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.
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.”
On 25th September 1915 Frederic Garratt Taylor was killed by a shell in Flanders. He was a member of the Friends Ambulance Unit and was on duty with his ambulance car picking up wounded soldiers. He was 21 years old.
Photograph of F G Taylor in uniform.
Frederic was a pupil at Bootham School in York between 1908 and 1912. He was known as a fast swimmer, who twice helped his bedroom to win the aquatics team race and gained the Bronze Medal of the Royal Lifesaving Society. He also won prizes in the workshop category of the school exhibition for making chessmen and a cycling tent.
F G Taylor
After leaving school he joined Morland & Impey Wholesale Stationers in Birmingham, before joining the Friends Ambulance Unit in 1914, going to Dunkirk on 4th December 1914.
The Commandant wrote from Dunkirk on 27th September: “We have just returned from his graveside in the little cemetery here, a company of over a hundred members, nurses, and officers of the unit who went to pay a last tribute of honour and affection to a comrade whom every one of us loved, one of the brightest, most willing, and cheeriest members of the unit.” The French authorities awarded him the Croix de Guerre.
His friend Lawrence Rowntree wrote this in the school magazine in December 1915: “When I think of Eric Taylor I am always reminded of Peter Pan: he never grew up. In determination, in pluck, in self-reliance, he was a man, as we all knew him in France; in light-heartedness and cheery good spirits, in his readiness to enter into anything that savoured of mischief, and in his enthusiasm in taking up any new employment, amusement or hobby, he was always a boy, without a care in the world.”
At the 1915 Old Scholars’ Association AGM Ivy Weston gave an account of her work amongst refugees arriving at Folkestone, which was reproduced in Bootham magazine, December 1915. Whitsuntide, the Old Scholars’ Reunion, was a joint event between Bootham and The Mount (the Quaker girls’ school in York). Below is a summary of Ivy’s account.
She mentioned that Folkestone was the main port of arrival soon after the outbreak of war. A War Refugee Committee was set up, and arrangements were made to meet all the boats, which were coming from Ostend, Calais, Boulogne, Flushing and Dieppe. Due to the numbers of refugees arriving the committee asked the Government to send some help. The Government paid for food and train tickets to London or any central depot, and the Corporation lent them a large building that had been a grammar school. People from across the country sent gifts to supplement the necessities that were being provided. The committee started providing food (coffee, sandwiches, biscuits, milk and apples) at the harbour, as people were so hungry when they arrived. They fed as many as five or six thousand people per day at the busiest times. Ivy mentioned the team of eight or ten volunteer sandwich cutters, who “reached such a stage of perfection that they could turn out a thousand sandwiches in an hour”. She talked about how “when the boat was in the people seemed to sweep over you like a rough sea; panic-stricken people who came straight from Ostend, straight from the horrors, and not only hungry people but starving; in many cases some of them had walked through Belgium to Ostend, many carrying babies.”
Austen C. Dent of the Royal Army Medical Corps, Lance Sergeant, was mortally wounded on his 23rd birthday, July 19th 1915, and died the next day. He was laid to rest in the Military Cemetery, Lancashire Landing, Gallipoli.
He was born in 1892 and attended Bootham between 1907 and 1910.
Roderic Clark (B.1897-1900) wrote an obituary in Bootham magazine. Here is the first paragraph:
“Before me as I write lie two postcards. One of the well known Army brand, with its alternative inscriptions all crossed out save only “I am quite well. I have received your p.c. (our Whitsun greeting). Austen C. Dent, Sergt. July 3rd, 1915.” The other a camp group, with good wishes from nineteen of his friends at Matlock I. this year, which had been posted in the camp letterbox, but not collected before the sad news came, for Austen, or “Mole”, as many readers will still think of him, made many friends, and the frank sincerity of his exuberant boyishness awakened a response in many hearts.”
Hans Frederick Hundt was killed in action, May 25th 1915. He served in the 1/23rd London Regiment. He was born in London in 1894 and attended Bootham between 1908 and 1910.
Mrs. Hundt sent some extracts from her son’s letters to ‘Bootham’ magazine:—
Somewhere in France, March 22nd.
We have moved twice since I last wrote. We had to march about 15 miles over dreadful roads, uneven cobbles, to a small village about 12 miles behind the firing line. We were billeted in a large farm, 38 of us, and had some excitement with the rats.
France, April 2nd.
Have done very well on this most unique birthday (21st). It is one I am not likely to forget in a hurry. Had heaps of parcels and good things. Yesterday we were medically examined after having a glorious shower bath. I passed through all right. We marched four miles, and used the baths for the miners.
France, April 8th, 1915.
We moved again yesterday about 4 miles nearer the firing line, and expect to be in the reserve trenches next week. I am in a large loft over a cowshed, have plenty of straw, and am quite comfortable. Can get plenty of eggs (cooked) at the Farm House, coffee, bread and butter, so am living like a lord.
April 12th.
It is very quiet here, and if it were not for the sound of the firing one would not realise that anything was on. Last night mounted sentry with one of the Regulars, did three spells; it was rather an experience. The German trenches are some 300 yards away, and the whole space between, is a mass of barbed wire entanglements. The fellows we are with are a very decent lot.
France, May 12th. (Last letter received.)
The next night we were relieved and marched back about 5 miles to a very pretty little place where we were billeted in a large hall place. There was a canal running through, so we managed to get a bathe. It was a treat, and we made the most of it. We marched some 6 miles further back yesterday to the same piece we were last before leaving for the trenches. I am in the same billet, and quite comfortable, have plenty of clean straw. Isn’t it dreadful about the Lusitania? They are simply barbarians! We had some of those pipes, through which they pump their poisonous gas, opposite our trenches last time, but am thankful to say they did not use it. We each had a piece of gauze and some bicarbonate of soda handy to dip it into should they have used it. I believe we are going to have twelve days’ rest; I hope so, for we can do with it. Terrific bombardments are going on, and there is no doubt big moves are being made.
The Old Scholars’ Association met for their AGM on Saturday May 22nd 1915. T. Edmund Harvey, chairing the meeting, started off by saying: “If we had been gathering together for a social function I think we should all have felt that it would be better that the Old York Scholars’ Association should not have met at all at such a time, but I think all of us feel, and we are glad to feel, that our annual gathering is something infinitely more than a social function; it is a time of inspiration and of fellowship, where friends meet together to help each other, to share in the sense of comradeship and of unity and to get inspiration from the ideals that have been lit for us in our youth in the two schools. And so all the more because of the great cloud that is upon us do we feel that it is worth while making an effort to be gathered together to feel the strength that this comradeship gives.” He went on to pay tribute to the Old Scholars who were giving service in many different ways: “There are very many who have gone forth to different services : to the wonderful service of the Ambulance Unit, to help the war victims, to what seems much simpler work at home, and there are a great many who have felt it their duty to stick to what is perhaps the hardest task of all, the service which they have been doing or which lies ready to hand where they are and that does not involve any apparent act of great sacrifice, and yet is essential to the true well-being of the country, and is, it may be, the highest fulfilling of duty.”
Ivy Weston then talked about her work with Belgian refugees at Folkestone, where a local War Refugee Committee was formed. She talked about how they fed as many as five thousand people in a day at the harbour, meeting the boats as they arrived.
Florence Barlow talked about the work of the Emergency Committee for the assistance of distressed Germans, Austrians, and Hungarians in Great Britain, and how she had visited two camps on the Isle of Man.
Philip Baker discussed the Friends Ambulance Unit, and the motives which brought the unit together.
T. Edmund Harvey mentioned the Friends War Victims Relief Committee work, including medical, agricultural and other relief work, such as building shelters and temporary housing for the populations of areas affected by the conflict.
A summary from the AGM report in ‘Bootham’ magazine, December 1915. Both Bootham and Mount Old Scholars were at the meeting. Longer excerpts from the accounts of the various types of work done will follow in later posts.
