Saturday 15th April 1916

Having had no work to do yet, have employed my time in seeing France. Yesterday went down to Bailleul, about 8 miles, to see George Hennessy who is quite a big wig among the Signallers there. Found him looking very well and much happier about his sciatica. Lunched at his quarters which are in a private house together with his office. Returned to Pop: as I had come by 'lorry jumping' and took tea and dinner off MGT (his brother, Maurice) walking home afterwards. Today M turned up about 11am and took me off with him on a foraging expedition. (His chief occupation then was motoring about the country with a Belgian interpreter, making contracts with farmers for the supply of hay, corn, straw and vegetables). we went via Bailleul to Haazelbrouck and Steenibeke, returning to H for lunch. Thence we drove to Cassel where we visited Col Hildebrand at Army HQ. This office was in the casino at the very summit of the hill whence one got a magnificent view from Dunkerque right away almost to Lens. From Cassel we passed through Esquelbec (where there is a very fine chateau in which one of our Cavalry regiments was billeted after Waterloo) Hoetkirke and Poperinge. Walked home having M's company part of the way and arrived in good time for dinner. It turned out quite a good day and the wind has subsided. Tonight it is beautifully fine almost full moon. 

Have seen quite a lot of the neighbourhood in these two days. 

Wednesday April 5th 1916 - The Back of the Front

Received my 'movement orders' on Monday and entrained that night at 8.30pm after dining with Yates and Iforde. Had a very good night in the train. Before starting each individual had to draw his iron rations. These consisted of about 1lb of small biscuits and a small tin containing tea and sugar all done up in a linen bag. I learnt to appreciate the value of iron rations more fully in future months, but I don't suppose I was the only one who, on his first introduction to them, thoughts them a tiresome addition to his kit, and left them in the carriage at the end of his first train journey! A large proportion of those issued at the Base must have gone into the mouths of the French urchins who all along the line received us with the cry 'Biscuit - Souvenir'. 

Passed Bologne in the early morning and paused for breakfast and wash at Calais about 10.30am. The breakfast was provided by a Y.M.C.A. or Church Army hut and served by two ladies to whom I felt extraordinarily grateful: the wash was provided by an individual who might have been a tramp - but who was dressing in khaki and who presided over a boiler on the platform. He dispensed hot water into whatever receptacle one could provide for oneself. Reached Hazebrouck about 1.30pm and there to my great joy found Colquhoun, also en route to the 2nd E. Bn (Entrenching Battalion). We proceeded in another train in a most leisurely fashion to Poperinge (about 8 miles West of Ypres) where we detrained about 6.30pm and then walked the four miles or so to Camp. The Camp was in an open and muddy field near Ouderdom, S.E. of Poperinge. No warning had been given of our arrival but we were in time to partake of a most filling dinner and were then made extremely comfortable for the night in a tent provided with camp beds and such like luxuries - being my first experience of even the 'back of the front' it no doubt seemed more noisy then it really was but the guns of both sides were in action all the evening and the flashes kept an almost constant glare in the sky to the East. 

The previous evening the Battalion had been forced to abandon its camp just across the road and shells were again falling in the same place when we arrived. In fact, one officer was knocked over when going out with a party. Tonight things have been quieter. The country round here is very flat and though perfectly dry now one can imagine what the mud in winter must be like. The roads of course are frightfully cut up by traffic and must become quagmires directly it rains. It is surprising how much of the land still remains cultivated and farming operations are in full swing all around us. Though this is well within the zone of shell fire. All the buildings are the worse for wear and Pop shows many signs of warfare. we are just at the back of the Ypres Salient and of course very heavy fighting has taken place all over this district. 


I did not have long to wait before I experienced the mud which in reality was far worse than anything I imagined. Considering the vast amount of traffic and the fact that all our camps were pitched on arable land - very little of the locality being devoted to pasture - it was not surprising that both roads and camps were knee deep in slush. Duck boards formed the only means of cross country communication and when the supply of these failed, movement became almost impossible. My ideas of destruction adjusted themselves before many months. (Added 1918 by AJT - Poperinge in 1916 had suffered from few shells, but was a thriving thickly populated and healthy town compared to what it was afterwards, and even after another 18 months of war, when I last saw it, it was in a good state of repair compared to many places further South.)

Today (Wednesday 5th) we have had nothing to do and this afternoon walked into Pop. to do a little shopping and get exercise. We there ran into Duncan who used to be at Dunree. He has been out nine months with a T.M. Battn (Trench Mortar Battalion). (He looks well after it too) and now wears the M.C. (Military Cross, granted in recognition of acts of extreme bravery). Of this Battn I have as yet seen but little, but the C.O. Major Tuson, 16th Lancers, seems a very good sort, as also the Adjt Neilson, a Scottish Rifleman. The others are a mixture of all regiments; English, Scotch and Irish. 

These Entrenching Battalions were Army Troops and were subsequently replaced by units of the Labour Corps - their duty was to construct trenches, assist in the construction of railways or roads, and any other odd job that might be required. Occasionally the work could be done by day, but as a rule it was done at night. The working parties setting out in time to reach their work after dusk. They usually got back to camp about 2 or 3 am and after a drink of hot soup, the men turned in and remained undisturbed till noon - there was one short inspection parade - otherwise nothing except their night work. The Battalion was composed of reinforcement officers and men, temporarily loaned, before joining their own units. Some remained with an Entrenching Battn for months, others got away after only a few days. The CO's view that both officers and men were reinforcements for their regiments and therefore ought to be preserved from unnecessary risk until the regiment got possession of them was correct enough, but it led to very bad training in my opinion - for any shelling of a road or vicinity of a works rendezvous could be taken as an excuse by a windy officer for withdrawing his working party. That would easily give raw troops an exaggerated idea of the danger and lower their morale. It was always a bad thing to let oneself of one's men think that one could not go any where or don anything that one intended. 

On the 13th I wrote - Last Thursday there was a great evening hate and we hurriedly decamped to a new ground about a mile back (near Reninghelst) which was being prepared for us but which we did not mean to occupy for another two or three days. By the time we were there the strafe was over, but our own guns kept busy all night. 

Our new camp is in a grass field felt and low lying, and therefore, frightfully muddy now that there have been two wet days. However, it may be pleasant enough in summer, for the moment it is uncomfortable as there is no mess but a tent becomes boring when it is one's only accommodation. On Friday, (7th) Maurice (his brother, a Captain in Army Service Corps, killed 1917) turned up in a motor and took me into Poperinge. He lives just the other side of the town and has most comfortable quarters in huts. (His camp, the HQ of the Guards Div Train was in a farm on the East die of the Pop - Proven Road near the junction of that road with the one from Waton). I was then proceeding down country with a draft of 10 Bn KOYLI joining their unit - two other drafts also going at the same time. We put up for the night at Hazebrouck and were most comfortable in the 'rest billets' - an empty hospital, where we got a hot bath. Next day got as far as Abbeville vis Bethune and S'Pol. There the men spent a night in railway carriages. I spent it at an hotel near the station. On Sunday (9th) reached my railhead - Mericourt I'Abbi and marched out to Albert - about 7 miles. I handed over the draft. The courtly down there is much prettier than Flanders - undulating and rather open - as usual, will tilled. The town of Albert is a pitiful sight, the church and centre of the town absolutely laid flat, the remainder much damaged. (In comparison with the damage suffered during 1918, Albert was at this time really intact. The church itself and buildings near it were of course destroyed, but when I passed through it in September 1918, it would have been difficult to find the site of the church 0 the whole town was then flat very literally. In 1916 and for long afterwards, the famous Angle was still leaning outwards form the shattered tower and the prophecy that when it fell the War would cease almost came true). 

Beyond, i.e. East of Albert, the ground rises to the now famous plateau on which stood Pozieres - La Boiselle - Ovillers and many other villages of the Somme battlefield. On this Sunday evening there was nothing very war-like about the scene except for a few straggling lines of white chalk marking the position of our communication trenches. 

I got a lift back to Mericourt but was too late for a train so the R.T.O. a Captain Hamilton took pity on me and gave me dinner at his Mess where there was a very hospitable party of six. (Mericourt was already becoming a busy railhead and even then a big ammunition dump had been formed in preparation for the July offension). 

Slept in a railway carriage and began my return journey at 8am Monday. Breakfasted at Amiens and then had to get out again at Abbeville about noon and found there was no train until 4am next morning. After lunch went for a walk along the Somme canal as it was a lovely day, and in various ways killed time until about 9.30 when I returned to the station. Remainder of the night most uncomfortable, no rest house being provided, only a luggage dump in the R.T.O.'s office (where on could recline on the top of valises, coats, boxes and other odd property of other people's, but when sleep was almost impossible owing to noise and constant arrivals and departures There was no Officers' Club in Abbeville at this time, but an excellent one was opened later). 

A friendly TCO did his best and I had a good time on his train between 4.30am and noon when we got out at Hazebrouck. At S Omer I discovered that Geoffrey Baker (OKS) was in the next carriage. He is now a fully fledged RAMC (Royal Army Medical Corps) and just came out from home. At that moment the Huns began to shell the town so we adjourned to a bunk hole (the RTO's) till it was over (It was a very mild strafe really but neither of us were then very used to the fame or we shouldn't have wasted so much time). We then went up to his mess for dinner. They do things in great style and seem most comfortable. I stayed the night in a vacant hut and then got a lift out to Ouderdom in a motor after breakfast. Arrived in camp just before the rain. I t the soaked all day until a gale sprang up in the night which continues today (Thursday). Wish my trip had lasted a day longer!

War Diaries - March 1916

A couple of years ago, the General handed me a thick, typewriter written document, its slightly tatty, dog-eared 30 pages held together by a bulldog clip. 'These are your great-grandfather's war diaries,' he informed me. I read them that afternoon, sitting in the summer sun,  98 years after Lt Colonel AJ Trousdell documented his life during 1916. That was the year of the Battle of the Somme, a battle that killed and injured over 1,000,000 men in little over 5 months, and the Battle of Verdun, the longest battle of the war. As I read about his days, some mundane, some exciting, some not noted but all set against the backdrop of tragedy and loss, I decided that I would write them out to mark their 100 years.  

At the outbreak of war, AJT - who had been invalided out of the military due to contracting polio whilst serving in India - reenlisted into the 3rd Battalion Royal Irish Fusiliers based in Buncrana in Co. Donegal, where he remained until March 1916 when he was posted to France. 

My grandfather spent time typing the diaries up. The pages are marked with notes, edits and crossings out. The first entry has no date but they start at the end of March. They end abruptly in mid-August. Brackets with italics are my notes, otherwise I am typing the diary up verbatim although it's clear from reading them that AJT went back at a later date & add in more detail. For everyday there's an entry, I will write it up and posted it, 100 years on. For more background information on my Great-Grandfather, you can read a blog I wrote last year about his stolen war medals.

Coincidentally, in June this year, I will be cycling from Ypres to Verdun to raise money for Help for Heroes, along the route of the Western Front, following a path AJT and his brothers-in-arms would have been all too familiar with. 

March 1916

Orders to proceed to join the BEF (British Expeditionary Force, the British Army sent to the front during WW!) - for which I had hoped so long and in vain - came at last on 25th March 1916. On the 27th, I left the 3rd Battalion at Buncrana (County Donegal, Ireland) and crossed to England by the night mail from Kingstown. Owing to a blizzard all over the midlands - which brought down the telegraph wires and left deep snow everywhere, the train only reached London at 4pm instead of 7.45am. That gave me only just time to get him the same night and I returned to town the following morning early - in Kate's (sister-in-law) company - intending to proceed to Southampton that same afternoon. However, Colquhoun (who was to go out with me) only arrived late also due to the blizzard and we finally postponed our departure until the following day. 

We crossed from Southampton on Thursday night (March 30th) by the Le Havre mail boat, disembarking about noon on Friday after a very smooth crossing in foggy weather. On land, it was fine and warm. We had the afternoon to ourselves and spent most of it at the Officers' Club - a small house which was totally inadequate to the number of officers who passed through Le Havre - but still they fed one in time and we were grateful for all we got there. 

At 10pm we entrained and spent a cold night travelling very slowly to Rouen which we reached at 6am (Saturday 1st April). One of the things which struck me forcibly on this occasion and during subsequent journeys near the Base ports was the oriental spirit of indifference to Time displayed by all railway authorities including (with few exceptions) the much reviled 'R.T.O.' (Rail Transport Office). Whether the load was human or otherwise - much needed reinforcements for the front line - Ordnance Stores - rations or any one of a million other commodities - all were treated in the same way. Eventually they would arrive at their destination - often by devious routes and often (if of the human variety) unfed - but in the good time of the R.O.D. they would arrive. 

Rouen did not impress me as a desirable spot in which to remain. It was swarming with troops - chiefly British - and the constant stream of motor lorries, ASC wagons etc. etc. - on the cobbled streets made it extremely noisy. The Reinforcement Camps were on the race course to the South of the town details for every infantry unit were grouped in accordance with the grpupidn of the units in Divisions. Thus the detail camps of the 87th also contained representatives of all the other eleven Battalions in the 4th Division.

I found several friends - Ilforde of the 3rd Battalion came up from Le Havre with us expecting to rejoin the 87th shortly. Horwell (a ranker 2/Lieut who had come out from Buncrana a few weeks earlier) was in the Camp pending posting to a Battalion. 

Some officers escaped from the Base after a few days only, others stayed there for weeks - it seemed to be a mere matter of luck. I was already under orders to join the 2nd Entrenching Battalion (Entrenching Battalions were temporary units from which infantry battalions could draw replacements) in the 3rd Army area but had to wait for further instructions. Colquhoun went straight on to Étaples (about 160km north of Rouen, near Calais) being posted to a Service Battalion (7th I think).

Yates (Capt 87th) was in Rouen having got a job at DAAG (Deputy Assistant Adjutant General) 3 Echelon. Deane, formerly a Colour Sgt of the 89th, I met by chance: he was then Adjutant to one of the Base Camps. I also ran into my old hospital orderly of Ferozepore and Dalhousie Days - Pte Gillespie - which pleased me not a little. (A.J.T. contracted polio whilst serving in India, Gillespie had looked after him. It is likely they would not have seen each other for several years.)

L'amore e la felicità in Italia

My 2015 wedding season finished over the weekend with a three day affair in Tuscany. It was an incredible weekend filled with so much love, laughter, my favourite people and just a splash too much chianti.  

I find there's something about weddings though, as a long-time-single person. The more I go to, seeing the eyes-only-for-each-other-happy couple, the more I can't help but wonder if this will ever be me. If I'll get to know what that's like because lets face it, not everyone gets married. I wouldn't say I worry about it but it does make me feel, well, lonely. I was with a few of my closest friends at the wedding who are now paired off and the Tuscan couple radiated love like I've never seen at a wedding. It was beautiful but it heightened my own sense of singleness.   

As the Tuscan wedding night rolled on and before we succumbed to the limoncello, the party was ushered outside to watch a fireworks display. I had hung back with the estate agent & her boyfriend while my other friends had bounded further into the scrum of spectators. Fireworks are romantic, there's no denying that, and I didn't want to intrude or feel like the unnecessary third wheel so I moved further away from them & sat down, as they enjoyed the moment together. Watching them, I felt a wave of aloneness wash over me. I wished I had someone to share this with too. 

Suddenly I heard the estate agent shout 'ROZZLE!' I looked up to see her, one arm around her man and one arm gesturing to me, laughing. 'Rozzle!' again. 'Come into my circle of love!' she ordered. I beamed and headed over to join them. We stood there together, arms round each other under the glittering Tuscan night, 'oohs' and 'aahs' jostling with John Legend's 'All of me' and the crackle of fireworks. Standing in a three, knowing that, although I couldn't see all of them, some of my most favourite people were near me, I realised how unbelievably happy and surrounded by love I was. 

I wasn't even close to being alone, not with this lot in my life. 

Un-Hinged

I had my first date in a while last night (when I say a while, I actually mean a year). I found myself sitting across from an unassuming gentleman in an insalubrious Be at One in Covent Garden.

The venue wasn’t the best. The low hanging lights had been fitted with red bulbs and created a bordello like ambiance that was unnecessary for a Monday night. Our chat battled against what I’m pretty sure was Now 3; tinny and turned up slightly too loud for an empty establishment meaning questions and comments needed to be repeated more then once.

The talk covered the usual neutral topics that you can expect when the only contact you’ve previously had with someone has been through a dating app. It ebbed and flowed, interrupted only once when he pointed out a mouse that was hanging around the bar. Jobs, family, travel, I love horses, he doesn’t, we’d both spent some of our childhood in Hong Kong, him longer then I. We did at one point hit on food phobias, me – bananas, him – tinned tuna (I dread to think what conclusions Freud would have drawn). The lowest point was being asked what my passions were. I had believed this question was the prerogative of distant, elderly relatives but apparently not. All I could think of at that moment was Enrique Iglesias and The Millionaire Matchmaker (TV at its best). I squirmed awkwardly, opened and shut my mouth a few times but managed not to blurt out the aforementioned enjoyments. I made a mental note to have some passions up my sleeve for the next time that question is lobbed at me. We moved on. For some reason, I think he thought I was quite sporty (it was very clear he was) though I’m not sure how he’d come to labour under that misapprehension. After three hours, we called it a night and emerged from the Be at One cellar, said our goodbyes and headed in separate directions.

I was in bed by the time the Quixotic PR returned home from her own Monday night date. ‘How’d it go? How’d it go?!’ she demanded excitedly, jumping on my bed.

‘It started off fine, he was nice but have I ever told you about the time I got 7 majors and a dangerous in my first driving test? Towards the end, the examiner screamed ‘what are you doing?’ grabbed the steering wheel and drove us off the roundabout. I realised at that moment, if I hadn’t already failed, I’d definitely failed then. Well, I had the dating equivalent of that tonight when he asked what music I liked and I announced I was going through a One Direction phase. It’s a definite automatic fail.’

She laughed. ‘Don’t worry. Mine was married to a woman who left him for a woman. It can only get better.’ 

My Great Grandfather's stolen war medals

This month marks the 50th anniversary of the death of a great military man. I will forgive you for thinking I'm referring to Churchill - I'm not. I'm talking about my great grandfather, Lt Col Alexander James Trousdell DSO MC. He had an amazingly varied army career. Sadly the fruits of which, his medals, are no longer here to show it. 17 years ago they (along with 19 other medals from 9 family members spanning from the Crimea to Northern Ireland)  were stolen and we still desperately want AJ's medals back. 

On 11th December 1909, AJ commissioned into the Royal Irish Fusiliers and joined the 2nd battalion in India a few months later. By April 1910, after two months, he was casevaced back to the UK, his legs paralysed by polio. Despite being mobile, he was discharged as unfit for any service on 27th July 1912. With the outbreak of war in 1914, AJ was recalled to the Colours and served in Flanders and France. In December 1916, as a Captain, he was briefly appointed Commanding Officer of the 1st Battalion. As a result of his wartime exploits, he was awarded a DSO and an MC. His military career ended with the war and he left as a Major. 21 years later another war called him back. At a youthful 50 years old, he rejoined as a Lieutenant and commanded a Battalion of the Royal Army Ordnance Corps. He left, finally, as a Lt Colonel. 

His First World War medals - the DSO, MC, a Victory Medal and a British War Medal with a Rosette showing he was Mentioned in Despatches - were stolen from his aunt's home in central London in 1926. The War Office (now MoD) agreed to replace them. Both sets of medals were engraved with his name. 

As he was a little on the old side, he served only in the UK during WW2 so, like everyone, was awarded the Defence Medal and the War Medal. 

My Grandfather (also of Royal Irish Fusiliers), AJ's eldest son, inherited the medals. The WW1 replacement set and the WW2 pair were all mounted together. Sometime in the 70s/80s, Grandpapa received a call from the Royal Irish Fusiliers museum asking why he was selling AJ's medals without first offering them to the museum. To Grandpapa's delight, the original stolen set had turned up. He promptly bought them and mounted them in the same case.  It is unusual to have two sets of the same medals which made them even more special. 

The medal set was given to my father (yes, also Royal Irish) but being on his own military career path, he asked that Grandpapa hang on to them, knowing that he was keen to keep them for as long as possible. This was a fateful decision. 

On the weekend of 22/23rd May 1998 my grandparents had a rare weekend away from their house in Beckington. While they were away the house was burgled and pretty much everything they owned was stolen. They, and the family, were completely devastated. 

A total of 29 family medals that covered a period of history from the Crimea to Northern Ireland and involved 9 members of my family, including AJ's, were taken. Grandpa's own 6 medals from WW2 and subsequent campaigns were part of that 29. The only surviving replica is the box in which the original medals were kept. 

On a recent battlefield tour in France, Daddy traced AJ's war. 'I found pretty much where he was during the first day of the Battle of the Somme which was pretty moving' he recently told me. '50 years on from his death I recall with gratitude this gentle man who was such an enormous influence in my early life. It is my everlasting regret that his medals have never been recovered.'

17 years is a long time to be looking and we know they could be anywhere but we want to find them. If you're able to help us, in anyway, retrieve these treasured medals, we will be eternally grateful. 

It's Nuffin without Puffin

I answered a call from The Gen. on Monday evening. ‘Darling I have some terribly sad news, Professor Puffin was killed today. I'm so sorry’ he told me. I dissolved into tears.

I woke on Tuesday with a heavy heart, knowing it was not going to be an easy day. I sat blubbing on the train to Victoria. As we pulled into the station the elderly gentleman opposite me smiled kindly and said, ‘don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll get better.’ My blubbing turned to wails, ‘I loved him and he’s gone. My cat died’. The gentleman looked rather shocked and moved quickly towards the door. One thing is for certain - that’ll be the last time he ever tries to offer a crumb of comfort to a weeping 20-something.

I was the first in the office and as the boys came in one by one, they took one look at me & decided it was probably best not to ask. I knew they knew it was cat related though they were probably puzzled as to why it warranted such anguish. Ross emailed to ask if everything was ok. I replied apologising for being ‘a bit of a mess’ (massive understatement) before telling him Pro P had been brutally murdered by a car (massive overstatement). I was glad the three of them felt the best way to deal with high level female emotions was by ignoring them. I started my mourning process digitally by uploading photos onto Twitter, Facebook & Instagram. My lovely friends were very sympathetic. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever love my own child as much as I loved him’ I announced to no one in particular and anyone who listened.

 On Wednesday, Benji and I walked to Sloane Square together after work.

‘So are you recovered?’ he asked.

‘From what?’

‘From whatever it was that meant you were in floods of tears, like a broken dam, yesterday.’

‘Benji, Professor Puffin is DEAD. I’ll NEVER recover.’ We carried on walking. The subject was quickly changed so he could tell me about a tramp he once saw that had shat himself. After that beautiful anecdote, he paused.

‘The way I see it Rosie, is that at least you still have Professor Puffin.’

‘What?! Benji, he’s the one that died. We still have Google.’

‘Well, it was 50/50 on the names. You know what I meant.’

 We had a Board meeting on Thursday. ’I’ll pay you £50 if you can burst into tears during the meeting’ Ross said.  As the various members arrived, Francie came up to me. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about your cat Rosie, Ems told me.’ The £50 seemed a little bit more achievable. Professor Puffin wasn’t on the agenda though I was tempted to bring him up when it came to AOB.

As Thursday drew to a close and we started packing up, the boys were talking about how slow the week seemed to have gone.

‘Urgh, it’s been a veritable rollercoaster of emotions’ I joined in.

‘Yes, we noticed’ said Ross

‘I basically had a year’s worth of period emotion in one day’

I watched them visibly shudder and cackled. I always enjoy a good period joke in an office of boys, even if it arose from a loss.

Now that the first hump of emotion has died down & I’m able to think vaguely more rationally about life sans The Professor, one dreadful thought has struck me. What the hell am I going to talk about on dates?

Sir David Cattenborough