting worse, so I think it is time I told you …. I have been in bed since last Monday and my temperature has been rising practically all the time, it has now reached 101.8 …. goodness knows when it is going to stop soaring.” And two days later — “These pains round the body don’t shift at all. They are not severe but just like a badly bruised feeling. There is a constant pain at the top of my head, and every time I cough, don’t I know it.” And again, in the last letter before he returns home — “My head has been chronic today; I haven’t wanted to move for anything.” Lizzie must be frantic by now, and Edward Joseph tries valiantly to lessen her concerns — “Don’t worry, I always write worse than I actually feel.”
Doctor Walters says to him that evening “I am afraid you are in for some weeks rest.”
Edward Joseph sends a postcard to Mr Durrant to ask if he has received the letter, but waiting for Mr Durrant is like Waiting for Godot. So he encourages Lizzie to phone Mr BD Hurst, to let his old boss at the Post Office have the full picture. It only appears as a brief line in a letter to Lizzie, but this is judicious advice indeed — Mr Hurst is exceptionally helpful when Lizzie encounters the red tape of officialdom in the months and years to come.
Letters from Crooksbury, June 1925
Edward Joseph McLeay, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, Wednesday 3rd June 1925
My Own Dearest Lizzie — Received your most welcome letter & was concerned to hear of your unfruitful journey on Monday. I wouldn’t have risked going after the letter you received from E. She might have told you they were going to Margate. Anyway it got you out of doors for a few hours, so no harm was done, as I don’t suppose you would have troubled to have gone out otherwise. — I believe Mrs Abbott’s address is 14 Hawley Street. I rather doubt whether she will have any vacant dates in July or August, judging from what she used to tell us. Also her fees might not suit L & J. — We can quite understand Mrs Wadds not liking the Sunday business. You can imagine what we would have said if the same thing had occurred in Caledonian Road. However, let’s hope they will get the job finished very soon. — I forgot to tell you that on Sunday my temp was 100.8. I was so infuriated that I jabbed the thermometer back into the pot with such force that I broke it. This little jab will cost me 3/-. — Well dear when I saw the '7th June' on your letter I guessed what you were referring to, although I must confess that I did not know the actual date. Bad lad! Now as regards your proposed visit here next Sunday. In view of what I have told you about writing to Durrant, I think it best to postpone the visit, as possibly you may be able to use it to better advantage if I do leave here. I don’t know when to expect a reply from D. as I think he will wait till he receives my monthly report. The Doctor told me yesterday that he hadn’t sent it in yet. He examined me again yesterday morning & said I was much about the same as on Friday. — Miss K leaves this afternoon. She bought a bottle of Gilbey’s best port to celebrate the occasion. Brought me in a 'double double' this morning & I have had one or two sips at it. It is in my locker out of sight. — Miss H has been in bed since Sunday with a high temp. The new chap who occupies the hut comes from Finsbury Park. He only arrived last Friday week but is doing a couple of miles per day. — I enjoyed a splendid concert from Chelmsford last night. — Well my dearest the fountain has run dry again, so will say Ta-ta. All my love. — Your Ever Loving Husband, Ted
Edward Joseph McLeay, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, Friday 5th June 1925
My Own Darling Lizzie — Received letter yesterday morning. — It looks as though this building job will cause some trouble before it is finished. I only wish I was at home to have my say in this matter. I guess there wouldn’t be any working till 11.30pm. I hope this business doesn’t cause the two Mrs W’s to get pally because there will be some nastiness then. — By the way you write I presume you didn’t see Mother on Tuesday night. Did you see her at 114 on Monday? — I haven’t heard from anybody except you this week. I thought there might have been a possibility of hearing from Durrant this morning. But still I expect it takes some little time to settle a matter like this. Also I don’t suppose he got my letter until Wednesday. Anyway, the sooner I can get away from this place the better. — What do you think of the weather dear. Glorious isn’t it? It is sweltering here, & I’d like to walk about in my birthday suit. — I am plodding along about the same. — Can’t think of anymore to write, so will pack up. With all my love. — Your Ever Loving Husband, TedEdward Joseph McLeay, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, Saturday 6th June 1925
My Own Darling Lizzie — Your most welcome letter received this morning. I was very pleased to hear that Elsie & Winnie had been to see you, as it seems that they must have felt concerned. What a pity W. did not hear your knocks. I bet she would have been very pleased to have had you for company. G & E have got some pluck - fancy going off to Wembley for the day! — Am glad Sid thinks the work is being executed properly. I have got fed up writing about this affair so won’t say anymore about it. — It looks as though there was a decent fire in Cottenham Rd. yesterday. There is a picture in the D. Express (p.2) this morning showing furniture & household effects in the street. — I suppose you have already seen or heard about Hugo Hirst being made a Baronet. — Mayors are evidently in for another good holiday. I remember they had 2 splendid weeks last year. — Well Darling, this is all for now. I shall be thinking tomorrow of 'six years ago' & trying to recall some of the pleasant happenings of that day. Hoping you are managing to keep cool. — Heaps of love. — Your Ever Loving Husband, TedEdward Joseph McLeay, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, Monday 8th June 1925
My Own Darling Lizzie — I am so sorry dear to have not wrote you over the weekend, but I am sure you will forgive me when you have finished reading this letter. — Received yours this morning. Evidently you gave it to Mother to post & she forgot to do so as it was postmarked 9am B.G. Saturday. — Well dear to get back to the horses, you must prepare yourself for unpleasant news. I purposely refrained from telling you anything last week, as I thought I might pull round quickly. Instead of which I am gradually getting worse, so I think it is time I told you. — I could write a long yarn, but as I have got to conserve my energy I will just give an outline & wait till I see you to explain in full. — I have been in bed since last Monday & my temperature has been rising practically all the time, it has now reached 101.8. This morning was 100.4, being 4 points higher than yesterday morn. So goodness knows when it is going to stop soaring. — The Dr hasn’t examined me since last Monday. At various times he has mentioned the following complaints, what may be the cause of this attack:- Healing pains — Pleurisy — Rheumatism, or “Possibly it is an attack of Influenza or one other of those microbic complaints.” I have had 3 changes of medicine in a week — 1. Cough mixture — 2. For Rheumatics — 3. For Indigestion. How on earth is it possible to have confidence in a man who talks & acts like this. — I am on ordinary diet, just fancy during this heat wave & with my temp, being served up with beef steak pie & jam roll!! You can imagine how I feel about the 4 course dinners. — I feel very much inclined to think that what I have got is a bad attack of flu & mixing with the other business, it is causing me to go through it. These pains round the body don’t shift at all. They are not severe but just like a badly bruised feeling. There is a constant pain at the top of my head, & every time I cough, don’t I know it. The cough is very troublesome & kept me awake nearly all last night. To make things a bit more pleasant, the whole of the corridor is being refloored & I have the music of saws & hammers all day long. — Oh Darling what a cheerful hubby you have! Always moaning. Don’t worry, I always write worse than I actually feel. — This affair is a blinking nuisance in view of my writing to Durrant. I suppose if he gets to know of my present condition, he may not let me leave here until I am more fit. If however he gives me a specific date to leave, I am going to take the risk & come home by Gardiner’s car. — Another point is what to do when I get home. I cannot possibly sleep in the same room as you & the children. It will most probably mean putting up on the settee, or better still if you could borrow a single bed from Mum. — That reminds me, you might tell Mum & Bob to excuse me for not answering their letters, but as I mentioned before, I mustn’t do too much. — Well my dear, I must now pack up, as my head feels foggy. I am so sorry to write this yarn, but don’t worry I will soon be OK again. — Fondest love — Your Ever Loving Husband, TedEdward Joseph McLeay, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, Wednesday 10th June 1925
My Own Dearest Lizzie — Received your letter this morning & was sorry to think I upset you so much. — I am glad you refrained from rushing down here, as it will be far better to hear what Durrant has to say. Of course, if he has been in communication with the Dr at all I know what to expect. In this case I will have to risk being thrown out of the Society, & come home on my own accord. I feel confident that if I could get home, this attack would soon be mastered, as I would be happy to be near you & the children. At present I simply lay & mope all day. — Why didn’t you try to get Hurst on the phone? He would probably [have] asked you to go & see him, when you could have let him have the full story. — I have been thinking about what I said regarding a bed in the front room, but I do not think this is practicable, owing to the fumes & noise from buses. It seems the only alternative is for you & the children to migrate to the front room. — Well Darling must now close, my heart’s good, but my head won’t let me write. Will let you know if I hear anything tomorrow morning. — Best love & kisses — Your Ever Loving Husband, TedEdward Joseph McLeay, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, June 1925 (undated)
My Own Dearest Lizzie — Received your most cheerful letter. I commenced to ‘blub’ before I had finished reading it, to think what a great jewel I have in you. — I have had this pad beside me all day. I wanted to catch the afternoon post, but I have been so groggy that I could not raise a gallop to write. It is a few minutes to 9 now. So I thought if I don’t write summat, you’d wonder what was the matter. — Peculiar you should have had that feeling about coming here last Sunday. I quite expected you to!! I got a feeling that you would take a sudden fit & come. — Have dropped Durrant a PC asking if he received my letter. The Doctor said this evening “I am afraid you are in for some weeks rest.” My head has been chronic today; I haven’t wanted to move for anything. — Well Darling cannot write more now. All my love. — Your Ever Loving Husband, TedEdward Joseph went home on Saturday June 13th. The last of his Letters to Lizzie even discusses the arrangements that would need to be made in this respect. “I cannot possibly sleep in the same room as you and the children” he says, “It will most probably mean putting up on the settee, or better still if you could borrow a single bed from Mum.” But then Edward Joseph sees how desperate this is all becoming — he has to change the plan, as he cannot sleep downstairs “owing to the fumes and noise from buses.”
He was only at home for a day or two before he was admitted to St Bartholomew’s Hospital, where, on Monday June 22nd, he died of the tuberculosis and “other complications arising from his war injuries”, aged 27.
Following Edward Joseph’s death, Lizzie receives two letters from the Crooksbury Sanatorium at Farnham. One is from a fellow patient, LO Nicholls, who had accompanied Edward Joseph home on 13th June. The other is from Frederick Rufenacht Walters, the doctor, who makes it clear that Edward Joseph’s fatal illness is attributable to his war service.
LO Nicholls, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, Saturday 27th June 1925
Dear Mrs McLeay — It is with very deep regret that we fellow-patients of Mr McLeay’s at Crooksbury heard this morning of his death. We had hoped that the change to the pleasanter conditions of home life would have stimulated him in the long fight he has made against the disease. It was only the last 10 days or so before he left that he seemed to be losing ground & I never thought when I left him at Hornsey Rise a fortnight ago today that the end would be so sudden. — Believe me, all who knew him down here feel deeply for you in your sorrow & that the world will deal kindly with you & your young children. — Yours sincerely, LO NichollsFrederick Rufenacht Walters, Crooksbury Sanatorium, Farnham, Surrey, date uncertain
Dear Mrs McLeay — Thank you for your informing letter. I think there is no doubt that the complications you mention (meningitis & intestinal ulceration) were both tuberculous, but both resulted from Mr McLeay’s war service; so that you may fairly regard him as having given his life for his country. It won’t bring him back; but it may comfort you; & the presence of the complications accounts for the lack of progress here. — Believe me — Yours faithfully, FR WaltersThe Funeral Grant
Ten days after his brother’s death, George McLeay made an application for a funeral grant on Lizzie’s behalf. Lizzie had purchased a grave in the Borough of Islington Burial Ground, the memorial park that had been laid out in the 1800s on Finchley Common farmland in order to alleviate the over-crowding in the city’s cemeteries, and planted as woodland with sycamore, ash, willow and oak. The entitlement deed — duly signed by the Islington Borough Town Clerk and two Members of the Council — indicates that the numbered plot was obtained for three guineas, £3–3–0, for the right to a grave measuring “six feet six inches long by two feet six inches wide”. Together with the funeral director’s bill of £14–15–0, sent to Lizzie by Mr Challis, the full cost of burial amounted to £17–18–0. This certainly puts her fiancé Bobbie’s War Gratuity of £8 and her brother Edward’s War Bounty of £15 into perspective.
Alfred Challis, Undertaker and Funeral Furnisher, 26 Blenheim Road, Hornsey Road, N, 29th June 1925
Mrs McLeay
For the Funeral of the Late Edward Joseph McLeay
To a Stout Elm coffin, Moulded top & sides, French polished, Fitted with Handles, 2 lid Ornaments etc. Engraved name plate of Inscription, The Inside lined, Mattress, Pillow side cover sheets ruffle etc. Removal from Hospital to home — To an Open Funeral car & pair of Horses, 2 Mourning coaches, pairs of Horses, Velvets. With Undertaker & men as bearers to Family Grave Finchley Cemetery.
£14-15-0, Received with Thanks, Alfred ChallisThe funeral grant was disallowed because, as the Ministry of Pensions maintained, Edward Joseph “did not die of his invaliding disability”. The case was reconsidered in August 1925, and again rejected. As in her brother Edward George’s case, there is a bitter after-taste to such a decision, a strong sense of a life genuinely lost to war duty being swept aside. Lizzie had been unbending in her resolve to right an obvious wrong, having replied immediately in response to the first decision in order to elicit an explanation of the grounds on which it had been taken, before submitting her case for reconsideration. However, the Ministry of Pensions still turned down her claim.
WH Haworth, Chief Area Officer, Ministry of Pensions, Islington Area Office, London N1, 8th July 1925
Madam, I beg to acknowledge receipt of a letter submitted on your behalf by Mr G McLeay, on the 1st instant, & regret that owing to having to consult the Medical Officers of the Ministry on your late husband’s case, I have not been able to answer before. — The whole matter has been referred by the Medical Officer governing this Area to Headquarters for the final decision. — Upon receipt of their decision a further communication will be sent to you. — Please note that I do not expect a reply for some little time on the case. — I am, Madam, Your obedient servant, WH HaworthWH Haworth, Chief Area Officer, Ministry of Pensions, Islington Area Office, London N1, 24th July 1925
Madam, With further reference to my letter of the 8th instant, I have to inform you that I have now received a decision from Ministry of Pensions Headquarters relative to the claim for funeral expenses in your late husband’s case, & it is regretted that an action cannot be given to a funeral grant. — I am, Madam, Your obedient servant, WH HaworthWH Haworth, Chief Area Officer, Ministry of Pensions, Islington Area Office, London N1, 29th July 1925
Madam, I beg to acknowledge receipt of your letter of the 27th inst., & have to state that the ground on which a funeral grant has been disallowed in respect of your late husband’s funeral, is that he did not die of his invaliding disability. — I am, Madam, Your obedient servant, WH HaworthWH Haworth, Chief Area Officer, Ministry of Pensions, Islington Area Office, London N1, 28th August 1925
Madam, With further reference to your letter of the 6th inst., & my interim reply of the 11th inst., I am directed by my Headquarters to state that careful consideration has been given to your further application for payment of a funeral grant in respect of your deceased husband, but it is regretted that it has been decided that there are no grounds for amending the decision conveyed to you in my previous letter of the 24th ultimo. — I am, Madam, Your obedient servant, WH HaworthThe Widow’s Pension
Undeterred, Lizzie applied for a widow’s pension in September 1925, just after new pension provisions had been approved by Parliament. Presumably, she was no longer eligible for the more specific war widow’s pension, even though her husband Edward Joseph had been in receipt of disability pay. A war widow’s pension was granted to the wife of a man who either died in the war, or, if he died from causes attributable to the war, within seven years of its ending — these details regarding WW1 widows’ pensions were spelled out to the House of Commons by the Minister of Pensions, and reported in Hansard 6 March 1917.
Until the beginning of the twentieth century, state support for widows and orphans had been through the Poor Law. David Lloyd George introduced the first Pensions Act in 1908, which provided five shillings a week to all citizens over 70 with low income, but it was not until Neville Chamberlain brought forward the new Pensions Act in 1925 that maintenance income for widows and orphans was made available as a statutory right. Unfortunately, under this legislation, only those who were married to insured men who died after 4th January 1926 were eligible for the new widow’s pension (there is a useful critical review of these historical developments at War Widows’ Stories).
It seems that Edward Joseph’s case really did fall right between the devil and the deep blue sea. His death at the very time when the 1925 Pensions Bill was going through Parliament meant that Lizzie was widowed after her eligibility for a war widow’s pension had expired but before her eligibility for the new civil widow’s pension came into force, a loophole that was addressed a few years later in an amendment Bill of 1929. This bureaucratic Catch-22 situation, with its contradictory rules, was further muddled by other factors: first, Edward Joseph’s transfer from a temporary post as a civil servant in the War Office to an established position as a civil servant in the Post Office meant that some of his employment did not qualify as ‘insurable’; second, although his wages were under the pay threshold most of the time, his salary just about reached this level when he became an ‘Established man’ in the months before he retired; third, although he had made contributions to the pension scheme, he did not have the full quota of 104 weekly payments in the period prior to his ill health retirement.
At the end of December 1925, Lizzie was informed that she was not entitled to a widow’s pension because Edward Joseph’s occupation at the time of his death was deemed to be one where “contributions would have been payable under the Act if it had then been in force”. Ten days later, she appealed against this perplexing ruling, and had to wait from January until August to hear that her request was turned down once again, on the new grounds that Edward Joseph had not made the necessary contributions for the required minimum period.
The following Letters to Lizzie document the bureaucratic nightmare with which she had to struggle in this respect, and the remarkable support received from Edward Joseph’s former manager at the Post Office, Mr Hurst.
WS Kinnear, Controller, Ministry of Health Insurance Department, Acton, London W3, 28th December 1925
Widows’, Orphans’ & Old Age Contributory Pensions Act, 1925Madam, With reference to your application of 16.9.25 I have to inform you that, after careful consideration, it has been decided that you are not entitled to a widow’s pension under the above-mentioned act, as it has been established that the normal occupation of your late husband was at the time of his death such as would have been employment in respect of which contributions would have been payable under the Act if it had then been in force. (Section 18[e] of the Act). — I am, Madam, Your obedient servant, WS Kinnear
BD Hurst, Controller, Post Office Stores Department, Studd Street, London N1, 2nd January 1926
Dear Mrs. McLeay, I have looked into the question of Pension & have asked someone at the Acton Pensions Office about it. I find that the form WP13 you have received is regarded as the final form which means that the case has received very careful consideration. — At the same time it is possible that all the facts were not shown in your application & it is suggested that you appeal to the Pensions Dept (at the address given at the head of the blue letter) for a reconsideration of the case. Make a special point of the fact that as Mr McLeay had not qualified for a P.O. pension when he was retired, he received a gratuity & that he went straight to the Sanatorium & died only 4 months after he was retired & that the P.O. enforced his retirement on account of his bad health. — At the same time you should mention that he was insured from Sept 1918 to Dec 1923 when he became 'established' & therefore not insurable, although under the new act he would have been insurable. — If there are any other facts which you think might weigh put them in - I feel sure they will be carefully considered. The following are the dates which might prove helpful — Temporary Clerk in Civil Service (insured) from 9.9.18 — Clerical Officer in Post Office (insured) from 14.12.21 — Received modified War Certificate (which means he became 'established' & ceased to be insured) 21.12.23 — Date of retirement enforced on grounds of ill health 23.2.25 — With all good wishes for the New Year — Yours sincerely, BD HurstIf you fail, let me know in case his old Association might like to take the case up. — P.S. We are still enquiring about schooling for the boys - our first effort was unsuccessful. Don’t be disappointed if we fail. — P.S. My friend at Acton has just phoned through saying that he has looked up the case again & suggests that you mention in your appeal that Mr McLeay was a clerical officer & his salary at the time of retirement was less than £250 - it was actually £247-6-0. — BDH
BD Hurst, Controller, Post Office Stores Department, Studd Street, London N1, 5th January 1926
Dear Mrs. McLeay — You are quite right, Mr McLeay was not insured while at the War Office. I’m sorry that we should have made the mistake but our people assumed that he would have been insured - the War Office told us today that his wages were above the insurance limit. — It is certainly a good thing that you raised the question as it would not have looked well in the appeal to have had a misstatement. However I do not think it will make any difference to your chance as this will turn on the question of his normal vocation being insurable if he had been at work. — With all good wishes for success — Yours sincerely, BD HurstBD Hurst, Controller, Post Office Stores Department, Studd Street, London N1, 14th July 1926
Dear Mrs. McLeay — I’m not surprised that you are anxious to know how the pension stands but only that you have been patient so long. — They tell me to say on the telephone that the case is a borderline case - a little too far on the wrong side of the fence; it would have been turned down long ago but for the vigorous fight which the staff side people at the Ministry have put up returning it again an again with new points of view. At present it rests with the Controlling staff for decision & there is just a chance that it may be favourable but a favourable decision may have to receive the assent of the Treasury — more delay! So if you hear nothing you can congratulate yourself that so far it has not gone against you. — I do not think writing to them will make any difference - suppose you leave it for another month & if you have no decision then let me know & I’ll find out how it stands. — I trust you & the family are all well. — Yours sincerely, BD HurstController, Ministry of Health Insurance Department (National Scheme for Disabled Men), Acton, London W3, 10th August 1926
Claim №2009/25Madam, With reference to your letter of the 9th January last, regarding your claim for a widow’s pension under the Widows’ Orphans’ & Old Age Contributory Pensions Act, 1925, I have to state that your claim has received very careful consideration. I have however to point out that before the right to a widow’s pension can arise in the case of a widow whose husband died before the 4th January, 1926, the Contributory Pensions Act requires that one of the following conditions (among others) must be satisfied; — either (A) The husband must be shown to have been insured throughout the last two years of his life & proof must be furnished that 104 contributions were paid since his last entry into insurance; — or (B) Where such proof cannot be furnished evidence must be produced to show that the husband’s normal occupation was at the time of his death such as would have been employment in respect of which contributions would have been payable under the Contributory Pensions Act if that Act had then been in force (Section 18[e]). Further, where the husband was not insured at the time of his death it is necessary to show that he would have been, or would have been deemed to have been so insured by virtue of any employment if the Contributory Pensions Act had then been in force (Section 18[a]). — As regards condition (A) the information before the department is that your husband ceased to be an insured person as a member of the Deposit Contributors Fund on 31st March, 1925, no contributions having been paid after November 1923, & further, less than 104 contributions were paid since the date of his last entry into insurance. — As regards condition (B) the information before the department is that your husband’s last employment was otherwise than by way of manual labour & at a rate of remuneration exceeding £250 per annum. This was not employment in respect of which contributions would have been payable under the Contributory Pensions Act, if that Act had then been in force. — In these circumstances it has not been established that either of the above conditions is fulfilled & it has not therefore, been possible to award a widow’s pension under the Contributory Pensions Act. — I have to add that the delay in dealing with your letter has been due to the necessity for further investigation as to your husband’s insurance & employment. — I am, Madam, Your obedient servant, for the Controller
BD Hurst, Controller, Post Office Stores Department, Studd Street, London N1, 14th August 1926
Dear Mrs. McLeay — I return your letter herewith as I’m afraid of losing it so have had a couple of copies made for the purpose of the enquiries. — We are hoping to get hold of one of the big men at the Ministry & if there is a hole big enough to squeeze the case through you can be sure it will be found. However if we don’t succeed you must not be disappointed as after all it is now somewhat of a forlorn hope. I will let you know as soon as I hear anything at all. — With all good wishes — Yours sincerely, BD HurstLizzie refused to be browbeaten, to her great credit. She quickly obtained a new set of forms with which to apply once more for reconsideration of her case, and was in touch yet again with Mr Hurst to collect further information that had not been taken into consideration so far.
Lizzie waited for almost a year for the adjudication, and wrote to the Pensions Ministry again at the end of July 1927 to press for a decision — and to make them aware that her son Teddy was in hospital and would need longer-term care (as mentioned, he had contracted TB from his father, and would go on to spend several years in coastal nursing homes in Essex, Kent and Hampshire).
Finally, in October 1927, Lizzie received the very gratifying news that the Minister of Pensions, Major George Tryon, had accepted her plea and granted a widow’s pension, together with additional allowances for her two children (tragically, Nellie lost her life to diphtheria three years later, in 1930, while Teddy was at St Andrew’s convalescent home on Hayling Island).
The last batch of Letters to Lizzie records the lengthy process that was involved in this final step in Lizzie’s campaign for recognition.
BD Hurst, Controller, Post Office Stores Department, Studd Street, London N1, 18th August 1926
Dear Mrs. McLeay — Thanks for your note. — Please write to The Registrar of Appeals, Widows’ Pensions, Ministry of Health, Whitehall SW.1.Sir, With reference to the Ministry’s letter dated 10 August from Acton re. Claim 2009/25 in reply to my application for a Widows Pension I desire to appeal against the decision contained therein & shall be glad if I can be furnished with the necessary form. YoursWhen you get the form please let me have it & I will get advice as to how it had best be filled in. — Yours sincerely, BD Hurst
Registrar of Appeals (Widows’ Pensions), National Health Insurance Joint Committee, New Public Offices, Whitehall, London SW1, 25th August 1926
The Widows’, Orphans’ & Old Age Contributory Pensions Act, 1925. — Claim №2009Madam, With reference to your letter of recent date, I enclose herewith a form of Application for Reference which you should complete, giving full particulars relating to your claim for a Widow’s pension, & return to me within ten days from the date of this letter. — An envelope which need not be stamped is enclosed for your reply. — I am, Madam, Your obedient Servant, for Registrar of Appeals
WJ Sawyer, Post Office Stores Department, Accounts Section, Studd Street, London N1, 1st September 1926
Dear Mrs. McLeay — Mr Hurst is away, but he has sent your letter & form on to me in order that the matter shall not be delayed. The following draft will perhaps make clear the point you wish to make & the enclosed leaflet no 1402 should accompany your appeal.Draft — “As my husband went over £250 about a year before 4th January 1926, & died in June 1925, would he not have been considered to be still insured if the Pensions Act had been in force?” — “Should he not be given the benefit of a 'free period' which I understand would be given to similar persons after 4th January 1926. Should not paragraphs 4 & 5 of the enclosed leaflet No 1402 be considered to apply to him, as he went over the £250 limit less than a year before 4th January 1926?” — “With the insurance payments he made & the time he was earning less than £250 I contend that 104 payments can be considered to have been made & that my late husband can be considered to have been an insured person at death.”I think Mr Hurst has told you that the chances of success are slender, but it is worth trying for. — Yours sincerely, WJ Sawyer
BD Hurst, Controller, Post Office Stores Department, Studd Street, London N1, 29th July 1927
Dear Mrs. McLeay — I enclose a draft that has been suggested for you to send to the Ministry - you can no doubt fill up the blanks. — Send it to the address from which you received your last letter. — It is just possible that a reminder in the right style may get them to take your case out of turn. — I’m sorry the little boy is causing you so much anxiety & I sincerely hope his strength & health will be restored. — With kindest regards, Yours sincerely, BD HurstDraft — Dear Sir — With ref. to my claim No … dated … , the last communication received from you was dated … & stated that … — As my little boy has been ill & is still in hospital & will want a good deal of attention for some time to come I am very anxious to hear the result of my appeal. I should be grateful therefore if it could be found possible to come to an early decision. — In any case perhaps you will be good enough to let me know how the matter stands at present. — Yours
Registrar of Appeals (Pensions), New Public Offices, Whitehall, London SW1, 18th October 1927
The Widows’ Orphans’ & Old Age Contributory Pensions Act, 1925. — Please quote the following reference: 2009/25Madam, With reference to your appeal against the decision of the Minister of Health rejecting your claim (2009/25) to a widow’s pension & additional allowances for two children, I am directed by the Referees to state that they have been informed by the Minister that on the further information disclosed on appeal he is now prepared to admit your claim to a widow’s pension & additional allowances for two children. — Your appeal is accordingly allowed. — I am, Madam, Your obedient Servant — PA Currie, Registrar of Appeals
WS Kinnear, Controller, Ministry of Health Insurance Department, Acton, London W3, 18th October 1927
Widows’, Orphans’ & Old Age Contributory Pensions Act, 1925 — Notice of Award of Widow’s Pension — Pension No. M12683 — This number must be communicated in any further communicationMadam, I have to inform you that your claim for a Widow’s Pension has been admitted, subject to there having been no change in your circumstances, as indicated overleaf, since the date of your claim. The Pension is payable as from 5.1.26. — The enclosed form of application for Pension Order Book should be completed & presented at the Post Office named thereon. — You should notify this Department on a form (WP47) which can be obtained at the Post Office, if any of the events specified overleaf has occurred since the date of your claim or occurs hereafter, or if you or any of the children for whom you have claimed allowances become disqualified for any of the reasons stated. — I am, Madam, Your obedient servantWARNING Any person who, for the purpose of obtaining or continuing a pension, either for himself or for any other person, or for the purpose of obtaining or continuing a pension either for himself or for any other person at a higher rate than that appropriate to the case, knowingly makes any false statement or false representation, or any person who knowingly obtains payment of, or continues to receive, a pension which he is disqualified from receiving, shall be liable on summary conviction to imprisonment for a term not exceeding three months. [Widows’, Orphans; & Old Age Contributory Pensions Act, 1925 — Section 35(1)]
The Last of the Letters to Lizzie ….
BD Hurst, Controller, Post Office Stores Department, Studd Street, London N1, 22nd October 1927
Dear Mrs. McLeay — We were all very pleased to hear the good news & offer our hearty congratulations. — It will be an additional source of satisfaction to you to know that some 200 other women will benefit by the decision in your case & will have cause for rejoicing. — I hope the change of air will bring back health & strength to your little boy & relieve your anxieties on that account. — With the good wishes of all your husband’s old colleagues. — I remain — Yours sincerely, BD HurstThis final letter, from the altruistic Mr Hurst, is a wonderful footnote to an otherwise desperately sad story that stems from the first world war. Lizzie persevered in order to get justice, and then found that she had paved the way for the betterment of many others as well. Mr Hurst’s letter mentions that some 200 other women would benefit directly from the decision in Lizzie’s case.
It is interesting to note that, in 1929, new statute law ironed out some of the loopholes that had bedevilled Lizzie. In fact, the legal amendment widened the scope of pension provision considerably, enfranchising very many more married women than before.
In a Nutshell
This has been the story behind Lizzie’s struggle to be recognised as a war widow, leading to a successful appeal that set a welcome precedent for many others. Behind it lies the harrowing account of the three young men in Lizzie’s world whose lives were destroyed by the first world war — her first fiancé Bobbie Rice, who was killed in action early on in France; her brother Edward George Copeland, who fell victim to meningitis shortly after demobilisation, having spent his war in the disease-ridden battlefields of the Dardanelles and Mesopotamia; and her husband Edward Joseph McLeay, who died a few years later of tuberculosis, attributed to the poison gas attacks on the Western Front. And there is George McLeay as well, the only one to pull through in the long run, although badly maimed — he was Bobbie’s good friend, and, later on, Lizzie’s brother-in-law. Their Letters to Lizzie — written by them or about them — provide the thread that stitches together the chronicle of those years.
Additionally there is Lizzie herself, working in London as the men in her life did the terrifying things that soldiers have to do; and, when not at work, sitting it out at home in unbearable anticipation as they took part in some of the most atrocious battles of the war — the disastrous Gallipoli landings, the attempt to relieve the siege at Kut-al-Amarah, the slaughter at Neuve-Chapelle and Loos, and again on the Somme — battles that were lost, battles that were won, and battles that were neither lost nor won.
And last — but certainly not least — there is Lizzie later on, after the fighting had finished, seeing her brother Edward George’s invalidity claim brushed aside as disease devoured him, and then receiving brusque treatment once again when she was refused a funeral grant with respect to her husband Edward Joseph, on the same false premise — that he too was deemed not have died of his wartime disability. But even with a melancholy story like this, the sense of redemption is palpable when, having taken on the powers that be, Lizzie not only won the right to the war widow’s pension to which she was more than entitled, she paved the way for countless others as well.
The sense of restoration is still recognisable, many years on. From where we live now, in North Wales, it is not far to the former home of a shepherd-poet known as Hedd Wyn. He submitted an entry for the 1917 Eisteddfod under a pseudonym, Fleur de Lis. When the winner of the competition was asked to identify himself and accept the award, the unsuspecting crowd was informed of the poet’s tragic death a few weeks before, on the first day of the Battle of Passchendaele. The bardic chair was covered with a black sheet and, from that moment onwards, 1917 would become known as the Eisteddfod of the Black Chair. Some of Hedd Wyn’s poems capture the desperation at the front, often tempered by a hint of optimism, but it is the story of the Black Chair that resonates, pointing in a bittersweet way to the kind of renaissance that is so evident in the last of the Letters to Lizzie. The anguish that is invoked in Hedd Wyn’s poem Rhyfel may have threatened to drown out the atonement — the making of amends — but it did not succeed. Similarly, there was also a degree of restitution in Lizzie’s case, when her determination won through and a different sort of courage was duly recognised, a kind of deferred conciliation with the men who came back damaged.
For all that, the Great War did not turn out to be the promised ‘war to end all wars’, even though much of the world was traumatised for a generation or more. I grew up after the second world war, and we lived initially with Lizzie in her flat near the Archway, from where we looked out onto a WW2 bomb site. With such early memories, it has never been easy to see the first of these conflicts as the turning point in history that is sometimes claimed. More than one hundred years on, we can only guess who, in Lizzie’s circle, might have shared or might have questioned the prevailing wisdom that took the men into that war, and what they might have made of it all afterwards. Perhaps they really were driven by a passion for the cause, having weighed up the right and the wrong of it? Or perhaps they were lulled into that dreadful nexus of misperceptions and mistaken decisions, which led to a commitment that no-one fully intended? Whatever, long before the worldwide cost reached the staggering total of ten million lives (and that is just the number of military casualties), the war was on a treadmill, still portrayed as a valiant exercise by some, and as inconsequential by others.
Such thoughts are entangled and bewildering, almost impossible to reconcile. They jar with Lizzie’s story, and with the essence of the men who were lost, knowing what they lived through and what the survivors had to live with afterwards. Perhaps writing or reading about it lends a hand, at least with the inner tensions, helping to sort out mixed feelings without undermining the remembrance of past courage.
Postscript
Lizzie left not one but two batches of correspondence. The second comprises more than 150 letters written during WW2 by her son Teddy, my father. He trained as an RAF wireless operator, and worked with a cipher officer, communicating with bomber and sea-plane pilots. These further Letters to Lizzie were sent by him from RAF reconnaissance ships and air bases in Britain, Africa and India.
But that is another story…
