Christmas 1945, Germany

Christmas 1945 saw John on the Army Release list, but it would be February before his army career was over and he could return to Colchester.  His Christmas letter saw him in good spirits, but his view of the Germans had altered since the end of the war due to the privations he was witnessing on a daily basis. He severely criticised his mother for her comments on the German people, displaying perhaps the irritation of still being in limbo and wondering about the adaptation back into civilian life following nearly six years in uniform.  Those six years, four of them with the Desert Rats had certainly shown him the world...

The Desert Rats.  From El Alamein to Berlin

John (right) and Cpl Syd Davis of 2nd Light Field Ambulance, Schleswig Holstein, July 1945

23 Dec 45

Dearest Mum

 

            Many thanks for your Xmas card & letter which were forwarded on from 2LFA.  It always such a pleasure to read what you write as you write with such sincerity that I am able to picture current circumstances at your end.

 

            This Xmas should be a happy one for you, dear, with the war over, Tommy & Dick returned, Walter & Ronnie within measurable distance & Marjorie not so far away. I hope you will have a very enjoyable time indeed.

 

            I don’t suppose I shall be doing too badly at the 121 General.  I’m not awfully thrilled by anything these days, & I shall certainly refrain from those excesses of jollification so recommended by the main body.  Last Xmas day I spent in Obbicht watching skating a hundred yards or so from the Maas, & I even put on the skates myself and had a “do”.  That was fine frun if you please & the glint of the sun on the ice, the gay colours of the girls & the skill of the exhibitionists make an attractive memory.  Dear Obbicht!  Dear days!  Would to God the clock could go back one year.

 

            You may look with amazement upon the unusual letter headin at the top of this page.  Geordie & I have come into Brunswick from the 121 which lies just over 4 kilos outside, & have installed ourselves in the writing room of the Jewish club, which is, incidentally, rather richly furnished in line with true Jewish hospitality.  Nothing Utility about this furniture!  Each table of solid natural oak is fitted with a dinky electric table map, and a sprung-seated armchair to match.  Brunswick looks so dingy compared with Hamburg – which looks dingy enough – but this club is a minature Dorchester.  As there’s only one other club, the NAAFI, in Brunswick, & the number of troops around here is colossal, it’s just as well that 50% of the clubs, at least, is inviting.

 

            All travel on civilian vehicles, trains, trams, etc is free for Allied soldiers in Germany.  Geordie & I were able to get a tram for the last 3 kilos here.  Sometimes one finds much of interest in Jerry compartments, the things people talk about, the way in which they talk to each other, the things they wear, the things they have managed to buy.  The trains - & underground – in Hamburg were very comfortable, convenient & frequent.  Nowhere would you have to wait longer than 10 minutes!  Trams always appeared to be chasing each other around, so close were they.

 

            Brunswick is real old Germany, steeped in history & love.  How I regret that I never saw Germany before she was destroyed.  I think I should have loved to spend all my holidays here.  The Harz Mountains are quite near here, & some of the 121 G.H. staff have spent 48 hours at a place called Bad Hassbronck or some such name where there’s skiing, tobogganing & horse-rising.  It’s 35 miles away.

 

            I don’t suppose there will be similar opportunities for you this Xmas to indulge in such dissipations of the flesh, as the weather seems to be quite mild compared with a week ago.  I hope that Joan’s face is more like what God intended it to be & that she will be able to laugh, at Xmas, without splitting her cheek.

 

            The day after Geordie & I arrived at the 232 we were told to take down our Rats & put up the 21 Army Group sign.  We’ve taken down the Rats, but not put up the 21 A G efforts.  However, we remain true Rats at heart whatever our sleeves bear, & the new chaps in the Div who wear the Rat may know that they haven’t got the soul of a Rat whose outstanding qualification is the few pounds of sand lying in the stomach.

 

            There’s a church service at the 121 tonight, but we aren’t going as we have been told there’s a lot of scraping, bowing, crossing etc.  There’s such a chill about Army C of E services that unless the padre is a man of outstanding charm the service is like the grave.

 

            My job at the hospital is that of N.C.O. in charge of Post a purely routine job made busy by the hundreds of patients of all nationalities (allied) & the Xmas rush.  I don’t mind in the least as I can knock off between 4.30 & 5pm! And today, Sunday, I have taken a half-day.  Times are certainly looking up!

            It’s just about time that I went for some tea, so rather regretfully I must down the pen & seek to satisfy that vile, lower self.  However spiritual we may like to appear, the flesh wins every time!

            God bless you abundantly, & like Santa Claus, may he satisfy you heat’s desires.

 

            Love to all, especially Dad

            Yours

            John

            xxx

 

2nd January 1946

...

I find it frightfully difficult to understand your views on the Germans.  Apart from your unchristian attitude (Love your enemies:  I find it quite impossible to worry overmuch about the dear Germans) you seem to be singularly dense in appreciating the food situation out here.  This I assess by virtue of your use of the words “the very meagre amount that we are able to procure”.  If your amount in meagre, for high heaven’s sake how would you describe the amount the Germans have to live on when for a tin of bully-beef a gold watch will change hands, for 50 marks (25/-) a small, plain bar of army chocolate, for 400 marks a pound of coffee (£10)?  Of course these are Black Market prices, but how else can the people live?  I have at various times striven to acquaint you with the German ration scale, which is so much lower than the British as to make the British appear as callous hogs, but believe me that the official weekly ration scale is never obtained.  The ration cards are there all right, but the goods just aren’t available in the shops.  I’m heartily sick of labouring the subject to people who seem unable to grasp the situation intelligently, but at the risk of repeating myself I would say that the sight of unused ration cards in respect of past & current months is eloquent evidence of the discrepancy between entitlement and distribution.  Compris?

 

            Try, if you will, to think of the Germans as individuals or as member of family “cells”, not as a nation whose economic frustrations in the closed markets of the world led them to find the outlet for their inferiority complex by a policy of self-justification leading to all the horrors of the Nazi prison camps & brutal war.

 

            Take the average German women.  Her man is either dead or a prisoner of war.  If the latter, she isn’t aware of it, unless he were captured before the end of 1944.  Few women have their men with them. If they have, they are either men who were discharged from the German forces during the war on account of grave disability (chiefly loss of a leg, a very common practice in German field surgery) or in extreme cases, men of good health who were farmers or other vital civilian workers.  So you see that the average woman has lost her husband.  She has at least two or three children.  Her main problems are care of the children, the procurement of food & fuel. To obtain any hope of getting any food she must queue all day long & then often has to go away home unsupplied.  But how can she queue properly with young children to look after, & no help available?  Getting trees chopped up is utterly beyond her powers, so the fuel situation settles itself by her having to go without.  All very nice for Christians to contemplate whilst getting dug in on a fair-sized meal in a fairly warm room.

 

            If you wish me to elaborate this theme, I shall be only too delighted.  But I cannot continue now for fear of boring you.  For unless one has a open, questing, understanding mind, one is apt to be bored by information calculated to demand a revision of preconceived – and jealously held – views.

 

            Time for “lights out”, so must wish you Goodnight, dear.

 

            Fondest love from John

            xxx

 

Christmas 1944, Belgium and Holland

Christmas 1944 found John in better spirits, being part of the inexorable Allied advance through France, Belgium and Holland and eventually into Germany.  He was in Holland at this time, but making frequent visits back to Belgium, including beautiful Malines / Mechelen.

The picture below is of John walking through the streets of Malines with Karel Denckens, the keeper of the Museum, with whom John struck up a great friendship.  As I grew up, he told me what lovely people the Belgians and Dutch were, something that was confirmed for me this year during two visits to Belgium.

Dearest Mum

            Quite fittingly, I received your parcel this evening, & would like to say how much I appreciate your kindness in including so many things that will help to enliven what is now a very quiet sort of existence.  Never thnk, for a moment, that your parcels could ever be “poor”.  Your taste is too fine, your heart too full.  Regarding the “Alexanders”, you may always send me things you feel led to send.  I’ve got a good hymn-book here “The Psalms & Church Hymnary”, published for the Church of Scotland, & hardly think I’m entirely cut off from religious contact.  Nevertheless, Alexanders brings back pleasant memories of former days.  The toilet bag arrived in a very sticky condition, possibly due to its late incarceration in the parcel.  I hope exposure to air will correct the stickiness. The diary was only slightly bent & is now in “working order”.

            This has been a quiet Xmas, quietly enjoyable.  I lay in bed this morning until half past nine, the Sgt-Major & Sgt Griffiths bringing my breakfast to me.  I was washed & shaved at 12 o’clock!  This afternoon I tried on some skates but quickly found that skating was an art which would take me a long time to master, as I constantly inclined towards to prone position.  There were about a hundred skaters on the frozen lakes & flooded fields, & I must say the picture looked very Christmassy with frost-whitened fields & tress as a background, & a clear sun above.  One or two children had wee toboggans & were colourfully dressed (the girls at any rate), some wearing clogs.  All very sweet.

            We had our Xmas dinner at half past three, which included tinned Turkey, pork, Xmas pudding & an orange, besides the usual things.  It was quite good, but hardly up to the old pre-war home standard!  Another thing totally lacking this Xmas is the wireless.  We have several in the unit, but the unit is dispersed in many buildings, no wireless set being in this one.  The broadcast of carols gives one the Xmas spirit like nothing else.

            The bag, please make it shoulder type.  White string will do famously.

            Your recital of the amateur sweep’s efforts to dislodge his brush & rods reads like a comic opera, but I guess you didn’t laugh an awful lot when the soot was circulating around & you were shivering.  Anyway, I hope that no tools were lost in that operation.

 

            I thought I remembered one of your letters indicating that Pansy might accompany Dad to Hereford.  Apparently I was mistaken.

            You must let me know what can be done regarding my expected leave in Jan (21^st).  Do you think that you can conveniently travel to Colchester?  Surely it’s not seeing so much activity round that part lately? 

            And now I’m growing a wee bit tired, so rather than bore you with a load of junk I think I’ll shut up.

            I hope you’ve had an excellent time with Dad

            From your one & only

            John xxx

 

Christmas 1943

There was not much written about Christmas 1943, as it was spent on board ship en route from Italy to England.  However on 4th December John did write a little bit about how his family might try and retain some festive spirit over the season.  He also wrote in January of the immense amount of work that needed to be done by the unit between arriving in England and their next movement, which would be across to Normandy in June 1944. During this period he was stationed at Lynford Hall, Norfolk.  It seems that in the turmoil of war, Christmas 1943 was not marked by strong merry making.

John Broom (right) with his brother-in-law H.W. `Tommy' Tomkins of the East Surreys, a Dunkirk Veteran

I thought you would make your usual Xmas effort to spend a few days at home & am not, therefore, surprised to learn of your intention.  In a small measure, I suppose one is able to recapture some of the old festive spirit.  And who shall say that the effort is not worth it?  A few days ago I sent you a Xmas card, and though I do not expect it to take so long as last year’s to reach you, I quite expect it to arrive after the 25^th.  That being so, I wish to send you greetings in this letter card for a very happy time together.  This Xmas should be happier than for some years past though you will still miss your `gift from God’.

            I will now bid you a tender `Goodnight’ as the hour is far spent.  “Buona notte” as the Ities say.  You may, if you like, dream of me entirely surrounded by oranges & nuts.  So will that make your stomach gnaw?

January 1944

You will have been wondering where my caravan is resting.  This is the answer – I don’t know whether you are pleased or not.  I’m not very far off home – just some fifty or sixty miles - & may have the chance of popping home for a few hours at the end of the week.  I cannot spare more as most of the unit is on leave & I’m in charge of the office, & besides normal office work there is a hospital to man.

 

            I guess you had a shock when you received my last letter.  “Home is the sailor, home from the sea,  the huntsman home from the hill”.  The weather is most unkind & I’ve now got an outsize in colds.  I should like to rid myself of it before I see you.  My leave is fixed for 27^th Jan until 11^th Feb & as I wrote before, I hope to go on Hereford some time during the second week. I expect you will go to Colchester to see my official homecoming, but if you don’t I shall understand that your nerves would not  stand what may be happening in the area.  Actually, since my return, the nights have been very peaceful & I do but hope that you may always find similar conditions.  I leave everything to you in the matter of your personal arrangements & shall be content to secure your happiness.

 

            I suppose that Pansy has written to you of the boxes I sent along by ambulance the other day.  I had hoped that she would have been at home to receive them & at the same time find out my address.  But the boxes had to be left next door & the opportunity was lost.  You may think that I’m pulling a fast one but the truth is that I’m almost crazed with work.  I was working every minute of the last ten days on the ship & since I got off in Glasgow I have had very little sleep.  I first got to this address on the 6^th & could not tell you what the house looks like from the outside!  The Sergeant, four corporal clerks & one private desk are on leave & there are only a private clerk & myself left.  You can imagine what things we like with the natural turmoil of a unit arriving in a country with a hundred & one things to fix up.

 

            It is at least midnight – last night it was nearly two, but I managed to slip a short letter off - & I seem to be writing without thinking.  I have received many letters & parcels since I arrived, three of them today.  I haven’t had time to open them, but perhaps tomorrow I may be able to snatch a few minutes.  (I have my meals brought to me).

 

            I think that when I get my leave I shall spend a week looking at letters I haven’t been able to read partly or at all.  That will be like heaven.

 

            I paid out over four thousand pounds on my last pay parade.  Not a bad little sum for a small unit, eh?

 

            The strangest feeling I experienced was coming down south in the train.  To see English civilians was, without exaggeration, like taking a deep breath & plunging one’s head in icy water.  The rare wonder of it.  The feeling that one did not belong, that one was part of the desert, part of lovely Italy with common experiences wholly unknown & unconceived by others, made one feel like men of a different race.

 

            At first I had a job to keep to English – it’s such a bad form saying things people know nothing about – but I can now get along without making any heinous errors.

            Always your loving son

 

            John

            Xxx

 

Christmas 1942

By this point my father was in North Africa as part of the advance against Rommel's forces following the Battle of El Alamein in October.  This Christmas letter contains very little `Christmassy' feel compared to 1940 and 1941.  He did manage to send a Christmas card from Egypt.

Dearest Mum

            You will be glad to learn that the `Golden Grain’ diary arrived quite safely at Xmas.  I am sure that it will prove of good use during this year ahead of us; so many thanks, dear.

 

            I was agreeably shocked when I first read of your patriotic exploits in the field.  Your health, presumably, has not been impaired by your stay in the West Country, for the task of gathering in the potato crop, I should imagine, is somewhat arduous, and one that even I might view with disfavour.  The country, though doubtlessly ignorant of the fact, will remain forever in your debt. In Herbert Morrison’s words, “Keep at it!”

 

            Thanks for your letter of Nov 4^th.  Yes I recall clearly the circumstances in which my letter of 25^th June was written.  Letters in those days were a joy to pen, for time there was in which to exercise the grey cells.

 

            Regarding your remarks on the unspirituality of fellow mortals, whilst agreeing with every word written, I would yet say that I have long ceased to be surprised by the unresponsiveness of people to the higher conceptions of life. Having seen so often the selfish indifference of one person to another’s needs, it is not to be wondered at that where material obligation are ignored spiritual obligations should be scorned.  I am afraid that you would die of a broken heart should dwell too long & deeply in consideration of the feelings & diseases of the human soul.  How few are those who esteem others before themselves, who are selflessly disinterested!

            In looking through my letters I find one that to my knowledge has remained unanswered, the one of Oct 21^st enclosing a Xmas card.  Thanks so much for your kind thought, dear.

            I don’t think that mail is lost by plane crashes.  Published records show that mail which is sent by all air routes is always safely delivered.

 

            All today a terrific wind has whipped up & sustained a sand-storm of great violence, & once or twice it looked as though our humble dwelling would take off.

 

            One thing deserving of mention is the extreme ruddiness of my health.  One may pardonably marvel at the fact that not once during the past twelve months have I reported sick.  When one considers that for the first ten months of Army life, sickness had gripped me for nine & a half months of that period, the health – giving virtue of the desert cannot be denied.

 

            Well, dear, I have reached the end of this letter, so will close with my love & assurances of prayer for your well-being.

 

            Your loving son

 

            John xxxxxxx

 

Nurse Catherine (Kitty) Jollands of Misterton, Lincolnshire

 

Today on our travels of North Nottinghamshire and Lincolnshire, we came across the war memorial at Misterton.  I remarked to Dawn that there was something unusual on there, the name of a woman, Nurse K. Jollands.  Here is the memorial.









































A little bit more internet research, mainly from this site http://www.sheffieldhistory.co.uk/forums/index.php/topic/5586-sheffield-nightingales/  uncovered her sad story.  I have included it here as it struck me as particularly poignant, and made me think of all the nurses who died during the war whose names are not publicly commemorated in their native towns and villages.

Catherine (Kitty) Hannah Jollands was born 1894, and died 8^th July 1915 of double pneumonia whilst nursing at Firvale House Hospital in Sheffield. The funeral service was held in Firvale House Chapel and later at the Primitive Methodist Church in Misterton. She is buried in the cemetery just north of Misterton on the road to Haxey.

 

 Apparently she was feeling unwell on the ward and asked to go off duty but the sister refused. Eventually she went off and died soon after. Her family lived at Misterton Carr from 1903 – 1920before moving to East Lound from 1920 to 1922 and then to Skyer’s Farm at Haxey Carr which is where Agnes died.

MISTERTON

OBITUARY  The death of a Misterton young lady nurse at Sheffield on Thursday at a comparatively early age in her nursing career is much to be regretted. We subjoin a paragraph from the ‘Yorkshire Star which testifies to the respect in which she was held by her Sheffield comrades and employers: -

A TOUCHING TRIBUTE PAID IN SHEFFIELD.
A touching tribute to the memory of Nurse Catherine Hannah Jollands, of the staff of Fir Vale House, Sheffield, who died on Thursday after a short illness from double pneumonia was paid by the staff and officials of the institution.

A very impressive service was held in the chapel conducted by the Rev. L.E. Day (Vicar of St. Cuthbert's, Firvale, and a member of the Sheffield Board of Guardians ).
Among those present were: Nurse A. Jollands. (sister of the deceased) and other relatives, Mrs Gallimore, and Mr W.H. BARGE (representing the Sheffield Guardians), Captain J. Clark, R.A.M.C. (T) (medical superintendent). Lieut. B. McKean, R.A.M.C. (T) (deputy medical superintendent), Lieut. R.P. Anderson, R.A.M.C. (T) (assistant medical officer), Dr. J.M. Pringle (assistant medical officer), Mr. S.H.A. Healey (steward), Mrs. A.M. Rawson (matron), the nursing staff and many officers of the institution.

Afterwards the cortege was conducted to the gates of Fir Vale House by the Rev. L.E. Day, the medical staff, the male officers and several wounded soldiers. The remains were conveyed by road to Misterton, near Gainsborough, where they were interred on Tuesday. Floral tributes were sent from the medical staff, the nursing staff, the male officers, the domestic staff, and the wounded soldiers who are undergoing treatment at the institution. Nurse Jollands was only 21 years of age.

The funeral service of Nurse Jollands on Tuesday afternoon was held in the Primitve Methodist Church, Misterton, and was conducted by the Rev. Baldwin, of Gainsborough, assisted by the Chaplain of the Fir Vale Hospital, Sheffield. Among the mourners, the Hospital was represented by the Medical officer, the Matron, and a contingent of the nursing staff.

The wreaths were so numerous as to require a separate conveyance. Noticeable was a splendid wreath in red, white and blue, subscribed for by the wounded soldier patients of the Hospital, the Matron and staff sending a beautiful harp wreath with broken string. Others included a white floral anchor from the domestic staff, a heart in green foliage, and chrysanthemums. Large crowds gathered at the Haxey Road Cemetery to witness the internment.

 

The Jolland sisters with Catherine second from the left

 

 

 

Christmas 1941. Leyswood, Sussex

Christmas 1941 found John near Tunbridge Wells, on standby to embark for service overseas.  This letter was written on 30th December, 1941.

 

As the old year is quietly dying, I would like to thank you, Dad & the others of your `brood’ for your kindness, your thoughtfulness, your prayers, & for your deeply – appreciated expressions of love throughout the year.  I wish that it were in my power to do something beyond just thanking you, but that is impossible.  But as much as it lies in me to love you, that I do, freely & fully.

   It was very kind of you to send that bumper parcel, dear.  I have by no means exhausted the `goodies’, which were in excellent condition on arrival, Xmas day.  Especially enjoyable were the mince pies & coconut ice which I have consumed.  I’m now engaged in mopping up Dad’s rock, which the chaps are agreed tastes very nice.

 

            And now Marjorie has sent me a parcel which I haven’t been able to open yet though I got it yesterday.  Today the chess set has arrived.  Thanks dear for posting it so promptly.

 

            And now to turn to your letters.

 

 

            Cox is the only C.O. [Conscientious Objector] in my room.  Nobody preferred the RAMC.  They were all conscripted into it, after most of them had stated preference for the R.AF..

 

   

 

            Wasn’t it lovely for you to have Iris, Walter & the children with you this Xmas as well as Tommy?  A good things have endings in this life, so you are once more on your own (not really, eh?)

 

            I’ve read Benham’s interesting notes on the name of John.  A common name, forsooth!

 

            And now I shall have to tell you something about myself.  On Xmas day we requisitioned a lorry for Tunbridge Wells, which took us to the Vale Royal Meth. Church for the service.  The minister spoke on “ Thanks be unto God for the Unspeakable Gift” with real understanding.  The carols, too, were quite enjoyed.

 

            Xmas dinner was served by the Officers & Senior N.C.O.’s & consisted of turkey, pork, potatoes, brussel sprouts, apple sauce, Xmas pudding & custard, beer (or mineral) & biscuits.  The tables were decorated with table cloths, paper serviettes, vases of holly, & twisted coloured papers along the centre of the tables.  Balloons were around the walls & holly was all over the dining hall.  Quite a good show, don’t you think.

 

            There was a band on the platform & one or two people sang or gave `turns’.  In the afternoon I went for a short walk with Paul Gully & returned to a decent tea with celery, mince pie etc.  There was no bus or train service operating Xmas day, so I couldn’t get out. I spent the evening in my room.  Boxing day morning I did some work in the office, then in the late afternoon went to Tunbridge Wells where I played chess in the St. John’s Parish Hall.  Saturday evening I went to Crowborough.  Getting about what?  On Sunday afternoon I went again to T.W. to the Meth Church where the service was conducted by a layman who spoke on Ps 78 7.

 

            Last night we had to do some blancoing, the Assistant Director of Medical Services inspecting us this morning.  He’s a Colonel.  The unit spewed up some of its local talent in a home-made concert which was sparsely attended owing to the blancoing.  I went to it, & when they asked for volunteers to act with script a five minute melodrama with a hero, heroine & villain, in the old-fashioned style, I took the part of the villain, Herman was the old man, Paul, the heroine, Cecil the hero & Timmy Blacklock the constable.  We made a distinct hit.  Then the show ended.

 

            Having observed Norman Hutchings in the Canteen at the rear of his church, I would like to say that whatever his faults, he’s evidently a very dear man, speaking to the soldiers & inviting them to the services.  His manner too, is quietly charming & he is so very handsome – again in a quiet way.  I think he must have a tough time with some of the cigarette-smoking women who help in his canteen.  Yes, he’s a good man with, I’m sure, a great faith in God.

 

            Before I forget, please rest assured that I will keep you fully informed as to my actions in the future, as far as reposes in my power to do so.

 

            I’ve just opened up the chess set.  The box was smashed into six pieces, but this can be put right.  You were quite right in not sending the board, dear.  There are several here that will do more conveniently.

 

            Regarding your letter to the press, I endorse what you have written, though you will find a large section of the church in disagreement.  In the middle ages, as you know, Nativity & other religious plays were enacted, portraying the Infant Christ.

 

            Again, consider the pictures of Christ in the famous art galleries of the word, where His Face is the likeness of the artist’s model, men portraying the Divine.  Consider the countless illustrations on text-cards, which is a mild form of that representation protestants most despise, the sculptured Christ.  I’m we aren’t as spiritual as we should be, for we seem to require some pictorial or material aid to attain the conception of the Divine that will enable us to reverence & worship Him.

 

            If the part the actor took was a purely speaking non-acting one, then I don’t think we should grumble, but I must confess that a man’s portrayal of the God-life can be nothing but odious & disgusting.

 

 

            As for the Daily Telegraph, you must remember that the Editor receives hundreds of letters a day, which means he selects about five of the greatest interest  & rejects the others.  A London daily isn’t exactly so generous with its space as a provincial paper.  In answer to your question as to what I think of your letter I think it is sensible & well-expressed apart from anything else, & does you credit.

 

 

            Iris E. has written in complimentary terms of the book by Capt. Mash A.D. Corps.  I was reading it last night & haven’t finished  it.  It’s good in every way & I want to thank you very much for buying it for me.  The account is truly a wonderful testimony to the amazing way in which God undertakes in all situations. [This is the book highlighted in a previous post, `Up from the Gates']

 

            As this letter has to be posted this afternoon,  I’ll bid you good-bye for the nonce, with lots of love & kisses.  God bless.

 

            Yr devoted son

 

            John xxxxxxx

 

Christmas 1940, Whitby

During the festive season, I thought I'd share my father's experiences of wartime Christmases throughout the world.

This first extract was written on 26th December 1940.  It was John's first Christmas away from home, spent at Whitby where he had recently been posted to 7th Light Field Ambulance.

This is Boxing Day & I hope you are enjoying it, with so many of your own about. I presume that Pansy & Tommy arrived on Monday & with only Dick & myself absent, you must number a good gathering over the Xmas.  I’m sorry that I was unable to get home, but it’s not my fault for I kept on hammering at the R.S.M. until he must have been heartily sick of me.  The trouble lies in the fact that only a certain percentage of the unit is allowed to be on leave, & of course all arrangements for Xmas had been made before I came to Whitby & there was simply no room for anybody else.  I have written an application to the C.O. but haven’t been told anything.  I should know any day now.  Perhaps it was just as well that I didn’t come home, for there would have been rather an awful congestion in the sleeping accommodation.

 

            I don’t know how long my wire took to reach you, but I hope that it arrived in time for you to make your arrangements with convenience.  Yesterday was rare fun, with the officers & sergeants waiting on the men for the Xmas dinner.  They were ragged unmercifully & took it all in the best of spirits.  On any other occasion most of the fellows would have been sentenced to `Glasshouse’ detention for breaking everyone of the Army Acts!  It was riotous not to say highly amusing.  This is the menu for the dinner –

 

                        Roast Pork

                        Roast & Boiled Potatoes

                        Green Peas

                        Sage & Onion Stuffing

                                    Apple Sauce

                                    Xmas Pudding

                                    Custard

                                    Mince Pie

                                    Fruit & Nuts

                                    BEER (Ahem!)

 

            Apart from not seeing any fruit & having Grape Fruit Crush in lieu of beer, the above is as consumed by me.  Not bad, eh?  Better than most people had, I venture?

 

            I had intended to go to Church in the morning, but just couldn’t get out of bed until 11.30a.m., there being no parades all day.

            In fact the whole day was free  so was this afternoon, which I likewise spent in bed!  Shows you how we need much more rest!  This morning we were in fatigues & those didn’t take very long, so I can’t say that we’re being overworked this Xmas.  I was really on stand-by duty last night but as they knew most of the fellows would ignore their duty, in pursuit of the bottle, they didn’t have any of the usual parades.  Still, I took the opportunity, with nearly everybody out, to have a bath.  I should think twice before condemning a dog to take a bath in it, but the other two available are only fit for pigs, so I did the best I could with the best one.  Quite a Xmas delicacy!

 

            I trust you got my card, the rest also.  I have got a card from Ronnie, Steph & Iris E.  That parcel from the R.M. [Railway Mission, Colchester] came in as a welcome addition.

 

            If this letter reads rather jerkily, please understand that I’m writing lying on my bed with my eyelids nearly closed, & what passes for my brain is functioning at half speed.

 

            Should there have been any Xmas cards for me at home, don’t trouble to send them on yet awhile until I know something definite.

           

            I haven’t bought a single present yet.  It’s so difficult to shop in Whitby as I believe I explained to sister Iris, so I’m going to leave that part of the business until I get home, assuming of course that I do get home!

 

            Did I tell you that last Thursday we had a Field Day?  It wasn’t very pleasant in the rain & mud to plough through forests & fields after wounded men, though the journey to & from our area of operations wasn’t at all bad. I understand that there’s to be another one tomorrow, Friday.

 

            You amuse me when you write that I could have knocked you over with a postage stamp – on receiving my news of the flight to Whitby.  I wonder how many postage stamps it would take to close-cover you?  And remember, stamps usually take a licking, not give one!

            I knew that there would be no oranges for Xmas for it was published in the papers to that effect.  No bananas either, I imagine.  Or if there were, there won’t be soon.

            Wasn’t it kind of Iris to buy you that writing compendium?  You won’t be able to plead scarcity of writing papers in future should you not send me at least 20 pages !! with each letter.

            Getting on to the subject of bunk-beds, I heard this afternoon that a Corporal from the 17^th Field Amb (at Whitby) fell out of his last night & is now in hospital.  What a joke!  Now don’t be scared about me dear.  I’m a good bouncing boy!

            I don’t want one of those Balaclava helmets.  They are so frightfully ugly.  Obviously there could be no rest for anybody making the night hideous by wearing one.  It would weigh on the mind - & more than with the weight of the wool! (crudely subtle)

 

Sunday morning I went to St. Hilda’s with the parade.  Xmas hymns & a straight message well delivered by the minister on “My Lord & My God”.  O come let us adore Him.

 

            Quite a modern church, costing a good sum.  Tell you more about it later if I find anything interesting.

 

            After the service went to Whitby Abbey which dates back to the Saxons, about 600 odd years A.D.  Stands on the cliff edge looking down on the North Sea & the River Esk which cuts Whitby in two.  Spanned by a bridge.  The abbey, of which I enclose a photo is in a remarkable state of preservation.  A monument (Caedmon’s Cross) not in the photo stands near the ruins & indicates the spot near which the Father of English song fell asleep.  He was a Saxon you know, a great scholar.

 

            In the afternoon I went for a walk, crossing the bridge which I have just mentioned & following the river up for about 3 miles or so until I found a bridge spanning the river higher up.  And so back to the billet having made a circular tour.  Actually I was on stand-by duty & I took a liberty in going out but I thought it worth the risk.  I couldn’t go to Church because there are parades in the evening on this duty, & I had to be present.

            Taken all round, this has been quite a happy Xmas, much better than I ever hoped it would be.  So don’t worry for my sake, dear because I won’t be able to get home.  I only hope that you enjoyed yourself as much as I did.  You know that my thoughts were with you, but they weren’t morbid ones.  What a lot we have to be thankful for & Xmas time is surely the time for thanksgiving.

 

Now I have exceeded my time.  I close with my warmest love & hope that before long we shall meet face to face.

 

            Lovingly yours

 

            John xxxxxxxx

War Memorials of the Yorkshire Wolds, Part 2

Burton Agnes

On leaving the seaside resort of Bridlington, our next stop was Burton Agnes.  As well as the Jacobean Hall and Norman Manor House, the village is home to a C12th church and a war memorial perched high above the main A166 in a prominent position, away from both the hall and the church.

 

It was unusual in the fact that an addition had been made of a soldier killed in Bosnia in the 1990s.

Ganton on the Wold

Here we stopped at a church set back from the main road.  It was one of those moments which draws your breath away.  The church was highly decorated  in the style of a Catholic Church.  However I was sure it was an Anglican one.  If the paintings were from the Middle Ages, then they were in a remarkable state of repair.  A helpful leaflet explained that it was a `Sykes Church’, one of many in the area restored by two generations of Sir Tatton Sykes during the C19th.  The colourful murals depict Bible scenes and the floors were ornately tiled.

 

Wetwang

A place we have stopped before on the journey back from Bridlington.  The war memorial stands in the churchyard of St. Nicholas, commemorating the handful of men who made the ultimate sacrifice in both wars. 

 

 It was becoming clear that there would be a series of churches all open, all with some Sykes family restoration and all with some reference to war.  As the day was drawing in, it became a race against time to get to see as many as possible before daylight ended.

 

Fridaythorpe

Along the A166 to the village of Fridaythorpe, and the rather squat church with an Edwardian French style clockface bearing the message, `Time is short, Eternity is long.’ 

 

 

How true that message was to become for the five men of the village commemorated on the war memorial inside the church.  Unfortunately it is in need of a little bit of restoration as the names are becoming faded.  It is to be hoped that this act is done swiftly.

Fimber

The drive to Fimber was along a very narrow country lane with spectacular views across the rolling chalky Yorkshire Wolds, a landscape which reminded me of the Somme.  Later reading has revealed that large numbers of men were actually sent to the area in 1916 for specific preparation for the Somme offensive due to the similarity.

 

 

There was a memorial in the churchyard, but oddly there was no writing on it at all; no commemoration, no names, nothing.  An explanation of this was found at the next stop at Thixendale.

 

 

 We entered the church and found a wooden three-panelled memorial for both those who died and those who also served in the Great War.  The central panel depicted St. George.  The message beneath the names of the dead exhort us all to lead rich, fulfilled, worthy lives:

Sons of this place let this of you be saidThat you who live are worthy of the DeadThey gave their lives that you who live may reap
A richer harvest ere you fall asleep

 

What struck me here was there were twenty-one survivors of the war, including four Appleyards, two Freers, two Hodgsons, two Megginsons, two Shepherdsons and two Youngs.  What therefore were the chances of the only two casualties both being Scholes?  Cyril died at home and is buried in the churchyard, whilst George has no known grave and is commemorated on the Thiepval Memorial on the Somme.  The other aspect that struck me was the choice of St. George in commemoration, from a war which had been very much a British and Empire endeavour.  This confirms the English confusion between English and British which continued into World War Two.

Thixendale

The road to Thixendale was down a very narrow road in a deep valley.  From high above, we were being watched!

 

The village itself comprised a handful of houses and a shop that took us back to the 1950s. We purchased a booklet about the area in the two World Wars and two chocolate bars.  The memorial in the churchyard was identical to the blank one at Fimber, apart from two bronze plaques, one of which commemorated the work of Tatton Sykes in restoring the church, and the other which had been added after the war with the names of the dead.  Therefore the memorial at Fimber was not a war one, but one to Tatton Sykes, but with no plaque to signify the fact.

 

There were two men commemorated at Thixendale, one killed on the Somme and the other, Robert Thornton who was `Killed by accident while prisoner of war September 4^th 1918.’ 

 

A search of the National Archives website reveals the shocking information that a Robert Thornton is found in a file of letters from the Foreign Office to the German government on alleged suicides and a list of German military officials accused of war crimes.  Clearly there was something amiss about his death, and something which I shall endeavour to find out more about.

The memorial in the church was of the same design depicting St George as on the Fimber memorial.  Again, the Anglicisation of what was a British and Empire crusade is noteworthy.

 

Bishop Wilton

Our final stop before the light gave out took us to Bishop Wilton, a place where we had both made a `flying visit’ in previous years;  flying, that is, up to the halfway point of the Snake Lane 10 mile road race which starts and finishes in Pocklington.  The war memorial inside the church was one of rich significance, containing as it did not only the words from John xxx `Greater love hath no man than this’, but also the striking top piece, `For God, King and Empire’, emphasising the idea of religious nationalism so prevelant in that era.  There were also the words, `Make them to be numbered with thy saints, O Lord, in glory everlasting’ from the Book of Common Prayer and the Latin phrase, `Per Crucem ad Lucem’, meaning `through the cross to the light.’

Therefore reference to the Bible, to Latin phraseology and to religious nationalism are combined with the High Anglican symbolism of the martyred Christ on the cross.

However this was not the only gem to reward us for this final visit.  Next to the memorial was a flag donated to the church by Viscount Halifax in 1951.  Edward Wood, the 1^st Earl Halifax, had been Foreign Secretary between 1937 and 1940 including the time of Britain’s deepest crisis after the Dunkrik evacuation.  Contemplating the possible invasion of Britain, he had taken a short holiday in the Yorkshire Wolds with his wife in early June of 1940.  Having driven up to a high vantage point, he was moved to think:

All the landscape of the nearer foreground was familiar – its sights, its sounds, it smells; hardly a field that did not call up some half-forgotten bit of association; the red-roofed villages and nearby hamlets, gathered as it were for company round the old greystone church, where men and women like ourselves, now long dead and gone, had once knelt in worship and prayer.  Here in Yorkshire was a true fragment of the undying England, like the White Cliffs of Dover, or any other part of our land that Englishmen have loved.  Then the question came, is it possible that the Prussian jackboot will force its way into this countryside to tread and trample over it at will?

Fortunately for us, due to the sacrifice of the hundreds of names we had seen during the day, and the many millions of others, we were still able to love our English countryside, its churches, villages and hamlets.  Long may this appreciation continue.

As we left Bishop Wilton and travelled back home via Stamford Bridge, the place of another long remembered sacrifice of human life in European power games, the light of the day was drawing to a close, a day that had seen us confronted with the sheer scale of the impact of the wars of the twentieth century on just one small section of Britain.

The physical light of the day was fading, but the memories of the agonies and sacrifices of so many of our forbears shall never fade.