From The Trenches  

Welcome to From the Trenches, a collection of military history articles exploring the lives and actions of Victoria Cross recipients whose stories deserve to be better known. 

Many of these men came from ordinary backgrounds but displayed extraordinary courage in the face of overwhelming danger. Through these articles, I aim to bring their stories to a wider audience, examining the battles they fought, the circumstances surrounding their awards, and the lasting legacy they left behind. 

Whether you are a military historian, collector, researcher, or simply interested in Britain's military past, I hope these accounts offer a fascinating insight into some of the most remarkable acts of bravery in military history. 

New stories are added regularly as I continue to uncover and share the lives of forgotten heroes. 

Looking for older articles? Head to  The Trenches Archive 

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Fool Me Twice: How George Ravenhill VC Was Torn Apart 

In 1899, Birmingham’s George Ravenhill won the Victoria Cross. Under a hail of enemy fire at the Battle of Colenso, he repeatedly ran out into the open to save British guns, taking a bullet to the forearm in the process. 

He was hailed as a hero. But nine years later, the state showed its true colors. 

Starving in Birmingham 

By 1908, George and his wife Jessie were starving in the slums of industrial Birmingham. Desperate to feed his young children, the decorated war hero stole a small amount of scrap metal. 

When he couldn't pay the resulting 10-shilling fine, the court threw him in jail. The response from the authorities was swift and ruthless: 

Stripped of Everything: The state stripped Ravenhill of his Victoria Cross, cancelled his military pension, and sold off his hard-earned medals—retaining the cash. 

Thrown to the Wolves: Cast out without a penny, he was left to navigate civilian life with a criminal record for trying to keep his family alive. 

Broken by Gallipoli 

Yet when the First World War broke out in 1914, the country that had disgraced him came calling again. Despite everything, Ravenhill re-enlisted to fight. 

He was sent into the hell of Gallipoli, surviving the disease, mud, and carnage of the campaign. 

1916, he was evacuated home—broken, sick, and medically unfit for further service. His reward for serving a second time was total neglect. 

A Pauper's Grave and a Stolen Family 

In 1921, George Ravenhill died destitute in a single rented room. He was just 49 years old. 

Rather than honoring the VC recipient who had fought in two wars, Birmingham condemned him to an unmarked pauper’s grave at Witton Cemetery. 

The cruelty didn't end with his death: 

The local council offered his grieving widow, Jessie, absolutely nothing to survive on. 

Instead of helping her, the state stepped in, seized three of her young children, and shipped them off to Canada under child migration schemes. 

The Reality Behind the Medals 

George Ravenhill and men like him were used when men were needed for the front line, just to  tore their family apart the moment they were no longer useful. 

His story isn't a tragic accident—it is a damning indictment of how a society wrapped itself in the flag while treating its working-class heroes and their families as completely disposable. 

Over 100 years have passed, and still George lays in an unmarked grave...  

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"Mine’s a Pint!": The Heroic—and Tragic—Life of Private Samuel Harvey VC  

The Victoria Cross is the highest award for valor in the British Armed Forces. It is supposed to guarantee a soldier immortal honor.  

Yet, the story of Private Samuel "Sam" Harvey of the 1st Battalion, York and Lancaster Regiment, is a stark reminder of how quickly society forgot its most decorated heroes once the guns fell silent in 1918.  

Sam was a working-class lad, a former farm laborer, and a man known for his quick wit and irreverent humor. 

But during the brutal fighting of the Great War, he proved to be made of iron. 

13 Hours Under Fire: The Big Willie Trench 

In late September 1915, the British Army was locked in the ferocious Battle of Loos. Near the Hohenzollern Redoubt, Sam’s unit held a vital position known as the "Big Willie" Trench. 

Under relentless German counter-attacks, the men were rapidly running out of Mills bombs (hand grenades). 

Without grenades, the position would be overrun, and the unit wiped out. 

The communication trenches leading back to the ammunition dumps were completely choked with the dead, the wounded, and incoming reinforcement. 

Realizing that using the trenches would take far too long, 34-year-old Private Harvey volunteered for a suicidal task. 

For 13 grueling hours, Sam ran back and forth across wide-open ground in full view of German snipers and machine gunners.  

Single-handedly, he hauled 30 heavy boxes of hand grenades—over 360 bombs in total—back to his desperate comrades. 

He kept the supply line open until he was finally struck in the head by a bullet. His extraordinary bravery saved the position and repelled the enemy. 

"Mine's a Pint": Cheek to the Crown 

Miraculously, Sam survived the severe head wound. In January 1917, he stood in Buckingham Palace as King George V pinned the Victoria Cross to his chest. 

Sam, ever the irreverent character, wasn't overwhelmed by royal ceremony. 

As the King finished pinning the medal, Sam grinned broadly, winked at Queen Mary standing nearby, and announced in a loud voice: "Mine's a pint ! "

It was classic WW1 soldier humor—unpretentious, cheeky, and grounded. 

Scratched Livings and Sleeping Rough 

Despite his Victoria Cross, the French Légion d'honneur, and Russia’s Cross of St. George, post-war Britain had very little to offer Sam Harvey. 

Discharged in 1918 after being wounded three more times, Sam returned to civilian life with a severe limp, brain trauma, and no steady career. 

For decades, he scraped together a living doing odd jobs, gardening, and working as an ostler at a local hotel in Ipswich. 

For a period, he lived in a self-built wooden hut in the woods. Somewhere during those lean years, his original Victoria Cross medal disappeared— likely lost or misplaced due to his declining health and transient lifestyle. 

By the 1950s, the hero of the Big Willie Trench was living in a Salvation Army hostel and regularly seen sleeping rough on the steps of the Ipswich Town Hall. 

A Pauper's Grave 

Sam passed away in September 1960 at the age of 79 in a hospital that had formerly been a local workhouse. 

When he died, he was completely penniless. The only possessions found beside his bed were a small box containing his miniature medal ribbons. 

He was quietly laid to rest in Ipswich Old Cemetery in an unmarked pauper's grave. 

It took until September 2000—exactly 40 years after his death and 85 years to the day after his heroics at Loos—for local historians and veterans' organizations to finally raise funds and erect a proper headstone over his grave. 

The Social History Behind the Medal 

Sam Harvey’s life mirrors the dark truth of post-WW1 British social history. 

Millions of men fought for "a land fit for heroes," yet thousands ended up broken by physical and mental trauma, neglected by the state, and left to survive on the margins of society. 

He was a warrior when the country needed him, but just another forgotten old man when it was over. 

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The Silenced Sapper - How the State Erased Dorothy Lawrence  

In 1915, the 19-year-old aspiring journalist accomplished the unthinkable: she disguised herself as a man, forged military papers and served on the front lines of the western Front as Private Dennis Smith on the 178th Tunneling Company, Royal Engineers.   

    Her motivation was simple. When male editors told her that women had no place at the Front, she decided to report the war herself. 

    What followed was an extraordinary feat of endurance—and a brutal masterclass in how the state silenced those who exposed its vulnerabilities.  

Bribes, Bicycles, and Becoming "Private Denis Smith" 

Getting across the English Channel was only the first hurdle. Once in France, Dorothy found herself trapped in a heavily militarized country where the British Expeditionary Force strictly controlled all travel. Unaccompanied civilians—especially women—were routinely arrested  

Determined to reach the fighting, she engineered a daring plan that relied on pure nerve: 

•The Military Permit: She persuaded two French soldiers she met in a Paris café to help her obtain forged identity papers, giving her clearance to travel through restricted military zones. 

•The "Khaki" Transformation: In a Paris park, she befriended a group of British soldiers who agreed to help her. Over several days, they smuggled pieces of an authentic uniform out of their barracks piece by piece—a tunic, trousers, shoulder straps, and a cap. 

•The Disguise: To pass as a male soldier, Dorothy cut her hair short, bound her chest tightly with canvas bandages, used furniture polish to darken her complexion, and applied potassium permanganate to her cheeks to mimic razor burn. 

°The 120-Mile Cycle: Disguised as "Private Denis Smith," she bought a secondhand bicycle and pedaled over 120 miles through the French countryside. She navigated military checkpoints in broad daylight, hiding in abandoned cottages, haystacks, and ruined barns by night. 

By the time she reached the Somme sector near Albert, she befriended a miner-turned-soldier who helped her blend directly into the 178th Tunnelling Company. 

Life in the Trenches 

Tunnelling companies carried out some of the most perilous work of the war—digging underground tunnels beneath No Man’s Land to lay heavy mines under enemy positions. 

Working alongside soldiers who believed she was a fellow private, Dorothy carried out manual labor in constant danger of collapse, shelling, and gas attack. 

However, the extreme physical toll, combined with the constant terror of exposure, quickly took its toll. 

After roughly ten days on the front lines, fearing that if she collapsed from illness her true identity would be revealed—and the soldiers who helped her would face severe court-martial—she surrendered herself to the military authorities. 

Interrogated as a Spy and Gagged by DORA 

The British High Command was deeply embarrassed. A teenage woman had bypassed their entire security network and reached the front line.  

Fearing that her story would expose military incompetence or inspire other women to head to France, they placed her under military arrest and interrogated her at headquarters as a suspected spy. 

When they realized she was simply a journalist, they invoked the 1914 Defence of the Realm Act (DORA)—the government’s strict wartime censorship law—to gag her. 

Before she was allowed back to England, Dorothy was forced to sign a strict legal affidavit binding her to complete secrecy. 

She was forbidden from speaking to the press, writing articles, or giving public lectures about her time at the Front. 

Dorothy later wrote bitterly of the gagging order: 

"In making that promise I sacrificed the chance of earning by newspaper articles written on this escapade, as a girl compelled to earn her livelihood."  

A Censored Book and Systemic Erasure 

Once the war ended in November 1918, Dorothy believed her legal silence was finally over. 

She penned a memoir titled Sapper Dorothy Lawrence: The Only English Woman Soldier. 

However, the War Office stepped in to heavily censor the manuscript, stripping away raw details of her time in France 

Released in 1919 to a post-war society eager to push women back into traditional domestic roles, the sanitized, stripped-down book was heavily suppressed and commercially ruined. 

Left destitute, blacklisted by Fleet Street, and denied the ability to profit from her historic story, her financial independence collapsed. 

With no money and no family support, Dorothy’s mental health deteriorated under the weight of trauma, isolation, and systemic erasure. 

During this time, Dorothy reported that she had been the victim of severe sexual assault. 

Modern historical investigations into her medical archives revealed compelling evidence that she had been sexually abused by her former guardian. 

Tragically, in the post-WW1 era, her claims of sexual violence were dismissed by authorities as the delusions of an "hysterical" woman. 

Instead of receiving protection, justice, or trauma support, Dorothy was sectioned in 1925. 

She was committed to the Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum in North London, where she remained locked away from the world for nearly 40 years until her death in 1964. She was buried in an unmarked pauper’s grave. 

Why Her Story Matters Today 

Dorothy Lawrence’s story is not just about a woman taking up a shovel in the trenches of the Somme.         

It's   a chilling social history of how the post-WW1 establishment used red tape, censorship laws, and psychiatric institutions to silence individuals who didn't fit the official narrative . 

She was a pioneer who defied the system—and paid for it with her freedom 

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Trapped in the Trenches: The White Feather Campaign, Underage Recruits, and the Tragic Story of Horace Iles 

When we look back at the outbreak of the First World War in the autumn of 1914, history often paints a picture of idealistic young men rushing enthusiastically to military recruitment halls.  

While patriotic duty was a powerful driver, a far darker and more coercive dynamic was unfolding on the streets of Great Britain.  

Thousands of young boys—some as young as 13 and 14—were driven into the army through public shaming campaigns, systemic loopholes, and aggressive recruitment practices.  

To understand how children ended up facing machine guns on the Western Front, one must understand the social forces that backed them into a corner, and the tragic price paid by boys like Private Horace Iles. 

The Weaponisation of Shame: The White Feather Movement 

In 1914, Admiral Charles Penrose Fitzgerald founded the White Feather Movement in Britain. 

A retired Vice-Admiral and staunch advocate for conscription, Fitzgerald devised a strategy to dramatically boost military enlistment. 

His idea was simple: use civilian women to publicly humiliate any able-bodied man seen in civilian clothes by handing him a white feather—the universal symbol of cowardice. 

Supported by prominent figures including author Emma Orczy (founder of the Women of England’s Active Service League), Mary Augusta Ward and even Emmeline Pankhurst, the campaign rapidly spread across Britain. 

Field Marshal Lord Kitchener himself noted that women could effectively use their influence to ensure men upheld their "duty" to fight.  

However, the campaign quickly spiraled out of control. 

Armed with feathers, groups of women aggressively confronted men in parks, on public trams, and in high streets. 

They routinely misjudged their targets, targeting men on medical leave, wounded veterans out of uniform, men working in essential war industries, and young teenage boys who merely looked older than their years. 

Incidents of public harassment mounted. In one famous encounter, Private Ernest Atkins was returning on leave from the brutal fighting on the Western Front. While riding a tram, a woman approached and handed him a white feather.  

Disgusted by the insult, Atkins slapped the feather out of her hand and told her that the boys dying in the mud at Passchendaele would love to see such gesture.  

Despite mounting public backlash and the eventual government introduction of badges (such as the Silver War Badge) to protect exempted men and veterans, the intimidation campaign succeeded in driving thousand of men into recruitment office. 

For many families, the women who handed out these feathers were directly to blame for sending their loved ones to their deaths.  

How Children Were Trapped: The Underage Recruitment System 

Once a boy was driven to a recruitment station, the military system made it shockingly easy for him to join—and almost impossible to leave. 

No Official Identification: A century ago, carrying digital records or official photo ID was non-existent. A boy’s verbal word was often the only proof of age he had to provide. 

 Financial Bounties: Recruiting sergeants received a financial bounty of two shillings and sixpence (roughly £6 in today's money) for every recruit they successfully attested. 

This created a massive financial incentive for officers to turn a blind eye to a recruit's real age.  

"The Walk Around the Block": If a boy was visibly too young, recruiting officers used a well-known trick. They would tell the child to "go walk around the block, have a birthday, and come back." 

Ten minutes later, the boy would return, state he was 19, and sign the papers. 

Physical Standards Over Age: If a boy met the basic physical requirements—a minimum height of 5 feet 3 inches and a chest measurement of 34 inches—his actual age was ignored. 

 If a boy was too small, like 16-year-old James Lovegrove, some recruiters simply altered the measurements on the official form to pass them through. 

The Legal Trap: Once a boy signed his attestation papers, his declared age became his "Official Military Age" under military law. 

Even if terrified parents located their son and sent his birth certificate to the War Office, the military frequently refused to release him, holding him to his signed contract under threat.          

The Story of Private Horace Iles: From a Leeds Tram to The Somme 

The tragic reality of this system is perfectly embodied in the story of Private Horace Iles. 

In the autumn of 1914, 14-year-old Horace was riding a tram in his hometown of Leeds when a woman approached him and handed him a white feather.  

Stung and humiliated by the public accusation of cowardice, the teenage blacksmith's apprentice quit his job a went straight to the nearest enlistment center. 

Lying about his age, Horace was signed up by a recruiter and joined the 15th Battalion, West Yorkshire Regiment—famously known as the " Leeds Pals" 

Horace was shipped to the Western Front while still a child. As news of the horrific conditions in the trenches filtered back home, his family realized the grave danger he was in. 

His elder sister, Florrie, wrote him a desperate letter in the spring of 1916, pleading with him to admit his true age to his commanding officers so he could be sent home safely. 

Florrie wrote : 

"For goodness sake Horace tell them how old you are, I am sure they will send you back if they know you are only 16... If you don't do it now you will come back in bits and we want the whole of you". 

Tragically, Florrie’s letter arrived at the front lines too late. On July 1, 1916—the opening day of the Battle of the Somme—16-year-old Horace went over the top with the Leeds Pals. 

He was killed in action during the heavy opening machine-gun fire. 

A few weeks later, Florrie’s unopened letter was returned to the family home in Leeds, stamped with the stark military notification: " Killed in action". 

Preserving the Social History of the Great War  

The story of Horace Iles and the White Feather Campaign serves as a stark reminder of the immense societal pressures and systemic traps that defined the home front during World War I. 

Behind every military relic, cap badge, and trench item lies a complex human story—often belonging to young men and boys who answered a call to duty long before they were legally old enough to do so. 

Here at Lost Division Vintage, preserving these authentic pieces of Great War social history ensures that the stories, sacrifices, and realities of soldiers like Horace Iles are never forgotten. 

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A Country Fit For Heroes? The Heroism and Heartbreak of Sergeant  Arnold Loosemore, VC, DCM 

When Prime Minister David Lloyd George famously promised a "country fit for heroes" at the conclusion of the First World War, the British public hoped that those who had endured the horrors of industrial warfare would be cared for by the state the had sacrificed everything to protect. 

For Sergeant Arnold Loosemore, a farmhand from Sheffield who rose to become one of the most highly decorated British soldiers of the Great War, those promises proved tragically hollow. 

For Sergeant Arnold Loosemore, a farmhand from Sheffield who rose to become one of the most highly decorated British soldiers of the Great War, those promises proved tragically hollow. 

His life is a story of extraordinary military valour—and a devastating testament to how post-war Britain abandoned its wounded veterans and their families once the guns fell silent. 

The Making of a Hero: From Farmhand to the Front Line  

Born in Sheffield on 7 June 1896, Arnold Loosemore was the sixth son of a domestic gardener.  Standing just 5ft 4 inches tall, he left school early to work as a farmhand and later as coal merchant's carter.  

 When war broke out, he enlisted in January 1915, eventually joining the 8th (Service) Battalion, Duke of Wellington's ( West Riding) Regiment. 

Loosemore was trained as a Lewis gunner, operating the air-cooled light machine gun that became central to British infantry tactics. 

 He served through the brutal heat and disease of the Gallipoli campaign before being transferred to the Western Front.   

It was during the Third Battle of Ypres (Passchendaele) that Loosemore displayed the astounding courage that would earn him the Victoria Cross—the United Kingdom’s highest award for gallantry in the face of the enemy. 

Valour at Langemarck: The Action That Won the Victoria Cross 

On 11 August 1917, near Langemarck, Belgium, Private Loosemore’s platoon came under devastating heavy machine-gun fire from German pillboxes, crawling forward through deep, treacherous mud.  

As detailed in his official citation in The London Gazette, Loosemore took matters into his own hands.  

"Heavy casualties were occurring and the advance was held up by an enemy machine-gun. Private Loosemore crawled through partially cut wire, dragged his Lewis gun with him and single-handed dealt with the strong point, killing or wounding the crew on his own initiative". 

Later that same day, after his gun was blown to pieces by a shell, Loosemore picked up a rifle, engaged three enemy soldiers at close range, shot them, and continued to press forward. 

When his officer fell wounded, Loosemore single-handedly carried the wounded officer back to British lines under continuous rifle and machine-gun fire. 

His bravery did not end there. A year later, in August 1918, he was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM) for leading his battered unit back to safety under heavy fire while under attack.  

Two months later, in October 1918—just weeks before the Armistice—Loosemore’s luck ran out. 

He was struck by German machine-gun fire, suffering catastrophic injuries that resulted in the amputation of his left leg above the knee and leaving his remaining leg badly damaged.  

The Broken Hero: The Battle Against Tuberculosis 

Arnold returned home to Sheffield severely disabled, unable to walk without crutches, and in constant physical pain. 

Like thousands of wounded veterans, his weakened physical condition left him acutely vulnerable to respiratory diseases rampant in post-war industrial cities.  

He married his childhood sweetheart, Amy, in 1920, and the couple had a son. However, the severe trauma to his body and long stays in military hospitals took a permanent toll. 

Unable to undertake physical labour, Loosemore contracted tuberculosis—a illness made far more lethal due to his compromised  immune system and shattered health.  

On 10 April 1924, at the age of just 27, Sergeant Arnold Loosemore VC, DCM, died. 

Bureaucratic Cruelty: A Pension Denied 

Upon his death, Amy Loosemore was left destitute with a three-year-old child. She applied to the War Office for a War Widow’s Pension, expecting that the nation her husband had sacrificed his health for would offer a basic safety net. 

Instead, the government rejected her claim. 

The Ministry of Pensions relied on a callous bureaucratic loophole: because Arnold had died after leaving active service, and because Amy had married him after he sustained his crippling war injuries, the state ruled that she was not entitled to a War Widow's pension. 

In the eyes of the ministry, she had married a man known to be injured, absolving the government of financial responsibility for his death.  

Civic Hypocrisy: The "Civic Funeral" and the Final Injustice  

To the civic leaders of Sheffield, Arnold Loosemore was a celebrated local icon when it suited the public narrative. Following his death, Sheffield City Council organized a lavish civic funeral.  

His coffin was pulled through the city on a horse-drawn gun carriage, flanked by military escorts. Thousands of citizens lined the streets from Hillsborough to Ecclesall to pay their respects to the war hero, and the service was attended by local dignitaries and the Bishop. 

It was a grand display of public grief and civic pride. 

Shortly after the crowds dispersed, Sheffield Council sent the bill for the entire civic funeral to his penniless widow. 

Amy had no money to pay for the parade the council had staged. Unable to afford a private burial plot at All Saints Churchyard in Ecclesall, she was forced to bury her husband in a shared, pre-existing grave alongside three other bodies whose families could likewise not afford individual plots.  

When Amy eventually passed away years later, she was buried in the same mass plot. For decades, no marker bore her name. 

Remembering Arnold Loosemore 

The story of Arnold Loosemore VC is one of the most disgraceful examples of state neglect in 20th-century British military history.  

A man who repeatedly risked his life under fire was abandoned the moment he was no longer useful to the military machine, and his family was driven into poverty by the very institutions that celebrated.  

Decades later, local historians and descendants ensured that a small memorial plaque was placed near the shared grave in Ecclesall to mark where one of the country's bravest men rests. 

Arnold Loosemore's memory stands not only as a testament to extraordinary courage in the trenches of the Somme and Passchendaele, but also as an enduring reminder of the moral obligation a nation owes to those it sends to war—and to the families they leave behind.  

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Shot at Dawn : How Class Warfare Masked the Trauma of WW1 Shell Shock  

History is often written by the victors, but military history is almost always written by the establishment. 

For nearly a century, the British military establishment managed to bury one of its most shameful secrets from the First World War: the systematic execution of its own deeply traumatized soldiers. 

At the center of this dark chapter is Private Harry Farr—a man destroyed by the horrors of industrial warfare, failed by his country, and condemned to die by a firing squad of his own comrades. 

His story isn't just one of individual tragedy; it is a damning indictment of a rigid class system that medicalized the trauma of wealthy officers while criminalising the exact same suffering in working-class privates. 

What actually is Shell Shock ? 

To understand the sheer injustice of Harry Farr’s execution, we have to look  at what these men were physically and psychologically enduring. 

In 1914, the world had never seen industrial warfare on this scale.    

Initially, military doctors coined the term "shell shock" because they genuinely believed the concussive sound waves and physical blasts from millions of high- explosive artillery shells were causing physical, microscopic hemorrhages in the soldiers' brains. 

However, as the war dragged on, doctors realized that men who had never even been close to an exploding shell were breaking down in identical ways. Today we know it as sever Post Traumatic Stress Disorder ( PTSD) but in 1916 it was a terrifying psychological shattering . 

The symptoms were devastating :

•Physical Tremors: Men would shake uncontrollably, unable to hold a spoon, let alone a rifle. 

•Hysterical blindness or mutism: The  brain would literally shut down the body's senses to protect itself from the horrors of the trenches.  

•Confusion and Disorientation: Soldiers would wander aimlessly, completely detached from reality, or freeze mid-battle, entirely paralyzed by fear.  

The Brutal Double Standard: Officers V Privates 

The British Army did not view psychological trauma equally. Instead, your treatment depended entirely on the rank on your shoulder and the class you were born into. 

The Officers: "Neurasthenia" 

If a wealthy, upper-class officer suffered a mental breakdown, the military establishment treated him with immense empathy. They diagnosed him with neurasthenia - a polite gentleman term meaning "shattered nerves". 

The logic was that these fine men had simply buckled under the immense, noble burden of leadership. 

Officers were rarely court-martialed for breaking down. Instead, they were shipped back to the UK to quiet, specialized luxury hospitals like Craiglockhart in Scotland. There they were given pioneering psychotherapy, gentle recreation, and rest to help them recover.

The Privates : " Cowardice and Malingering" 

If you were an ordinary, working-class private like Harry Farr and exhibited the exact same symptoms, the elite viewed you with deep suspicion and open competent. 

To the high command, a shaking private wasn't traumatized—he was a Malingering coward trying to fake his way out of the trenches. 

Instead of therapy, privates were subjected to harsh, disciplinary field hospital treatments , designed to terrifying them back to the front line. If he still couldn't fight,  they were treated as criminals. 

The 20 minutes Trial of Harry Farr 

Private Harry Farr was no coward. He had fought on the Western Front for two brutal years, enduring the relentless, deafening artillery bombardment of the Somme. 

By 1916, the constant trauma had completely destroyed his nervous system.  He was shaking convulsively and could not longer hold his riffle. 

When he collapsed and couldn't force himself back to the front lines, the army arrested him for cowardice. 

His court-martial trial was an absolute mockery of justice. It lasted just 20 minutes. 

Harry was denied a defense lawyer. Deeply traumatized, shivering, and completely alone, he was forced to represent himself against a panel of hostile, upper- class military officers. They showed him zero mercy. The verdict: Sentenced to death . 

At 6:00 AM on October 18, 1916, Harry was led out into the freezing morning air to face a firing squad made up of his own comrades. 

When the executioners stepped forward to tie a blindfold around his head, Harry refused it. Hardly the gesture of a coward. 

Because Harry had been executed for "cowardice," the state immediately stripped his grieving widow of her war pension. 

His wife and young daughter, Gertie, were left entirely penniless, cast out by a society that weaponized forced shame against them. For nearly 90 years the family beared the shame in silence. 

Breaking the Chain 

As she grew older, Harry’s daughter refused to let her father’s name remain tarnished by a corrupt system. 

She took on the British government, fought through decades of bureaucratic brick walls, and successfully forced the archives open.  

In 2006, Gertie won. Her tireless campaign resulted in a historic royal pardon for Harry Farr, alongside more than 300 other soldiers who had been shot at dawn for showing symptoms of trauma. 

Private Harry Farr was not a coward—he was a traumatized soldier suffering from severe shell shock. 

The harsh military justice of the era chose execution over compassion, a tragic mistake the British government ultimately recognized with a full pardon 90 years later. 

Preserving the real history of these men ensures their memory is finally honored with the dignity he deserves. 

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"Unemployable" - Wilfred Whitfield and the fight for Disabled Veterans 

When we examine the social history of the First World War, our focus often lingers on the muddy, shell-pocked trenches of the Western Front. 

Yet for tens of thousands of ordinary British soldiers, the most brutal conflict did not take place in No Man’s Land—it began the moment they stepped off the train back in Britain, bearing severe, life-altering injuries. 

The story of Private Wilfred Whitfield, a working-class soldier from Teesside, offers a poignant window into both the harrowing realities of combat during WW1 and the systemic neglect experienced by disabled Veterans during the interwar years.

The Persistence of an ‘Under-Height’ Volunteer 

When war broke out in August 1914, enthusiasm to enlist swept across the United Kingdom. 

Standing just 5 feet 2 inches tall and weighing 8 stone, Wilfred Whitfield was eager to serve. 

However, the War Office maintained strict physical standards, requiring recruits to be at least 5 feet 3 inches tall. 

Week after week, Wilf attempted to sign up, only to be turned away at the recruitment office due to his height. 

It was only as the conflict dragged on and the devastating scale of casualties forced the military bureaucracy to relax its physical criteria that Wilf was finally permitted to join the ranks. 

 He was posted to the 4th Battalion, Yorkshire Regiment (the Green Howards), where his duties involved one of the most perilous jobs on the Western Front: laying and repairing communication wires under direct enemy fire. 

The Somme and the Absurdity of Military Bureaucracy 

By mid-1916, Wilf’s unit was deployed near Ypres before marching 75 miles south to Albert for the opening of the Battle of the Somme - a campaign that began on 1st July 1916 and resulted in 57,000 British casualties on its very first day. 

In his personal diaries, later published under the title Wasted Effort, Wilf captured the surreal horror of living under heavy artillery bombardment. 

"Acrid smoke filled the air and I felt the earth moving... I pressed to the trench wall trying to identify myself completely with the hearth. My feet were becoming trapped and I shook them clear....Survival, that's the thing." 

During one engagement, Wilf survived four days trapped in No Man’s Land shell holes. 

When he finally managed to crawl back to his position, the rigid military authority greeted him not with relief, but with a formal fine - for having lost his army issue greatcoat during the ordeal.     

It remains a striking example of how unyielding military bureaucracy often operated without regard for human reality. 

Shortly thereafter, while returning from a working party under heavy shellfire, a blast severed the nerve in his shoulder. 

Taken to the field hospital at Abbeville, his left arm was amputated, ending his military service on the Western Front. 

Returning to a Cold Country: The Struggle For Employment 

Upon returning to Britain, Wilf found that the "land fit for heroes" promised by politicians was non-existent. 

Instead of support, disabled servicemen were met with institutional indifference and severe economic hardship during the Post-war slump    of  the 1920s. 

Labelled by officials as "incurably unemployable" simply because he was missing a limb, Wilf was turned down for employment for three straight years.  

To make matters worse, government welfare allowances and disability pensions were routinely reduced as the state tightened its belt during the Post-war depression.  

At a time when roughly 40,000 British soldiers had lost limbs or sight, only one in ten was able to secure gainful employment.  

 Disabled veterans were routinely reduced to begging or relying on parish relief.

Taking on the System : The Founding of BLESMA 

Rather than accepting state-sanctioned poverty, Wilf decided to fight back using the law. 

He spent his days in local libraries studying employment legislation and welfare regulations, transforming himself into a self- taught advocate for disabled workers.   

Wilf was instrumental in establishing the Teesside branch of the Limbless Ex-Service Men’s Association - which later evolved into BLESMA ( British Limbless ex- servicemen's Association).  

Together with fellow amputee veterans, Wilf organised campaigns to demand: 

Fair access to employment for Disabled Ex-Servicemen 

Protection against pension cuts by the ministry of Pensions. 

Improved medical care and prosthetic development. 

Public recognition of the ongoing sacrifices made by wounded soldiers. 

Even after securing work as a skilled draughtsman and starting a family with his wife Elsie, Wilf continued his relentless campaigning for disabled workers'  rights.            

A Legacy That Still Resonates 

Wilfred Whitfield passed away in 1958 at the age of 62. 

His diaries, preserved in a loft in Middlesbrough for decades before being edited by his family, remain one of the most honest accounts of WW1 social history. 

His final written assessment of society’s treatment of wounded veterans remains as relevant today as it was in the 1920s : 

" Fundamentally wrong ideas still hinder disabled people more than their own handicap"  

Wilf’s journey reminds us that the true history of the First World War extends far beyond combat statistics - it leaves in the courage of ordinary men who refused to let an uncaring bureaucracy dictate their worth. 

The Great War’s Sold Out Hero: The Cruel Betrayal of Jack Cornwell’s Family 

We have all seen the famous postcard. It is one of the most iconic images of the First World War: 

A young, clean-cut Royal Navy boy, looking resolute and remarkably young in his immaculate sailor’s uniform.  

This was Boy (1st class) John "Jack" Cornwell, VC 

At just 16 years old, Jack became a household name across Great Britain. During the brutal Battle of Jutland in May 1916, his ship, HMS Chester, came under devastating fire. 

Despite being mortally wounded by shrapnel and surrounded by his dead and dying crewmates, Jack remained standing alone at his gun post, quietly awaiting orders. He died in hospital days later. 

For his bravery, he was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross—the highest military honor.  

The state held him up at the ultimate symbol of British duty, using his face to inspire a generation of schoolboys to enlist. 

But behind the brass bands, the national memorials, and the soaring patriotic speeches lies a dark, tragic chapter of social history. 

The False Face of a Legend 

The propaganda machine was in such a rush to package Jack's tragedy into a patriotic recruiting tool that they bypassed reality entirely. 

When the newspapers clamored for a portrait of the "Boy Hero of Jutland," they realized they had a problem: 

 No photograph of Jack in his navy uniform existed.  

He had enlisted at 15 years old, standing a slight 5 feet 2.5 inches tall, and had gone straight to sea. 

Their solution? They had his younger brother, George, put on a uniform and pose for the iconic "Jack Cornwell" press photograph. 

Later, when famed artist Frank O. Salisbury painted the massive, celebrated portrait of Jack standing bravely at his gun, it wasn't Jack who posed - it was his other brother, Ernest. 

The face that inspired millions of British citizens was a carefully constructed illusion. 

But the real tragedy was how the state treated the living family members behind those poses. 

The Ruin of the Cornwell Family 

While the government utilized Jack’s name to raise tens of thousands of pounds for the "Jack Cornwell Memorial Fund," his family was actively crumbling under the weight of poverty and grief back home in East London 

Within months of Jack’s death, the family was struck by a succession of devastating blows: 

• The Loss of His Father: in October 1916—only six months after Jack died— his father, Eli Cornwell, died of bronchitis while serving at home with the Royal Defence Corps.  

• The Pauper's Grave: Because the family was utterly destitute, Jack’s mother, Alice (known to many as Lily), could not afford a private burial.    

The "boy hero of the Empire" was initially buried in a common, unmarked pauper's grave in Manor Park Cemetery.  

It was only after a massive public outcry and a newspaper campaign that his body was exhumed and reburied with full military honours. 

• The Death of His Stepbrother:  Jack’s stepbrother, Arthur Frederick, was killed in action on the Western Front in August 1918, just weeks before the armistice. 

Left to Die in Poverty 

The worst act of betrayal was reserved for Jack's grieving mother. 

The National Jack Cornwell Memorial Fund had raised more than £21,000  (around 1.5M in today's money). 

Yet, the trustees of the fund stubbornly refused to give Alice a single penny to help with her living expenses. 

Broken by the loss of her husband and two sons, and forced to live in cramped, impoverished rooms in Stepney, Alice Cornwell passed away in October 1919 at the age of 48. 

She died in absolute poverty, completely abandoned by the country that was still using her dead son’s face on postcards.  She was buried in the same grave as Jack and Eli. 

Forced to Leave the Country 

With both parents dead, the surviving Cornwell children were left entirely orphaned.  The wealthy memorial fund granted the youngest children a insulting pension of just £60 a year - nowhere near enough to survive the brutal Post-War depression in East London. 

By the early 1920s, realizing that Britain had no future for them despite their brother's ultimate sacrifice, three of the surviving siblings made the decision to emigrate to Canada to try and escape the cycle of poverty.  

"It is not wealth or ancestry, but honourable conduct and a noble disposition that make me great" - the epitaph of Jack Cornwell's grave. 

The words on Jack's headstone are beautiful, but they ring hollow when we look at how his family was cast aside. 

Understanding the social history of the First World War means looking past the polished bronze memorials and remembering the human cost—and the betrayal—left behind in the shadows. 

The Price of Valour: The Social History of Thomas Whitham VC 

When we look back at the First World War, the stories of individual bravery often shine through the mud of Flanders. 

Yet, the social history of the men who survived the trenches is frequently far more tragic than the actions that won them their medals. 

One such story is that of Private Thomas Whitham (originally gazetted under the misspelling "Witham"), a working-class bricklayer’s labourer from Burnley who rose to become one of the Coldstream Guards' most celebrated heroes of WW1. 

From Burnley to the Western Front 

Born in Worsthorne in 1888, Thomas Whitham was a typical young man of Lancashire's industrial heartland. When the call came, he enlisted in January 1915, joining the 1st Battalion, Coldstream Guards. 

By the summer of 1917, Whitham found himself in the middle of the third Battle of Ypres—specifically the assault on Pilckem Ridge. It was here, on the morning of 31 July 1917, that his life would change forever. 

The Action at Pilckem Ridge 

During the intense fighting, Whitham’s brigade was held up by a German machine-gun post that was firing directly into their flank. The situation was critical, and casualties were mounting rapidly. 

Without waiting for orders, Private Whitham acted on pure instinct: 

Under a heavy barrage from his own side and relentless enemy machine-gun fire, Whitham worked his way single-handedly from shell-hole to shell-hole. He rushed the position, capturing the machine-gun, a German officer, and two other soldiers. 

His incredible initiative and utter disregard for his own safety saved countless British lives and allowed the advance to continue. On 4 September 1917, he was officially gazetted for the Victoria Cross, the highest military decoration for gallantry. 

The Harsh Reality of Post-WW1 Britain 

While Whitham returned home a hero—greeted by cheering crowds in Burnley and personally decorated by King George V at Buckingham Palace—the post-war reality for working-class veterans was incredibly bleak. 

The "land fit for heroes" promised to those who fought in WW1 did not materialise. Once demobilised, Whitham struggled to find steady work. With a family to feed and his health failing, the local economy offered him no safety net. 

In a heartbreaking turn of events that highlights the brutal social conditions of the early 1920s, Whitham was eventually forced to pawn his Victoria Cross for  just to keep food on the table for his family.  

A Tragic End 

Thomas Whitham died in poverty on 22 October 1924 at the age of just 36, suffering from a perforated ulcer. He was buried in an unmarked grave at the Inghamite Burial Ground in Fence, near Burnley. 

It was only decades later that his town and regiment ensured his sacrifice was properly memorialised, and his pawned Victoria Cross was eventually recovered and placed on display at the Towneley Hall Museum. 

Whitham's story is a powerful reminder of WW1 social history. He was a man who gave everything for his country on the battlefield, only to be left behind by the very society he fought to protect. 

The "Temporary Gentleman" Lt.Cl. Harry Carter , The Forgotten Hero 

Lieutenant Colonel William Henry Carter was a man from a working class background who joined the British Army as a private soldier in 1899, and served in the ranks for seventeen years, before being commissioned in the field during the Great War. 

He proved to be an outstanding officer, rising to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel; his military élan was recognised by the award (with bars) of the DSO and MC. And yet, after the war, he was demoted. Why? Because of his social class.  

Harry Carter was born on 1 April 1879 at Wolverhampton, the son of William John Carter, a gas tube maker, and his wife Annie, nee Dingley. 

The 1891 census showed he was the eldest of seven children, and educated at St Luke's, Blakenhall, before taking employment as a gas tube worker. 

William Carter, known as Harry, enlisted in the British Army at Wolverhampton on 20 December 1899 (aged 20 years, 9 months), on a seven-year engagement plus five years in the Reserves. 

After initial recruit training at the Regimental Depot from 20 December 1899 to 29 May 1900, he was temporarily drafted to the 1st Battalion for the South Africa Campaign until 21 October 1902. 

Here Private Carter saw active service in the Boer War; he was the recipient of the Queen's South Africa Medal with Cape Colony, Orange Free State, and Transvaal Clasps, and the King's South Africa Medal with 1901 and 1902 Clasps 

On 11 August 1901 he was promoted to Lance Corporal. 

Following the end of hostilities, Harry Carter resumed peacetime activities with the 2nd Battalion, soldiering in India from 22 October 1902 to 28 November 1907.  

This was followed by further service in South Africa until 15 February 1911, when the Battalion returned to England. Whilst in India he was promoted to the rank of Corporal in 1906, and Lance Sergeant the following year. 

In South Africa, after passing an Assistant Signalling Instructors Course, he was advanced to Sergeant rank on 22 March 1910. 

In the United Kingdom the 2nd Battalion of the South Staffs was based at Lichfield between 1911-1913, and at Aldershot from 1913 until the outbreak of the Great War.  

On 12 August 1914 the Battalion embarked for Le Havre as part of 6th Brigade, 2nd Division, in Douglas Haig's I Corps. At this juncture Harry Carter was the Battalion Signals Sergeant. 

Prior to the outbreak of the Great War, peacetime promotion for both officers and other ranks was very slow. Harry Carter was obviously an efficient and good NCO, but his promotion to substantive Sergeant in 1910 had taken ten years. 

Stemming the German advance on the Western Front between August and December 1914 decimated much of the operational strength of the BEF, and particularly severe was the loss of junior infantry officers. 

From November 1914 onwards "officer deaths on the Western Front began to run at the rate of 1 in 7 and officer casualties - that is killed, wounded, missing or taken prisoner - at 1 in 2. 

In the British Army during 1913, just seven officers were commissioned from the ranks. In August 1914 alone, five hundred Warrant Officers and NCOs were commissioned. 

By the end of the war the numbers had risen to 6,713, 41 per cent of the total number of permanent commissions. 

The contribution made to the British war effort by these individuals is scarcely recognised by the general public, the majority of whom erroneously assumes that officers were exclusively drawn from a public school background. 

Harry Carter was commissioned 2nd Lieutenant in the field on 4 January 1915, and full Lieutenant on 18 June 1915. 

The next three years, following rapid promotion, he proved himself to be a superb and highly regarded infantry officer, showing bravery and leadership qualities during some of the heaviest fighting on the Western Front.  

His exploits can be judged by the four citations that accompanied his DSOs and MCs. 

2nd Lieut W H Carter att 2nd Battalion South Staffordshire Regt (London Gazette 23rd Dec 1915) Military Cross: 

For consistent good work throughout the campaign, notably on 24th November, 1915 

The enemy exploded a mine under Gibson's Crater, south of the La Bassée road, killing and wounding most of the garrison. Lieutenant Carter at once went up and commenced reorganising the defence of the crater. 

He was slightly wounded, but remained at his post, and it was mainly due to his courage and example that two hostile bomb attacks on the crater were repulsed. 

He also organised a bomb attack on the enemy, thus keeping them quiet for four hours, while the position was consolidated. 

This award related to an action at Cambrin near Cuinchy. The Battalion War Diary noted that 25 men of the Battalion lost their lives that day.  

Lieut Carter continued to display great prowess: on 1 January 1916 he was Mentioned in Despatches, and promoted temporary Major on 1 July 1916.  

He and his Battalion were involved in the Battle of Delville Wood (July - August 1916). 

On 8 September 1916 he was awarded a Bar to his Military Cross for his conduct on 30th June at Vimy. 

Lieut William Henry Carter, South Staffordshire Regt, Bar to Military Cross: 

For conspicuous and consistent gallantry 

Hardly a week passes without his name being brought to notice for some act of devotion and gallantry. Lately he carried out most gallant rescue work under fire after a night raid. 

He arrived in France in August 1914, as a Signalling Sergeant of the Battalion, and has been with it in every action. Nothing affects his courage and nerve. 

The service record of Major Harry Carter shows that for short periods he commanded the 17th Middlesex and 13th Essex. For example, an entry in the War Diary of the 17th Middlesex on 8 August 1916 reads: 

"Major W H Carter (2nd South Staffs, but acting CO of the 17th Middlesex), commanding the Battalion was called upon to 

organise a strong bombing party to isolate ‘Machine Gun House' from the German system of defences." 

This action took place during the attack on Guillemont when the 17th Middlesex were attacking from Trones Wood. 

Record also shows that on 1 October 1916 he temporarily joined the 13th Essex in the field, from the 2nd South Staffs, with the rank of Acting Lieutenant Colonel. 

He participated in the Battle of the Ancre in November 1916 during the tenth and final phase of the Battle of the Somme. On 4 January 1917 he was again Mentioned in Despatches. 

On 20 October 1916 he was awarded the DSO as a result of his leadership and acumen during the period 29 July to 9 August. 

At this stage he was a substantive Lieutenant but Temporary Major - not an uncommon occurrence during the Great War. The citation in the London Gazette (issue 29793) reads: 

"For conspicuous gallantry during operations. He commanded the Battalion after his CO was wounded, and displayed great skill and personal courage. 

He went about everywhere encouraging his men and making personal reconnaissances during three days of heavy fighting. He set a fine example to his command."  

There was some respite for Harry Carter from the grinding, attritional conflict on the Western Front during the early part of 1917 when, in April of that year, he attended a Senior Officers' course at the Infantry School at Aldershot. 

Here his performance was rated as ‘Very Good'. 

On 1 July 1917 he was made a substantive Captain in the Royal Warwickshire Regiment. 

He returned to duty on the Western Front on 4 July where he reverted to second in command of 13th Essex with the rank of Acting Major. 

This posting was of a very short duration because, on either 7 or 19 July 1917 (records show two dates), Harry Carter, aged 38, was appointed Acting Lieutenant Colonel as the Commanding Officer of the 7th South Staffordshire Regiment, in 33 Brigade, 11th (Northern) Division. 

This was an appointment he was to hold for the rest of the war. 

11th Division was raised on 21 August 1914 as part of Kitchener's New Army (K1). It served first at Gallipoli, before transferring to the Western Front in 1916, where it gained a reputation as one of the best divisions in the BEF. 

It performed particularly well at the Third Battle of Ypres [more commonly known as Passchendaele] between 27 July and 9 October 1917 at Langemarck, Polygon Wood, Broodseinde and Poelcapelle,  

and led the First Army's advance in the autumn of 1918. During this time Major General H R Davies, who had assumed command on 12 May 1917, identified Harry Carter as an indefatigable soldier with superb leadership skills. 

The last year of the Great War saw Harry Carter leading his troops with the same verve and determination; on 23 May he was again Mentioned in Despatches, and promoted Brevet Major on 12 June. 

Between 26 August and 5 November he was involved in the Battles of the Scarpe, Drocourt-Queant, Canal du Nord, Cambrai (1918), the Pursuit to the Selle, the Battle of the Sambre and the Passage of the Grand Honelle. 

During these battles, Harry Carter continued to be an inspiring leader, a fact which saw him again honoured by the award of a Bar to his DSO, for his actions only two days before the Armistice came into force. 

This is indicative of the mindset of a front line senior officer determined ‘to get the job done'. 

The Armistice did not bring Harry Carter's army career to an end. For a period he served with the Army of Occupation in Germany, eventually holding the rank of Temporary Brigadier General. 

He returned to England on 21 July 1919, and on 28 August 1919, age 40, he married Clara Elizabeth (the marriage produced five children). 

Following the end of the war though,  the numerical strength of the peacetime British Army was much reduced, and Harry Carter was demoted to the substantive rank of Captain in the Royal Warwickshire Regiment, the rank he achieved in July 1917. 

Why? Because soldiers of his background were known as "Temporary Gentleman". Made officers due to need during the war, put back in the ranks for "social stability" once war was over. 

Not surprisingly he left the Army in 1922 with a gratuity of £1,500, having completed 21 years' service.  

He invested this money in a poultry farm near Kidderminster, but it was not a success. He later set up a taxi business but, again, it was not a successful venture. 

In January 1934, Harry Carter was interviewed by a reporter from the Birmingham Post, who found him living with his wife and children at Rose and Crown Cottages, Penn, near Wolverhampton. 

The reporter elicited that he had worked for five years as a mechanic at AJS motorcycles, before moving to James Gibbon Limited as a steel erector.  

His failed businesses and subsequent employment in fairly mundane jobs did not affect him. 

The reporter noted he regarded his situation with equanimity, asserting that so long as he had employment he was satisfied with his lot, although he would have welcomed an opportunity to better his position. 

He also said, ‘Some of the old chaps who used to know me in the army - chaps the same as myself, you know - come and see me, because even when I was an officer, I hadn't any bounce'. 

And yet at the outbreak of the Second World War, aged 60, he was very happy to be put in charge of Air Raid Precautions at his employer's premises (James Gibbons Ltd). 

This war service was interrupted by an old wound (believed to have been sustained when he won his MC at Gibson's Crater on 24 November 1915) requiring the amputation of his foot. 

He recuperated from the operation as the guest of the Earl of Dartmouth, with whom he had cordial relations. 

Harry Carter did not enjoy good health after the end of the second war and, following a long illness, he died on 19 December 1951 aged 72. He is buried in St Bartholomew's Churchyard, Penn. 

Harry Carter wasn't  born a "gentleman"  but he was an outstanding officer and an outstanding human been. 

History needs to rember men like Harry Carter  

Thomas George Turrall - The Hero with A Broken Heart 

Thomas George Turrall was born on 5th July 1886 (sometimes stated as 1885) in Hay Mills Birmingham. 

Thomas’s parents were William, a brick labourer from Coventry and Ellen who married in 1882 and his siblings were William and May. 

Thomas attended Dixon Road School and subsequently became a painter and decorator. He married Mary Lilian Mansell at Aston in 1913 and Lilian May, was born in May 1914. 

The family lived in Yardley and Turrall worked for the Council. In December 1914 he joined the 10thbattalion Worcestershire Regiment as a Private.  After training the 10th transferred to France in the summer of 1915. 

Whilst in France Turrall was told his wife was seriously ill and he was granted compassionate leave to return to England. When the leave ran out he returned to his unit and in December 1915 he learned that Mary had died at just age 26. 

Sadly, he was unable to have further leave to attend her funeral which must have been very distressing and his daughter was taken into the care of the family. 

The Germans launched an offensive in early 1916 against the French Army at Verdun and to support their Allies the British 19th Division mounted a counter offensive north of the Somme. The 10th Battalion Worcestershire Regiment was part of this Division although the records appear to show Turrall was at that time in custody serving a disciplinary sentence. 

He was released for Active service on the request of Lieutenant Richard William Jennings, the officer he went on to look after later in the action. 

On 1st July and following eight days of continuous bombardment the British advanced. The centre of the action fighting was around two villages, Ovillers and La Boisselle.    

The first attack on La Boisselle by the 8th Division failed with heavy losses and the 19th Division was brought up to support a further offensive with a night assault which took place on the night of 2nd July. 

The 10th Worcesters formed up with the companies lying down in the open ground waiting for the order to attack. The village was heavily defended by the Germans and under heavy fire the night attack descended into hand to hand combat in the network of dugouts and trenches.  

Heavy losses were sustained during this action. Commanding officer Lieutenant-Colonel George Arthur Royston-Piggott, Captain H.A. Gillum-Webb, the Adjutant and all the senior officers were all killed or wounded. The village was however secured by the morning of the 3rd with most Germans killed or captured. 

Lieutenant Richard William Jennings who had commanded a Battalion Grenade Squad led one of a number of raiding parties which then advanced out of the village.  

Thomas who was known to Jennings had been part of the Battalion Grenade Squad. 

During the morning the raiding party came under fire from machine guns and Thomas who had dropped to the ground when the firing started was the only one of the group to remain uninjured.     

All others were killed other than Lieutenant Jennings who had a severe wound which had shattered his leg. Thomas pulled Jennings into a shell hole for shelter and bandaged his leg with one of his puttees. He used his entrenching tool as a splint.

As this aid was being administered they were bombed by the Germans. Turrall shot two of them dead and the others retired. 

During a counter-attack on the village German infantry advanced towards the shell hole occupied by the two men. Jennings had at this time fainted and Thomas was forced to feign death albeit he was prodded by German bayonets. 

Once darkness arrived Thomas who had looked after Jennings throughout the day made his way back to the British lines. He carried an unconscious Jennings on his back over the shell marked landscape and at times under fire. 

Notwithstanding Turrall’s supreme efforts Jennings died on an operating table in the field hospital He had however dictated an account of his bravery.    

The Regiment notes that Thomas wrote to Jennings’ mother giving an account of his last hours:    

“I hope you will not think me taking a liberty writing to you in this manner but I feel it my duty to do so, as I was with him the whole time and I think you would like to hear the part we played.

I must first of all congratulate you in possessing such a plucky son, for he led our company with unflinching pluck that we were not long in taking the enemy’s front line.

I might say that when we reached it we came across a dugout held by the Huns. Here your son remarked: “Give me a bomb I will clear them out”. He did so. 

From there we went on to the second line. This proved to be an easy thing for we did not find anyone there, so that made us more enterprising. We were not long before we were in the third line. 

This is, I am sorry to say, the starting of our hard times, for it was here he received his first wound; a rifle shot in the muscle of the left arm. 

Nothing daunted him. He kept on until he received another wound, a bomb this time which caught him in the right thigh 

I might say that it was from this time that we found ourselves practically cut off from the remainder of the battalion. 

It was here that a brother officer advised your son to seek medical aid, but he very pluckily refused, although had he chosen to act as advised I am afraid he could not have done so as we two were now completely cut off.

It was advisable to get what cover we could. So, we retired to a shell hole some distance in the rear.

In doing so your son, I am sorry to say, received two more wounds, one in the right knee, and the other shattered his left leg a little below the knee.

As we could get no further I did all I could for him, using my entrenching tool handle and bayonet scabbard as splints, and my puttees as bandages.

It is hard to tell you that we were obliged to remain like this for something like three and a half to four hours before I at last carried him in. 

How he bore his pain was surprising, for he continually chatted and smoked with me until I at last managed to get him to the dressing station. 

It was here that we parted, but not without him thanking me for the part I played. 

I am sure in the success of the Worcesters at (blanked by censor) your son played a very prominent part although badly handicapped by his wounds. 

Hoping this little but thrilling account will afford you some small consolation in your great loss and at the same time sending mine and all his comrades’ sympathy”.  

Mrs Jennings wrote to Turrall’s mother: 

“”Will you let me know when your brave son is in England? I will go anywhere in England to see him and give him some special thing in memory of Lieutenant Jennings. 

Your son must be a hero and so strong, for my son was over six feet”. 

Turrall’s VC was gazetted on 9th September 1916 and it was reported that he was pulled out of the lines to meet King George V who was visiting the troops in France.  

Turrall met the King again when he formally received his VC in January 1917 at Buckingham Palace.  

Thomas returned to active service with the Worcesters and was demobilised in April 1919. At that stage he had fought at Arras, Loos, St Quintin, La Bassee and Cambrai; indeed, right up to the Armistice.  

After all of which he returned to his job as a painter and decorator.  

His home city of Birmingham welcomed back their hero and amongst the events a testimonial football match was played for Thomas at Birmingham City’s St Andrews ground on 10th May 1919.  

Thomas remarried, this time to Daisy May Davis in 1920 and that same year attended Buckingham Palace at a reception for recipients of the Victoria Cross. Present were King George V and Queen Mary.  

Over the years Turrall attended many events and receptions for VC winners including one at the Council House in Birmingham in 1934 where, for HRH The Prince of Wales he formed the Honour Guard with other VC winners.  

In 1962  sadly he was forced to sell his VC medal group to the Worcestershire Regiment for £500 to eke out his pension for himself and wife Daisy.   

Thomas lived in the Hall Green area until his death aged 78 on the 21st of February 1964 in Selly Oak Hospital.

Frederick Potts and The Shovel That Saved Two Lives 

Born on December 18, 1892, Fred was raised on Edgehill Street in the Katesgrove area of Reading. The son of Thomas and Thirza Potts, he grew up in a working-class household alongside his sister, Nellie. Like many young men in the industrializing town, Fred entered a trade early, working as an apprentice mechanical engineer fitter by 1911. 

Long before he ever wore a military uniform, Fred possessed the instincts of a lifesaver. In 1913, at just 20 years old, he first made local headlines when he rushed to the River Thames to save a five-year-old boy, Charles Rex, from drowning. It was an early glimpse into the character of a man who naturally put the lives of others before his own. 

In 1912, seeking a bit of adventure alongside his civilian trade, he joined the local Reading Squadron of the Berkshire Yeomanry as a territorial soldier.

When war broke out, Fred’s unit was mobilized, arriving in the Mediterranean theatre by April 1915. On August 21, 1915, during the brutal assault on Scimitar Hill (Hill 70) in Gallipoli, Fred was severely wounded in the thigh, buttocks, and ear.  

Crawling into a patch of scrub to find cover, he discovered another wounded soldier: Trooper Arthur Andrews. Remarkably, Andrews was a fellow Reading townsman who had grown up just a mile away from Fred. 

For over 48 hours, the two men lay trapped under the scorching Mediterranean sun by day and freezing cold by night, just beneath the Turkish trenches.  

Refusing to abandon his comrade, Fred discovered a discarded entrenching shovel. He ingeniously lashed it to Andrews' equipment to act as a make-shift sled and spent hours dragging him over 600 yards to the safety of the British lines. 

While the national press immediately dubbed him "The Hero with the Shovel" and King George V presented him with the Victoria Cross in December 1915, the physical toll on Fred was immense. His wounds were so complex that he spent two full years enduring agonizing treatments in various military hospitals. Ultimately deemed medically unfit for further service, he was discharged from the army. 

However, mid-war brought a deeply joyful personal milestone. On December 15, 1915—just a week after receiving his VC at Buckingham Palace—Fred married his partner, Ruth Wellstead, ensuring he had a steady foundation to build a new life. 

Returning to civilian life in Reading, Fred proved to be a deeply modest man who rarely sought the spotlight

Because his severe injuries prevented him from returning to heavy mechanical engineering, he pivoted entirely, training as a master tailor. He opened up a highly successful tailor's shop on Alpine Street in Reading, meticulously crafting clothing for the community he loved. 

Though quiet about his wartime exploits, Fred remained an active figure in post-war social history. In 1920, he traveled to London to join other VC holders as part of the elite Guard of Honour for the burial of the Unknown Warrior at Westminster Abbey.  

Locally, he was a dedicated Freemason, rising through the ranks to become the Master of the Aldermaston Lodge in 1934. 

Fred Potts passed away on November 2, 1943, at the relatively young age of 50, and was cremated at Reading Crematorium.  

While his life was cut short, his modest nature meant his story quietly faded into local history until a major community push in recent years resulted in a beautiful bronze monument erected outside Reading's Forbury Gardens—immortalizing a master tailor who was so much more than just a soldier.  

Michael Wilson Heaviside - Cry From No Man’s Land 

Michael Wilson Heaviside was born on the 20th October 1880 at 4 Station Lane, Gilesgate, Durham, the son of John Wilson Heaviside (born 1862), a grocer, and Annie (born 1870), a dressmaker. Michael was the eldest child of four children.