“It has been decided to continue the Ambulance Drill again this year, and with the experience of those who have already gained the certificate to command us we have quickly passed the more elementary stages, and hope to be working with a motor ambulance next term. One afternoon a week is devoted to it, and on the last Tuesday of November we were inspected by a sergeant of the St. John Ambulance Association, who expressed himself highly satisfied with the work that was done. Section eight, under the command of Hickes, was placed first with twenty-six out of thirty, but as the lowest was only twenty-two there was very little to choose between them. An additional twenty-one are taking the First Aid classes again, conducted by Dr. Craig.”
Belgian Refugees
“…The next [lecture] was an account, given by Mr. T. Cox, of the brush-making that is done by the Belgian refugees in their camps in Holland. Our own Belgians are still living and prospering under their new conditions, and though we fear they are not so much in our minds as of yore, we are reminded of them every week by the inevitable lightening of our pockets.”
From Bootham Magazine, December 1915
See previous posts from September 1914 and January 1915 about the Belgian family that the school supported.
“This year “Matric” came late, about the beginning of July, and so the period of reaction and reform was shortened. At this time the Yorkshire farmers were in need of labour, and the boys, hearing of this, immediately volunteered to fill the depleted ranks, and to do what they could to feed the pigs and hoe the turnips of unfortunate agriculturalists. Thus no reaction set in, and the School knew no post-matriculation slacker.
The work was undertaken in the following way : six boys, supplied with red handkerchiefs, blue cans, and other attributes of the farm-labourer — corduroy trousers and clay pipes were barred — set out on cycles about eight o’clock, not re-appearing until six. Then, having performed their ablutions, they came to the usual tea, where extra rations were served. As wages they received two shillings a day; of this they saw nothing, as it was handed straight to the treasurer, who in turn passed it on to the Old Scholars’ Wartime Service Fund.
Besides farming-work at the end of term, a few boys were privileged to share in clearing up that part of the Cocoa Works which was to become a military hospital with orderlies from the Friends’ Ambulance Unit. Having taken part in the setting up of the X-Ray apparatus they were amply repaid by having a closer knowledge of the bones in their fingers, chest, and head.”
“J. G. BRAITHWAITE [Bootham 1907-14] wrote in November, 1915, that he had had a touch of rheumatism and had been sent from Gallipoli to a hospital in Malta. Since then he has been reported as a spotter in the Suez Canal. At the end of the November letter he writes : “Just walked into the arms of Sid. Faraday [Bootham 1908-10], to our mutual astonishment. He was wounded in Flanders in March and is now bound for the Balkans, and was ashore for a few hours off the trooper. We had dinner together.””
From ‘Across the Months’, Bootham Magazine, December 1915
RONALD M. PRIESTMAN (Bootham 1907-1911) writes on July 13th from No. 7 Casualty Clearing Station, B.E.F. [British Expeditionary Force]: “I must send you a line to say how absolutely delighted and really quite touched I was to get the postcard with so many old friends’ names on it. I have been out here without a glimpse of home since November 1st; so you have really no idea how I have appreciated the message—wordless though it is…. The kind of work we are doing is very much the same as that of the F.A.U., though up to the present we have been fortunate enough to have escaped being shelled…. Our duties are to receive, nurse (operate if necessary), feed, and otherwise look after and care for the patients sent down to us by the Field Ambulances until they are well enough to be sent either (1) back to duty (2) to a convalescent depot, or (3) to the base hospitals. I myself am fortunate in not having to be forever in the presence of pain and sickness, as I am in the more or less responsible position of corporal in charge of the stores. That includes all the food both for staff and patients, and all the clothing and hospital equipment. The food all has to be weighed and issued according to the scale laid down in the official army book, so you may imagine we are kept pretty busy.”
From “Bootham Oversea” in Dec 1915 issue of Bootham magazine
“All the sackcloth and ashes of Jerusalem would hardly serve to cover the sub-editorial shame. We promised original accounts of the great work of the Relief Party and Ambulance Unit; neither is forthcoming. The Editor of Bootham has been much too busy in Belgium to write any news, and no one in France had any time to spare either…
The Ambulance Unit has, we fear, been slightly disorganised for a short time by the advance towards Ypres, but the members are continuing their work wherever possible in spite of difficulty and danger, and look forward to wider activity in the near future. We were all very sorry to learn that two members of the party, Donald Allen being one of them, had been rather badly wounded, but the latest reports are good.
The Relief Party has been building veritable cities of huts, in which many homeless folk have been able to take refuge.
It is a great thing to know that our fellow Old Scholars are doing such fine work. We can only trust that the time will soon come when they will be able to continue their labour without the constant knowledge that for every human being saved or work created dozens of lives are being deliberately ended and works destroyed.”
Edmund Yerbury Priestman, Second Lieutenant, 6th York and Lancaster Regiment, fell in action in Gallipoli, November 19th 1915. He was born in Sheffield in 1890 and came to Bootham between 1903 and 1906.
Below is an extract (published in Bootham magazine December 1915 as part of an obituary) from “Night in No Man’s Land” by Edmund Y. Priestman, which gives a picture of his life in the Gallipoli Peninsula
“If No Man’s Land is unpromising by day, when it echoes to the rattle of the rifle, it is possibly oven more sinister when, after nightfall, it becomes a silent and menacing sea of shadows, the haunt of the nightbird, seeking who knows what?—and filled with vague rustlings, now and then dispelled by the sharp roar of a chance shot, which rattles and dies away among the echoes of the hills, to leave the land to sombre silence again.
Out into this eerie tract of lurking horrors it has been the lot of six, under the alleged “leadership” of the writer of these chronicles, to creep for the purpose of laying barbed wire entanglements to hinder the progress of the agile Turk, should he be tempted to pay calls. Lifting each foot carefully like a stalking burglar, the little party advanced with the stealth of Red Indians, making if anything slightly less noise than a herd of camels, and convinced that every step as it crashed and echoed into the night could be heard in every corner of the Peninsula.
A stray shot from the Turkish trench rang out. Private Smith dropped the coil of wire he was carrying with a deafening rattle, and the party stood still and thought of their individual misdeeds, and the new lives they would lead, if by some miracle the Turks omitted to turn all their machine guns on them. Moment succeeded breathless moment, and no devastating blast of fire swept them to sudden doom. The officer, whose duty may be summed up as being to fortify the men by feigning valour he didn’t possess, gulped once, and by some superhuman agency got his rigid muscles into working order again. . . . But when, the wiring party had been collected once more and complete, the explorers returned to the shelter of the friendly parapet, each of them swelled with a manly pride in dangerous work well done, and felt richer in confidence in his own nerves under new stresses. In short, all felt themselves not a little heroic, and it was not until daylight brought with it obvious considerations that the danger was really slight and that the work done was less than that carried through daily and nightly by a thousand of our fellow men, that we came down to earth again, and seeing things in their right proportion, vowed to continue our work next night with less melodrama, and to be quite frank in writing home upon what might have become a very richly coloured topic.”
Ellis Reginald Midgley (Bootham 1905-08). Killed in action, November 16th 1915. Second Lieut. Born in Leeds, 1891.
From Bootham magazine, December 1915:
He had joined the Leeds “Pals” Battalion on its formation and received a commission in the 2/5th Battalion of the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry six months before his death. Soon after leaving school he became an enthusiastic member of the Leeds Boys’ Rifle Brigade, and in more recent times he was a keen worker for the Y.M.C.A. His “Bene Decessit” speaks of him as archaeologist and football player. He kept both characteristics to the end. His last letter to the Headmaster was from the Colsterdale Camp on some archaeological point; he was secretary of the Northern Foxes F.C., and was no infrequent visitor playing against the School. He left Leeds on October 16th, having married a few weeks earlier.
He sent letters to “various members of the family almost daily, all bright and cheery, making light of the hardships and never a gloomy word.” In his first letter from the front he wrote:
We left Southampton Tuesday morning, October 19th, at 6.30, reached Havre (our base) at 1.30, left Havre 4 p.m. Wednesday, and had about 24 hours in the train. Thursday night we slept at the farm where our transports are, away behind the line 5 or 6 miles. It was there where I first heard the guns. Friday morning we reported, and I was sent out to “C” along a communication trench about a mile long, called “Halifax Road.” The firing line is about three-quarters of a mile in front of us. There was a very furious artillery duel on when I arrived which lasted till dusk; shells of all kinds and sires were dropping around, but none fell really near. The shells did very little damage. Bullets from rifles and machine guns are pretty plentiful, but do very little harm. I have a champion little dug-out, but we are not allowed any kit here, only what we wear and one blanket, so it was jolly cold last night . . . I cannot say where we are, but it is “somewhere in Belgium”.. . I passed through a fair-sized town coming here yesterday, and I don’t think there was one undamaged house; the churches, etc., were in ruins. . . . It is not so bad out here; it is cold at nights and very uncivilised, and after a bit I should think the strain will be a bit of a nuisance, but taking things all round it might be heaps worse.
His last letter, dated November 13th, written to a younger brother:
The front line is in an awful state for water, well over knee deep; we all have to wear long rubber boots like fishermen’s waders, right to the top of your legs, to get along at all. Supplies, etc., have to come over the open, bullet-swept ground by night, as the communication trench is waist deep in water and liquid mud, and is impassable except for very small parties without any load. We had no rations sent up for two days; the first day we had breakfast, dinner and tea of bread and butter, tea and jam. We knocked off dinner at night! . . . We never move without our smoke helmets in case of gas, and are never supposed to move singly, always at least two. You might have an extra bath for me; we can’t even get a wash, shave or anything here; it means going about like tramps all the time you are in the front line. I haven’t washed for four days, and have quite a beard now! It is fearfully funny. I must look a sight judging from the others; but we have not a looking-glass fortunately! . . . . We simply yell with laughter when we look at each other.
In January I did a talk as part of the Thursday lunchtime recital room series. It was entitled ‘Memories from the Archives’ and I talked about a number of memories from Old Scholars. I’ll share the photographs and text from the talk in several parts on the blog. Read Part 1 here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here, Part 4 here and Part 5 here.
Moving on into the 20th century now, Eric Henry Richardson was at Bootham between 1901 and 1904, during the rebuilding and opening of the new buildings after the fire. He recounts his experiences in the school fire brigade in the 1914 Register. Below are photographs of the fire brigade from 1911, slightly later than Eric’s time, but they give an idea of what the fire brigade looked like.
Bootham School Fire Brigade 1911Bootham School Fire Brigade 1911
“During my captaincy of the Fire Brigade I had the “privilege” of extinguishing an outbreak of fire in No. 2 bedroom. This was caused by the fusion of an electric light wire melting the adjoining gas pipe and igniting the gas under the floor. The thoughtfulness of Stephenson in turning off the gas meter in some mysterious corner of his “hole”, quenched the outbreak discouragingly soon from the Brigade point of view. One of the masters, realising with great presence of mind that some implement was necessary to tear up the boarding and get to the seat of the trouble, rushed downstairs, obtained a pickaxe from Stephenson (who had already turned off the gas), and proceeded, by excited miss-hits, to do considerable damage to both sound floor boards and mantelpiece jambs. With one bucket of water my Brigade extinguished the smouldering boards, but I have always somehow entertained a sneaking feeling that the honours of the day were with Stephenson. This outbreak occurred at 6.55am, just as the boys were dressing. If the wire had fused 10 minutes later when everyone was in the John Bright Library, the consequences must have been disastrous, and Bootham would have had for a second time to rise Phœnix like from her ashes with greater glory still.”.
The programme for the 2015-16 series of Thursday Recital Room events can be found on the school website.
Owen Frederic Goodbody (Bootham 1903-8), Second Lieutenant, Royal Engineers, contracted enteric fever in the Dardanelles and died at Alexandria, October 20th 1915. He was born in Blackrock in 1890.
A correspondent sent the following for the obituary in Bootham magazine (December 1915), which includes notes from O. F. Goodbody’s diary: ‘After leaving school Owen entered Trinity College and took the Aits and Engineering Degrees of Dublin University. He then joined the Engineering Staff of the Great Southern and Western Railway, and was with them for two years, his industry and skill being much appreciated by his fellow-engineers. When the War broke out he realised the nature of the struggle, that his country was fighting not only for its honourable obligation towards Belgium, but for its own existence as a nation and for those ideals of liberty and justice he had learned at school. In no spirit of adventure, therefore, but from a firm conviction that it was the right thing to do, he put himself and his engineering knowledge at the service of his country by asking for and obtaining a commission in the Royal Engineers.
After some months’ training at Chatham and other places in England he was appointed Second Lieutenant in the 72nd Field Company, R.E., attached to the 13th Division, which was ordered to the Dardanelles in June 1915 – After calling at Alexandria the 13th Division went to Lemnos, and here the Engineers stayed for two or three weeks improving the water supply and building piers at Mudros to facilitate landing and embarking of troops and stores.
On the morning of August 5th they left Lemnos for Gallipoli and arrived off Anzac about g.30 p.m., and came under fire immediately on landing. They were guided to their “rest ” camp, and when, they got there lay down where they were and tried to go to sleep. As O.F.G. says in his diary, “to how many this was possible I do not know, as there were bullets flying over our heads with a horrible whistling noise, and the unfamiliar sound of musketry was not a good narcotic. . . . Daylight brought a fusillade of rifle fire and the roar of deep-throated guns, and for us the chance to examine our position. It ‘ seemed’ safe, as everything went over our heads; however, we were enlightened as we sat down to breakfast (tinned sausages); a shell burst over us: one poor fellow went to his Maker and two others were wounded. The tinned sausages were rather like medicine after that.”
Owen seems to have liked his brother officers, all of whom with one exception were Irishmen; so that it was a disappointment to find the company was to be split up. The 1st and 2nd Sections joined the 40th Brigade, and the 3rd and 4th, under Major Wolff and Lieutenants Bradstreet and Goodbody, the 39th Brigade, to form a Corps Reserve.
An attack on the Turkish position was begun the same afternoon, when the gully (Rest Gully), as Owen says in his diary, “became a place which was very much better to be out of, but we had to remain seven hours there. At last our turn came to form up; we were to be the last to leave the gully, and my place was to be at the rear of the column. What hitch occurred I do not know; but, instead of passing a certain point at 11.30 p.m., we could not pass till 2 a.m. next day. I must admit that the delay made me uneasy, as to move in daylight meant that we should be seen and perhaps mowed down by machine-gun fire. However, we got a move on at last and started moving in short spurts of about 200 yards, when there would be more delay; we were moving along the beach. At each stop every man, already dog tired, immediately lay down and was asleep before he was properly stretched on the ground. This was a great trial to me, who was responsible that there was not a gap in our part of the column or any straggling. I used to go to the head of our lot, and as soon as the column in front started to move would run back and waken the sleepers. I was in great fear of sleeping myself also, and of letting them, or those who were not asleep, go off without me. As we were moving along the beach going north from Anzac two destroyers were shelling the Turkish positions, so that the Turkish fire might not interfere with the general British advance. It was still dark, but dawn was imminent, and we were still very much exposed. Some stray bullets came over just to remind us where we were. One of them went through the sleeve of my tunic, but did no harm. I am very glad no men were hit.
“Daylight was now on us, and we were lucky to have got under cover in a dried-up water-course, up which we proceeded about half a mile inland, where we were ordered to dig in and await orders. We took the opportunity to get a little food, biscuits and bully beef, but must not drink. No source of water was known yet, and all the water the men had was in their water bottles.
“.. . September 1st, on.—Life at Gazi Baba might have been very pleasant, but there were many things which often made me wish to be back in the Agyle Dere. Water was very scarce; half a gallon a day was often our ration, in fact nearly always. The place was very much crowded and dirty, and the Turks shelled us without fail twice per day, sometimes three times. . . . Shrapnel once burst over us while making troughs, every man diving for what cover he could get underneath the troughs, the bullets dropping within a few feet of us and burying themselves in the timber. Another unpleasant encounter with a shell was when a bullet (shrapnel) came through an unfinished part of the roof of our dug-out while we were at dinner, smashed an officer’s plate and cup, and buried itself in the ‘table.’ … .
“We began engineering work in real earnest under the Assistant Director of Works, Major Jellicoe. The company were in charge also of the water supply, which made many problems for us, especially the watering of 2,000 odd horses and mules. We built a number of long wooden troughs ; these were adequate enough, but it was quite impossible to get sufficient pumps to keep them filled, as the animals drank a great deal faster than our small pumps were able to deliver. All the water in the first place had to be pumped into tanks out of a tankship ; we also had road making, and the making of a small narrow gauge trolley to supervise.’
“What further problems arose over the water supply, etc., I do not know, as September 8th saw me on board a hospital ship.”
O. F. Goodbody had enteric fever, and was brought to Lemnos, and then changed to another hospital ship for Alexandria, where he was taken to the 21st General Hospital. The disease seemed to run its course normally; the patient appeared to be getting better, even to be convalescent, and was hoping to be allowed home soon for a change, when complications set in which necessitated an operation. The fever, unfortunately, had left him too weak to stand the operation, and he passed quietly away on October 20th, aged nearly 25 years. He played a man’s part; he showed us an example of loyalty to the right and devotion to duty, for which he was willing to give his life. He will be remembered as a gallant Irish gentleman, beloved by everyone who knew him.”
I am hoping that Old Scholars and other readers might be able to fill in some pieces of the story regarding Hungarian refugees at Bootham c.1956-57.
An Old Scholar sent this memory in response to an email about Bootham’s initial response to the Syrian refugee crisis:
“As a pupil in 1956 we were asked to make wooden partitions between beds for the Hungarian refugees. I remember spending long hours in the workshop doing this. One of the Hungarian refugees graduated in medicine with us in Edinburgh.”
I found this reference in Bootham magazine, May 1957:
“The Lodge found a new use when refugees from the top storey of No. 54 were housed there while the floor was made safe. The ability of the floor to move fully six inches vertically when encouraged had apparently been brought to official notice.”
I’ve yet to find any other references in the records from the period, so if anyone can remember anything about refugees at Bootham in the 1950s, please do get in touch (Jenny.Orwin@boothamschool.com).
