Tag: Uncle Matt

Tram Blam thank you ma’am

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23rd December 1914

The weather continued to be cold. Dawn brought a white frost and fog which gave way to snow showers later in the day.

Any silence that usually accompanies such a crisp winter’s morning was shattered when British shells landed dangerously close to the Dorset trenches. The rest of the day was quiet, although the 5th Division’s diary notes that the Dorsets inflicted casualties on a German patrol. There’s no mention of that engagement in the Dorsets’ diary, although the diary’s entries have become rather succinct of late.

Yesterday’s letter from Frank was a long one. So let’s start with family and friends. It’s the time for all that you know. Now then, don’t be like that. It’s only once a year.

Frank is very, very grateful for his Christmas parcels sent by Mabel and Aunt Carrie and Uncle Matt. But he only describes one present: a pair of vest and pants, which would have been very welcome I’m sure. What ever else he received presently remains a mystery.

There’s a new character introduced in yesterday’s letter: “E. Jim”. It’s going to be impossible to trace his origins with such a cryptic and common name, but it looks like his luck has run out with his current girlfriend. No so lucky Jim. Frank’s girlfriend, Jess, has written again but I’m no closer to discovering her identity, much like E Jim and Tom.

Frank still hasn’t received the chocolate from my Great Grandfather. Perhaps I can trace my inability to reply to letters back to Carl Robert Debnam. If my Grandfather Bob was a chip off the old block then he’d have already eaten the chocolate. Especially if they were Ferrero Rocher. Frank clamours for Kitchener’s Army to come out to France. It was to be a while before any of Kitchener’s Army made it to Belgium. Tom has gone back to his ship, somewhat reluctantly.

Frank has written to Uncle (Matt?) about his experiences. “Well Till that was exactly what happened in that letter I wrote to Uncle, only it was very hard and we had to rough it, but we are still alive and kicking, so we can’t grumble.” It appears that Frank has been sparing Mabel any horror stories but she’s found out anyway and asked him about it in one of her letters. I wonder whether Frank’s referring to a specific action. It’s probably the retreat from Mons.

Franks’ ex, Dolly, continues to enquire after him and he promises Mabel to visit her when he returns. “I should certainly find the time to go and see her”.

Frank then refers to the trams in London which ad delayed Mabel’s journey across London. What happened to the trams? I luckily found this story in the Telegraph’s archives on the 12th December 1914. At just after 5pm on the 11th December there was an explosion at Greenwich generating station which, unbelievably, powered the entire London tram network. London’s commuters endured a sodden journey home. Some women apparently shared a taxi – fancy that! For once the Germans aren’t blamed. Further explosions are alluded to with:

So the Germans have been giving England a few shells, that’s just what they send over to us and the Bhoys shout out when we hear them whizzing in the air, look out Bhoys. J Johnson and we all duck and chance what happens.

This refers to Germany’s daring raid on the 16th December when three of their battlecruisers shelled Scarborough, Hartlepool and Whitby on the east coast of England. Despite the Royal Navy’s prior knowledge of this raid (they had already broken German signals), a series of misplaced confidence and incompetence allowed the Germans to fire several thousand shells (many failed to detonate) and slip away without any significant losses. The three towns suffered extensive damage and 137 fatalities and 592 casualties. The attacks sparked outrage around the globe, especially America. Frank’s incredibly blasé about the raid’s success. He blames the fog. The British Press weren’t convinced and neither am I.

Frank ends the letter with his unfailing kindness by giving some of his pay to his sister. 6d is a third of what he earns so it’s an incredibly generous gesture. I also can’t help but think that Frank is a man who knows he has nothing left to lose.

Brixton – the flower garden of London

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PC to Miss Crawshaw etc franked 16 De 14
Card dated 16-12-14

Dear Till

Just a few lines hoping this finds you all at home in the best of health as I am the same. Well Till we will soon be having Xmas here now, where are you going to this year Dollies? I hope you all have a good time at home only Tom and I won’t be there like last year, no drop of Lizzie. We are still on the go and there is plenty of mud out here I can assure you.

How are you getting on at Stewarts still blacking your nose? Have just heard from Jess she is getting on alright. How does Mattie get on for cold tea now it has gone up? I expect you all had a good time when Tom was home. Till I thought I was at Brixton when I was marching the other day for what should pass us was one of the Bon Marché motor lorries I gave the Bhoys a shout and said that Brixton was the Flower Garden of England and you should have heard the Bars (?) I got. Now I think this is all the news this time hoping to hear from you soon

Bid xxx

16th October 1914

It’s just as well Mabel got a letter from Frank as not much happened today and the Dorsets remained in billets for the day.

It can’t have been fun for Frank to contemplate spending Christmas in muddy Belgium. This flurry of letters home might reflect that fact that his attention is not wholly with fighting the Germans. It appears that Tom spent Christmas with Frank and the Family in Brixton the previous year. The more I read about Tom the more I am convinced that he is a cousin of Frank’s. The only problem is that the age of Caroline and Matthew Webster is a little bit young to have a 19-20 year old son. Caroline is 36 in 1914. Did Walter or Caroline have a child with an earlier partner? I cannot find anything that suggest this. Or is Tom another cousin from the Crawshaw side? This remains a mystery and it’s driving me nuts!

Frank uses the same phrase “blacking your nose” to describe Mabel’s duties at Stewarts. I imagine she is a waitress there. Anyone who has worked in a small catering business has to be a multi-tasker. My mother remembers Mabel being an excellent cook. Perhaps she learned from her father, “Stammering Sam”. She always had a stockpot ticking away on the stove. I still haven’t found any sources for this phrase.

Image of the Bon Marché department store in Brixton
Bon Marché department store in Brixton – circa 1912

Frank cheers as a Bon Marché lorry goes by. I’m not sure if the answer “bars” was an answer at all. The Bon Marché was a big department store in Brixton. In fact, it was the first purpose-built department store in the UK. It was started from the winning on a horse race and ended up as part of the John Lewis empire.

Quite what one of their lorries was doing out at the front is anyone’s guess. It could have been one of the London buses (with adverts still on the sides) that had recently been commandeered for the front.  It could have even been a local delivery truck for another Bon Marché business. A Paris-based department store had a fleet of lorries for deliveries.

The Flower Garden of London may be a surprising monicker for the Brixton of today but road names like Lavender Hill in Clapham tells the story of South London’s past. Much of the area was farmland in the Eighteenth Century, giving way to the tide of housing that followed the railways as thy snaked their way to the suburbs. Apparently strawberries were Brixton’s speciality but I cannot find any primary sources confirming this. A lot of sloppy copying and pasting in tourist guides is propagating this rumour. You won’t find that kind of behaviour here. I change some of the the words around before posting.

Merry and bright

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PC to Miss Crawshaw, 29 Strathleven etc franked APO 15 De 14 – chage to Censor No 1611 dated 6-12-14– written in pencil

Dear Till

Just a few lines hoping you are in the best of health and still merry and bright I expect by this time Uncle Matt has received my letter by now. I had a letter from Muff and she is getting on alright and they all wish me the best of luck. The weather out here is very wet at present. How did you enjoy yourself along of Tom, have you heard from Jess lately? Remember me to all at home and also Tango. Now I think this is all the news at present hoping to hear from you soon.

Your loving Brother

Frank xx

6th December 1914

The Dorsets spent another day in billets.

Frank has written another letter home but this one is short  and doesn’t really go into much detail beyond asking after family members. The usual suspects are all there: Uncle Matt, Muff, Tom, Jess and Tango. The main detail to take away from this letter is Frank’s comment about the “very wet” weather. The Dorset war diary has become very short on information lately but the 5th Divisional dairy reports snow, sleet and rain on the 5th December turning to frost on the morning of the 6th.

Isn’t “merry and bright” a lovely phrase? From all the lovely things I’ve heard about my Great Grandmother, it certainly sums up her personality.

 

Stopping a Jack Johnson

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5th December 1914

The Dorsets remained in billets at Dranoutre for the day.

Going back to Frank’s letter from the 3rd, the mysterious and continuously ill Jess continues to torment us.

Jess has been ill but is getting on alright now have you heard from her lately I had two letters. Tell Aunt Mrs Coats old man is still with us, yes I would sooner be filling her scuttle and out here only a dream.

Frank mentions another Brixton man: A Mr Coats by the sound of it. I’ll have a look through the records when I get a chance.

We are still on the go and doing our bit to polish the Germans off, what does Albert think of it.

Searching through the family tree I can only come up with one possible Albert. He’s Frank’s cousin by Herbert Webster and his wife Mary. Albert is only 11 so I imagine the war would seem very exciting to him – anyone like Frank in my family would have had immediate hero status in my eyes at that age (and this age of course).

Have not heard or seen them chocolates yet, had a letter from Bert and have answered it said that he stopped the blue bag. I told him that was only half his luck, better than stopping a Jack Johnson.

Here’s another mention of my Great Grandfather, Carl Robert Debnam. He’s currently back in England with the Royal Garrison Artillery. He was stationed at Fort Picklecombe in Cornwall in August 1914. I shall return to him later on. He still hasn’t sent Frank any chocolate.

His letter has a mysterious phrase in it: “stopped the blue bag”. The only explanation I can give to this (and I am probably missing some obvious military reference) is that Bert has mentioned that he got stung by a wasp or a bee. It fits Frank’s following reposte of “better than stopping a Jack Johnson”, which, as we all know now don’t we class, is a German high explosive shell. Why a wasp? Blue Bag was a make of laundry whitener which people used to treat bee and wasp stings. It’s an alkaline so would theoretically counter the acid in the sting. Bluing was a way of adding a blue tint to white laundry – a blue tint takes away any grey or yellow hue.  It was probably a throw away comment in Bert’s letter and Frank’s using it as a hook for his joke. Boom boom.

The more I read about Tom, the more I think he is connected to Aunt Carrie and Uncle Matt in some way. Whether he’s a relative or not remains to be seen. Tom has apparently been helping to make the Christmas Plum Duff “he said he was making some Duff am I right” so is he staying in the same house as Mabel? It would be easy to assume so. Tom is home on leave, so we can also assume that he’s in the Army or Navy already. We’ll come back to this at a later date.

The end of the letter mentions that the Dorsets have been spoken to by General Sir Smith-Dorrien. Is this a reference to his visit on the 22nd? Just what was said and why would it be in the newspapers?

Me nerves are all shattered

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Envelope addressed to Miss Crawshaw, 29 etc – franked 4 De 14 – again with No Stamps Available on the top – were they expected to pay postage

Letter dated 3-12-14

Dear Till

At last I have got time to answer your letter which I received in the trench. I have heard from everyone this last week and it’s the way when you can’t find time to answer them. Now Till, don’t send out the socks, for have just had some sent to me from those people in Belfast who’s wedding I went to, he is missing Till, they have not heard from him yet. Yes, I would sooner have the underclothing than the Jersey, I am proper hitchy coo you can’t help it Till. We are still in the trenches and what with the rain we are up to our eyes in mud it’s enough to feed (?) you up.

Till I haven’t been feeling myself lately what with the shells bursting just in front of our trench and the wet and cold I feel as if I could do with a rest for me nerves are all shattered, we get relieved from the trenches tomorrow night and then we go back for five days rest which we have all earned.

I had a letter from Tom and have sent him a PC for the time being he said that he is getting on alright and that he hopes I get back safe and he hopes to be round at the Hope and Anchor before long trying the cold tea. Yes we heard about L Roberts the day after he died. I expect it was a fine sight to see, so you blacked your nose and saw the funeral.

Jess has been ill but is getting on alright now have you heard from her lately I had two letters. Tell Aunt Mrs Coats old man is still with us, yes I would sooner be filling her scuttle and out here only a dream. We are still on the go and doing our bit to polish the Germans off, what does Albert think of it. Have not heard or seen them chocolates yet, had a letter from Bert and have answered it said that he stopped the blue bag. I told him that was only half his luck, better than stopping a Jack Johnson.

Till I dropped a PC to St Anne Road but have not heard from them yet. Pleased to hear that you are getting on alright and still mucking in. How is all at home still merry and bright I hope and still mucking in. Remember me to all and tell Aunt I will answer her letter soon, this time last year Till I was saying only another 20 days to Furlough what a difference this, never mind lets hope for better days in store and I trust it will be soon.

Now Till I must conclude hoping this letter finds you in the best of health and hope to hear from you soon remember me to all at home and I hope Mattie is still mucking in with the cold tea. I am gasping for a Dry Ginger I mean a pint and am just going to have a lovely drop of cold?? poured (?poarred) Tat Tar with fondest love and don’t forget to write back soon.

I remain

Your loving Brother

BID

– Scribbled in at the top of the letter “I have received Tom’s letter but wrote before I got same, he is lucky to get leave I wish I had been home till him I liked the pint he said he was making some Duff am I right love to all Bid

– and also” Have you seen in the papers what Gen S Dorrien Said to us when he inspected the bat just have a look in the papers”.

 

 

3rd December 1914

The Battalion was relieved by the Norfolks and they returned to Dranoutre. The Dorsets’ diary is very light on content at the moment. According to the CWGC 5 Dorset men died today. There’s absolutely no mention of this in the diary. It’s very strange.

This letter is, as my Great Uncle Geoff writes in his notes to the transcription, “his most gloomiest”. I don’t want to dwell on that today.

Instead let’s focus on the conditions facing him and the rest of the Dorsets.

The conditions in the trenches were dire at this time. A rapid thaw along with persistent rain, had turned the land to mush. Gleichen does an excellent job of describing the situation:

O that mud! We have heard lots about Flanders mud, but the reality transcends imagination, especially in winter. Greasy, slippery, holding clay, over your toes in most places and over your ankles in all the rest—where it is not over your knees, —it is the most horrible “going” I know anywhere. Whether you are moving across plough or grass fields, or along lanes, you are perpetually skating about and slipping up on the firmer bits and held fast by the ankles in the softer ones. There is no stone in the district, nothing but rich loamy clay, alias mud. However much you dig, you never come across stone, nothing but sticky mud which clings to your shovel and refuses to be parted from it — mud that has to be scraped off at almost every stroke, mud that absorbs water like a sponge yet refuses to give it up again. Every little puddle and rut, every hoof-depression full of rain, remains like that for weeks; even when the weather is fine the water does not seem to evaporate, but remains on the surface.

And when it rains, as it did all that winter (except when it snowed), the state of the trenches is indescribable. Some were, frankly, so full of water that they had to be abandoned, and a breastwork erected behind. But a breastwork is slow work, especially if you are less than 100 yards from the enemy. For weeks, indeed, the garrison of one particular trench had to lie out on the mud, or on what waterproofs they could get, behind a shelter two to three feet high—always growing a little, yet never to be made to a real six feet height for reason of conspicuousness and consequent clusters of Black Marias.

Frank writes that he’d rather have underwear sent out to him than jumpers and socks. He explains that he is proper “hitchey coo”.

The phrase hitchey coo is a popular one from the time. It was used as a term for itchiness, perhaps coming from the name for the itchy fibre inside rose hips used by kids as itching powder. It’s also used to describe small insects and stinging nettles. It was the title of a popular ragtime song at the time and it’s the title of a song in “Oh what a lovely war“, a satirical musical based on the First World War, later turned into a film by another of my London heroes, Len Deighton. It’s also a song by the Small Faces, a very London band. It’s one of my favourite songs. I am sure Frank would have approved.