When did the quest begin? Some would say in 1998 when his three nephews, Alan, Trevor and Philip Wylie went over to St. Venant. They found the village where he had been killed and also the communal cemetery, which contained the graves of the soldiers who were killed in the battle. Some were known but many were unknown, "INCONNU” in the French. They were largely from the three battalions which were involved in the battle around St Venant, St. Floris and Robecq viz. 2nd Battalion Durham light Infantry, 1st Battalion Royal Berkshire Regiment and 1st Battalion Royal Welch Fusiliers. Together they formed the 6th. Infantry Brigade under the command of Brigadier N.M.S. Irwin (up to May 20th), and Brigadier D.W. Furlong, from May 20th onwards. They were part of the 2nd Division which in turn was part of 1st Corps.
The Nephews had already done some research and had been in touch with the D.L.I. Regimental Museum in Durham City. They received a copy of the Adjutant’s report from the historical curator. In 1998 they visited St Venant and photographed the town centre, the bridge over the canal and the Communal Cemetery. When they returned to England Alan was able to produce a superb account of what they had seen and researched, including a conversation with an inhabitant of the village who had actually been there when the tanks had arrived. She was escorted by her mother and father to hide in the fields until the battle was over.
However the information they had received from the DLI museum only told part of the truth and at least for us was very misleading as I shall explain later on in the account. They wrote this simple message in the visitors book in the British Cemetery at St Venant.
“To visit the place where our uncle T. Rodgers is buried. Remembered and still loved by his brothers and sisters. Trevor, Philip and Alan Wylie. 25th October 1998."
How could they have known just how true the second line was and how poignant Alan’s account was to all of us. This brings me back to the opening question, “When did the quest begin?” - perhaps it was 60 years ago when Tom was killed and his father received the dreaded yellow envelope containing the telegram informing him of his son’s death, so politically put as, “Missing presumed killed”. Thus he had a shred of hope that he would still be alive. Although being a veteran of the 1st World War he knew otherwise. Sure enough a year later came the official confirmation that he had been killed in action on the 27th May with the B.E.F. There was no mention of where or how, just the cold official terminology.
“I must express the sympathy and regret of the Army Council at the soldier’s death in his Country’s service.”
Another person lost on the chequerboard of war. There was no way of getting to know any more information until the war ended. Perhaps some might say that the quest might have started earlier but if I can fill in some details, then I am sure you will see that it wasn’t as simple as that. In the end it turned out to be the only solution with all the pieces of the jig-saw falling into place.
Brother Tom was born on the 9th April 1919; he already had two sisters Grace and Edna, and a brother Harry. Grace was born August 15th 1912, Henry November 4th 1913, Edna September 19th 1917. He was to have a further three brothers and seven sisters all survive to live and know him so to speak. He also had a half brother and three half sisters from his father’s previous marriage, so all in all a very large family to love and sorrow for him.
I was the youngest of this large family and was born on 22nd March 1937 so I was too young to know our Tom but it will help the story if I can fill in some of the background.
My Dad, or “The Old Man”, as he was always affectionately known was born on 13th February 1881. I think he must have been superstitious because he always said that his mother told him it was it was the 10th of February. He left school at an early age and went to work down the pit, as he put it, “For a penny an hour for ten hours a day.” From all accounts he was a tireless worker. He was never more that 5’ 4” tall and just over 8 stone in weight but he was powerfully built in his chest and arms. He was a coal hewer and my brothers tell me that he held the record for the most number of tubs filled in a week at Wingate Colliery – hence his nickname, “Slogger”, which was tagged to all his sons and became a family nickname. “Slogger Rodgers”, known by everyone in the village. His first wife Mary died very young from Typhoid leaving him with a son and three daughters to look after. My mother who was one of ten daughters came to house keep for him and subsequently married my father. Together they reared all those children despite the extremely harsh conditions and no social security at all. He enlisted on the 30th November 1914 in the Durham Light Infantry and was attached to the 5th Battalion. He saw action at various places including Ypres and was wounded on the 27th September at the Battle of the Somme. He suffered gunshot wounds to his face and neck. Most of his right lower jaw was blown away and he was left with only one tooth in the lower jaw itself – a prized possession he would keep until it dropped out of its own accord a few years before he died. He was patched up and sent out again in 1917 as part of the 10th Battalion. How he must have felt to be posted back to the hell of the trenches, only he would have known. What terrible anguish my mother would have felt. By 1917 casualties totalled hundreds of thousands and barely a single family was not touched by some personal tragedy. Finally I believe he was wounded again, this time in the hip at the Battle of Arras on 20th December 1917 and posted home. He was released to the Army Reserve on the 6th July 1918 and finally discharged on the 31st March 1919.
No compensation or pensions in those days so it was back to the hell of the pits again, only just a shade better than the trenches and with about the same probability of being lamed or killed. It must have been like jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire and jumping back into the frying pan again. He went from being a pawn of the generals to being the coalmine owner’s pawn. In this instance Lord Londonderry whose residence was Wynyard Hall. Londonderry’s name was taboo in the house and the greatest slur or insult you could say to a woman or to one of your own sisters was that she had a better time or job than Lord Londonderry’s daughters. So the struggle went on, day by day. As soon as each one of us left school it was the lads down the pits and the lasses into service with the landed gentry or into the factories. Every penny counted and it goes without saying that we were extremely poor but loved.
All of my family was born at 269 Johnson Street Wingate except me. When they started knocking down the old colliery houses (they were not fit to live in) we were allocated a council house and being a large family we in actual fact were allocated two houses together, 3 and 4 Durham Road, Wingate. The combined rent was six shillings (30p) per week and it was a huge struggle to find the extra money as the colliery house was rent free, i.e. part of your wage. This was in the early part of 1937 and I was born in the front room of No. 3 Durham Road in the March. At this stage there would have been Mam and Dad, Grace (25), Harry (24), Edna (20), Thomas (18), Carrie (17), James (16), Peggy (13), Evelyn (12), Ronnie (10), Joan (8), Irene (6), Joyce (5), Betty (3), and myself, George (0).
By the time 1940 came around there would still be eight children at home. The lads Jimmy, Tommy and Harry had all joined up in the Royal Navy, the Army and Merchant Navy, respectively. Previous to this they had all at one time or another worked down the pit and had received various injuries. My brother Jim tells me the story of the first day he started down the pit and the back shift overman, Harry Healer I think his name was, said he was putting him with his brother, our Tom. Jim waited and waited at the shaft bottom until he was told that his brother Tom had had an accident. He was pony putting at the time and the pony had run off and his thumb was trapped in the limmers and had been torn off. No compensation in those days and that was enough for brother Jim who enlisted in the Royal Navy prior to the war starting.
Brother Tom had also had enough of the pits and decided to enlist in the army in January 1939. His best mate Luke Wood followed Tom’s lead and enlisted in February. (No 4453513 and 4453550 respectively). Unknown to us, Luke’s mother had died in a house fire and his father had remarried. He did not get on with his stepmother so he left home and changed his name to his mother’s maiden name Bowden, but my father and all of us knew him as Lukey Wood. This was to cause some confusion later on during the search.
When he left home he stayed with us for about a fortnight despite the big family, before going to live with his aunt in Blackhall. Tom and Luke were inseparable. They went through battles together and it was Lukey who saw our Tom get shot on the bridge they were defending. I finally tracked him down living in Hull with his charming wife Florence who is eight or nine years younger than him. The story goes that Tom and Luke were based at Fenham Barracks, Newcastle and Luke came home with our Tom and stayed with us every weekend they got off. One time a sergeant asked him to spend the weekend at his home in Hull and it was there that he met the sergeant’s sister Florence who was only about 14 years old at the time. When Luke was wounded on the same day that Tom was killed, he was taken prisoner and Florence used to write letters to him. After the war he returned, the romance blossomed and they were married.
That in itself is a beautiful little story and had our Tom survived he would have been pleased for his best mate. It was a different story for our Tom’s childhood sweetheart, Annie Warriner who lived next door at No 2 Durham Road. She is still alive and aged 80 years at the time of writing. 
She never married although she courted a man called Dick Champley for over 40 years; they never got closer than just good friends. When I showed her my nephew’s account and photographs she was overcome so it will be a visit to remember when I next go up to see her and take the photographs of his actual grave. I am sure that she will be happy like the rest of us that we have found him at long last and ‘brought him home’ where he belongs. She never stopped loving him.
Tommy and Lukey each carried a photograph of both of them in uniform and to this day Lukey carries his copy in his jacket pocket. Our Tom would have been carrying his when he was killed. As far as I know it was not returned with the rest of his effects. On the back of the photograph is written their names and addresses. Tommy was the “Right Hand Man”, and Lukey was the “Left Hand Man”. Both were Bren Gunners. Tommy was in “B” Company and Lukey was in “D” Company. It is just so sad that such a long and intensive friendship had to end in tragedy for one of them. No doubt this scenario was repeated thousands of times during the war.
How must Mam and Dad have felt when war was declared in 1939? We can only guess at the anguish and despair they both felt in their own ways. Dad having survived the horrors of the First War would know what his son would endure and also whilst having no experience of naval warfare he was well read and also knew of the dangers his other sons Jim and Harry would have to face on the high seas – but that in itself is another story. He could be certain that some things had not changed – and he was right; the British Army was not as prepared as the German Army and men were expendable…
Mam who would have had the horrible experience of waiting for news about her husband would now be worrying about her three sons. I have a photograph of all three sons on which she has written on the back; “Three Jolly Brothers” These simple words that express an encyclopaedia of maternal feeling and pride. What better aphorism for Mam than
“They also serve who only stand and wait”.
Two wonderful people so much in love with each other and so proud of their large family. It was no mean achievement in those days to rear so many children and keep them healthy and alive into their adulthood. They were also God fearing people, their parents came from Cornwall and were very strict Methodists, - Rechabites in fact. This meant no violence, swearing, gambling, smoking or drinking. One would think that Life or God, after all they had been through would have given them some peace and tranquillity together into their later years. It was not to be, for fate had a final double blow to deliver to these gentle people.
Dad had a couple of pitmatic expressions like, “Keep your timber in” and “Keep your head down”. It was common sense down the pit because if you didn’t then it meant certain injury or even death. We all grew up with these sayings and in the end it was simply meant as a farewell - to look after yourself.
Shortly before I was born Mam was diagnosed as having bowel cancer – Fate’s first blow. Sixty years ago this was a certain death sentence and the only way to keep a patient alive for any length of time was to anastomise most of the large bowel and to connect a rubber tubing – colostomy. This had to be washed and cleaned every day and I have been told by a neighbour that my Dad did this mostly on his own. He really looked after Mam in a way in their day was quite alien to a male head of a household. By the time brother Tom would have been on his last leave before joining the B.E.F. in France in early 1940, Mam was probably bed ridden. How can we imagine the last farewell which was to turn out to be a double final one? What stoic endurance both Mam and Dad must have felt is beyond our comprehension today.
Dad rarely talked about this episode in his life but on one occasion much later on he did mention it. The day he was due back to join his regiment Tom kissed us all goodbye then spent a few poignant moments with his dying Mam. Dad went with him to Hartlepool railway station to put him on the train. When the train arrived, he slung his kitbag onto the train and Dad said,
“Good luck son, and keep your head down”,
To which Tom replied,
“Don’t worry Da I will, and look after Ma for me and tell her I’ll be back to see her…..”
Alas it was not to be. The last member of the family to see him alive was the eldest sister Grace who had married a cockney and was living in London. Tom was posted to Woking Barracks and was able to visit Grace the night before he sailed to France.
When Dad received the telegram he kept it secret from Mam and when she died in the August of 1940 she died still believing that her son was alive but unable to get compassionate leave to visit her. We shall never know how Dad managed to live for another nineteen years following the death of his son and wife having to cope with the loss and the guilt. Suffice to say that it broke his unquestioning and utter faith in God and whilst later on he returned to his religion, he never again had the complete faith in God that, ‘He would provide’.
Nevertheless we all still had to attend “The Chapel” and were brought up as children to be good, gentle, kind and considerate and to believe in God until we were adults and were able to make up our own minds. It is a credit to both Mam and Dad that all of us take after them and in the main have their qualities which were instilled into us. We were poor in money and material things but rich in love.
It is true that I did not know either my mother or my brother Tom, as I was only three years old when they both passed away. All the information has been related to me by Dad or by older brothers and sisters. When Mam died, Dad was left with eight children still living at home and the onus – and it was a terrible burden – fell on one of my elder sisters, our Lena (Evelyn), to become our new mam. She was only 14 years old at the time so she had to learn very quickly which she did. I grew up accepting the fact that she was my mother or our mother i.e. myself and sisters Joyce and Betty. It was some years before I realised that “Our Lena” as she was affectionately known was not my mother but my sister. To this day she still was in my mind, my mother who brought me up, as I know my real mother would have and I am so sorry that she is no longer with us.
Dad still had to work so we were all given responsibilities in the household so that we could survive. Times were hard, no social security, and strict rationing during the war meant that we had barely enough money to buy the necessary food let alone luxuries. During this time, myself and sisters Joyce and Betty forged a strong relationship. I was only 3 years old, Betty 6 years and Joyce 8 years, we shared everything. We all slept in one bed, we all ate at one table and we all went to school together. When there was an air raid we all slept on a “Shaky Down” underneath the pantry on the ground floor. Sister Joyce would tell us stories to keep our minds from the air raid although she was also terrified. Life continued like this until the end of the war.
I think it must have been about 1946 when most of the P.O.W.s were repatriated and Lukey returned home and he came to see my Dad. We were all told to go out and play. When we returned, we could see that Dad had been crying but he never told us what Lukey said to him - he never did. Whatever details Luke had told him he never revealed them to any of us. It was as if he alone wanted to bear the burden. Whether he blamed himself or perhaps it was his own experiences in the First World War that made him keep this information to himself. Whatever the reason he took it to the grave with him.
Life still had one further injustice to heap upon him. He knew that Tommy had no known grave but that they were building a memorial to all the soldiers who fought with the B.E.F. and had been killed but had no known grave, I believe the number of names total 4,516. I can remember the morning the letter arrived with the invitation to the official opening by the Queen Mother. Unfortunately the cost of the journey and which included an overnight stay was in the region of £50 plus. The sum might seem small today but in the 50’s it was quite a considerable sum and in our financial circumstances completely out of the question. He was very bitter and he cried out in frustration rather than genuine grief. It was then that he threw out not just Tom’s medals but also his own medals out into the garden. Unknown to him, I went out and retrieved as many as I could and hid them in his old tin box. I now have both sets beautifully framed and mounted and hanging on the wall at home. Brother Tom was also eligible for the Dunkirk Medal but my Dad never received it. I applied for it in 1999 and received it and his diploma this year. It is now framed and hanging alongside his other medals. I promised my Dad that one day I would go over to see his name on the Dunkirk Memorial and try and find the place where he was killed. It was then that he told me that the place was St. Valery. I don’t know whether it was an aberration on his part or lapse of memory on Lukey’s part when he told him. I always thought it was St. Valery until Alan sent me his illustrated account which told me that the place was St. Venant.
Life continued to be a struggle for all of us and everytime members of the family met the subject of brother Tom always cropped up. The strange thing about it was that I was just ready to do some research into his death when I received a telephone call from sister Joyce telling me that Alan, Trevor and Philip had already been over and he would send me his illustrated account, which he did and yes the real quest began in earnest. That account is about to follow but I thought that an insight into Tom’s family background would add a human touch to the pilgrimage.
The intensive research began in the spring of 1999 with Alan and Trevor working form their homes in Tamworth and Uttoxeter respectively and me working from Hartlepool. Between us we pooled our information and together began to build up as accurate a picture as possible. Since I was retired then I took on the brunt of the work. I had already been in touch with the D.L.I. Museum in Durham City about my Dad’s service record and knew Mr. Shannon the curator / historian from speaking to him on the phone. After many telephone calls to his office and at least one letter I managed to speak to him about the 2nd Battalion D.L.I. He was very vague and said there was little that could be added to our account and there was not much more he could offer. Meanwhile I had visited the museum and had a careful look around and discovered that the museum had received a lottery grant and major refurbishment was to start in September 1999. Most of the records were either permanantly stored at County Hall or in boxes awaiting transport. This somewhat explained Mr. Shannon's laizsez-faire attitude, although not fully. I eventually tracked him down and arranged for a personal meeting with him. Time was now of the essence and Alan with his three sons and brother Jim all went through to see him one morning in July. When we eventually got into his office, there were boxes and files everywhere. We showed him Alan’s illustrated account which he perfunctually perused but not with any enthusiasm, which I found strange for a regimental curator. However he did give us a list of the officers and warrant officers attached to the 2nd Battalion on May 9th 1940 and also allowed us time on our own to read the official Battalion War Diary for the month of May 1940.
I made a note of the War Office Number of the War Diary and wrote to the Public records Office at Kew for our own copy. The code was all important. The P.R.O has literally miles of shelves of documents and without the code it would have been impossible to obtain a copy.
When I received this record I had copies made and sent them to Alan and brother Jim. The War Diary made very interesting reading and gave us an insight into the battles and retreat until the last stand on the 27th May. Whilst the accounts day by day were concise as possible they did not give a true picture of either the deterioration of the men’s morale or the severe shortage of ammunition and weapons especially anti-tank guns. This I found out later when talking to brother Tom’s comrades – a few who are still alive and very active.
The time was now September and refurbishment of the museum was underway so that was a dead end – not that there would have been much more information forthcoming but I did want to ask Mr. Shannon if he had the telephone numbers and/or addresses of any veterans still alive. This was something that I was going to have to do myself. The task proved to be wonderful experience and incredibly informational as I will explain later. At this stage we had all decided to go over to St Venant on the 27th May 2000 which was the 60th anniversary of Tom’s death. Both Jim and I were convinced that Tom had no known grave but we were determined to find out the exact spot where he was killed. When we met we discussed the War Diary especially the entries for the 26th and 27th of May 1940. We knew that, due to the confusion of the battle and the heavy casualties and also the number of wounded men taken prisoner, that the account was written after the war ended and the full account would not be known until the prisoners were released. I searched and asked for details but none was forthcoming.
We assumed that brother Tom was one of the 20 – 25 men holding the bridge who were wiped out when the leading tank crossed the bridge. This was the bridge that my nephews had found and photographed on their previous visit. During that visit they also went to the Communal Cemetery which contains many of the graves of the soldiers killed in the battle of St Venant. They came across a row of soldiers all from the D.L.I. who were killed on the same day as Tom. They placed flowers on a ‘known unto God’ grave in this row and decided that this was probably as near they would get to Tommy. In any case someone’s Son was buried there so their respects and prayers would not be wasted.
Meanwhile Trevor and his wife Helen had been visiting some First World War sites and cemeteries in and around Ypres. They managed to book rooms in the guesthouse they stayed in for the week of May 27th June 1st 2000.
Trevor also managed to obtain the name and address of an old veteran living in Newcastle. He had been a despatch rider attached to the 2nd Battalion D.L.I. It was now late November so I decided to contact a Mr. Fred Cottier very early in the New Year, 2000.
Time was of the very essence; there was less than five months before our planned visit. With all the hype of the New Millennium now over I decided to ring him. I was full of fear and trepidation, why I didn’t know, but the anxiety would not go away. Perhaps he did not know our Tom, perhaps he would resent an outsider intruding on his private life and thoughts, maybe he would resent someone raking over a part of his life he preferred to remain hidden and silent. However I rang him on the afternoon of the 5th of January. Immediately my fears and trepidations were allayed. His gentle but broad Geordie accent immediately put me at my ease. He was more than willing to talk to me and what was more important he was willing to listen to me. He was honest right from the start and told me that he had not known our Tom personally but he would put me in touch with an old comrade who lived in Hull and had been in “D” Company. What was to follow was a veritable Pandora’s box both of vital information concerning brother Tom and the battle of St Venant. I also had the opportunity to listen to and share the heartfelt experiences, often quite horrendous but at the same time heart-warming of actual people who were there and experience the actual events.
Every new piece of information like the original Pandora’s box left me with hope that at the end of it all, I might find out just exactly what happened and for the first time – perhaps there might be something tangible, some remains that had been buried – but where? I dared not even think of this at this stage so it was put to the back of my mind. Each new piece of information seemed to bring it nearer and nearer to the front but with the proviso,
“Don’t expect too much”.
The next few months proved to be the crunch time as the May dead line approached. I cannot recall how many phone calls I made or how many letters I wrote to various people and establishments but at the end of it all I had retrieved as much information as I could to take over to France and help our cause. With the testimony and recollections of old comrades I had collected more information than the ‘official’ sources had. This was borne out when I rang the Imperial War Museum to ask for some information. The young lad at the other end after checking the records replied to the effect that he could not help me and I had more information than the museum had, I knew for a fact that I had more information than the official D.L.I. Museum unless they had it locked away in some secret vault – a fact I doubt very much.
I shall try from now on to keep some sort of chronological order of events in order to explain how the whole truth evolved. All I had at this stage was the War Diary. Fred Cottier put me in touch with was Andy Steedman. Andy lived in Hull. He said he was in “D” Company but he never knew my brother. Fred and Andy were very close friends and visited each other on a regular basis. They always attended the Durham branch of the Dunkirk Veterans Association annual parade held every year in Durham City and the Service of Remembrance at Durham Cathedral. He thought he might be able to find one or two who might remember Tom but in the meantime he gave me the phone number of another comrade, Jim Miller who lived in Walsall but I was under strict orders not to mention Martin McLane. I must digress here to explain who Martin McLane was. The B.B.C. was running a series of programmes called “Their Finest Hour” concerning how Britain coped during the year 1940. The first of these programmes dealt with events leading up to the evacuation of Dunkirk and Martin McLane was one of the veterans interviewed. At this stage I did not know who he was or the part he played in the battle at St Venant, but later his testimony was to prove crucial in solving the puzzle. It was becoming obvious that these old veterans, the youngest ones would be in their 80’s, had differing views. During the sixty years that had elapsed since then some had fallen out with each other and then fallen back in again over a variety of issues concerned with the events leading up to the battle and what happened to the few who got away. They are far too many to mention but one or two are important since they illustrate how clear and accurate the memories are even after sixty years passage of time.
I telephoned Jim (Dusty) Miller and explained how I had got in touch with him and what my mission was. He was so pleased to be able to tell me what he could about the Battalion’s retreat from La Tombe in Belgium on May 9th 1940 up through the River Dyle where a battle was fought on the 13th – 16th May 1940.
On 15th May Lt Annand won the V.C. for conspicuous bravery at this battle. He commanded “D” Company and under intense fire he wiped out not just one but two enemy machine gun posts. During the attack his batman was wounded. His batman was called Joe Hunter and he is buried at Maastricht. How he was killed or when I do not know. Lt Annand's V.C. was the first to be awarded during World War II. Brother Tom was in “B” Company and they were closely involved with “D” Company in this escapade.
The Battalion retreated further, often walking long distances and without much food or rest until the final rearguard action at St Venant which became known as the Battle of the River Lys. Jim was also able to supply me with certain information, which was to prove invaluable. I promised both Jim and Andy copies of the War Diary and promptly sent them off to them. On the 14th of February I received a letter from Jim Miller, the first page of which is reproduced here. He also told me that Tom was eligible for the Dunkirk Medal and gave me the address. I have now got his medal and diploma and my sincere thanks go to Jim for his wonderful support in this matter.
14th –2- 00
Dear George,
Just a few lines to thank you for the wonderful information of my old Battalion’s history (2nd D.L.I.), of what happenings and occurs came to the Battalion during WWII. The dates, the times of day, the villages the lads stopped at! Up to last week, I’ve often wondered to myself when did we stop for rest and have something to eat, with a little skirmish to put up with, from leaving La Tombe (The Grave), in Belgium to take up the rearguard action at St Venant in France. The lads did miles and miles of marching, sometimes we got a lift, a short one to some unknown area, I was lucky, I never had blisters on my feet, a lots of lads did.
During our phone conversations Jim was able to recall many small incidents which stuck in his memory a few of which I can recount: -
During the retreat orders were given to arrest and detain anyone wearing a red blanket. These blankets had been given to refugees some of which were also fifth columnists or spies. Unfortunately some of the red blankets has also been given to our own soldiers which made the situation impossible. The Company Commanders had to rescind the order and all personnel had to be extra vigilant.
15th May 1940 on the River Dyle.
Dusty Miller and a young Private, Fytche aged only 20 years old came under intense sniper fire. The young lad was very nervous and kept raising his head over the parapet to see where the sniper was hiding. Despite repeated warnings against this he kept on doing it until one last time when the sniper shot him through his helmet and killed him.
Private William Morrison Fytche 4453140 is buried in Renescure Churchyard between St. Omer and Hazebrouck.
Charley Storey (445376), drove the brothel van which he covered with sheets. He drove the van right up to the entrance to the brothel and left it there until early morning. He then drove the soldiers straight back to the M.O. to be given the O.K. or otherwise.
Charlie Storey is buried at St. Venant.
Orders were given to shoot any Alsatian dogs as some of these had been trained to recognise British Uniforms and then go back to their German handlers and lead them to the British positions.
C.S.M. Martin McLane of the mortar platoon received orders from Brigade Headquarters to fire on any personnel approaching them. Thinking they were Germans he gave the order to fire, but in fact they were soldiers from the Royal Berkshires.
He is now a Chelsea Pensioner.
Finally Jim told me that on the 28th May 1940 the German commander stopped the forward push and the firing and allowed the prisoners taken the previous day, and some of his own soldiers, to help bury some of the fallen. This was a mark of respect for the outstanding gallantry shown by the 2nd Battalion D.L.I.
Jim also sent me a copy of a letter which C.S.M. Martin McLane had sent him describing the battle on the 17th May 1940. The mortar platoon was disbanded presumably because they had no ammunition, and the members were distributed between the four other companies. The C.S.M. was allocated to “D” Company and his letter describes the part he and “D” company played in the battle. A copy of part of his letter appears in this account. This was where the confusion began to grow. His account bears no resemblance to the account given in the War Diary or the Regimental History. My brother Jim and I were very confused and suspicious so I wrote to a firm of specialist map suppliers and obtained one of the St Venant area. The only common factor in the two accounts was a bridge over a canal or stream. The area is very low lying with many streams and canals, hence many small and large bridges, hence I was no further forward. I knew from “The Finest Hour”, that Martin McLane was now a Chelsea Pensioner so in desperation I wrote to him at that
address. His reply dated 6th march 2000 is included in the report. The letter backed up his previous description, the one he sent to Jim Miller’s I was still in the dark about what went on.
Dear George,
I am sorry for the long delay in answering your letter, in which you inquire about your Brother and if I could give any information reference his death K.I.A.
When I left home to come here I left the bulk of my papers including all the names of those killed. I had to have a look at my papers when I was in Newcastle, but sorry to say I cannot help you in your search.
When I went to “D” Company, it was as a reinforcement and must admit I did not know a lot of them in that Company.
Yes I took part in the fighting at St Venant, in fact our Company Commander was wounded and, C.S.M. Metcalfe commanded the company and I was 2/i/c. of “D” Company.
We were very weary, hungry and in brief shattered when we were ordered to take up a defensive position on the right flank of the Battalion, at St Venant. By this time we were short of ammunition, and wound dressings, in fact we were played out. …………….
Jim had also given me the address of the local historian in St. Venant. I wrote to him on the 26th February 2000 explaining what I was doing and telling him that Jim Miller had recommended him to me. His name was Monsieur Faivre. Dominique and his colleagues were to provide the final ace in my search but not before much more searching. M. Faivre did not reply to my letter until April 23rd by which time I had given up that avenue of search.
Meanwhile I had started to try and find out whether Lukey Wood, as I knew him was in Hull and of course still alive. In desperation I contacted a friend of my son. He is a prison officer in Hull and I asked him to make enquiries re. Lukey Wood. He tried every way possible including circulating his name on local radio but to no avail. At this time I had just about reached my nadir of enquiries. I seemed to be running around in every decreasing circles and the facts to hand did not add up. In desperation the final throw of the dice was to phone Andy Steedman and ask him if he knew of anyone who could possibly be of help to me. The final phone number he gave me was a Luke Bowden who also lived in Hull but with whom he had fallen out over something. The other names on the list proved fruitless for a variety of reasons and Luke’s was the last one on the list. At least the first name is the same I thought to myself. When I rang him and explained who I was and what I was looking for he said,
“Well who are you?”
“I am Tom’s youngest brother George”
“ Well I’m the Lukey Wood whom you are looking for”
I could not believe my luck, or was it providence? My prayers had been answered. I reckon our Tom must have been guiding me all the way along. My legs were like jelly and I could not talk and yet I suddenly had a feeling of joy and pure exhilaration which is difficult to describe. We talked for a long time on the phone and I gave him my number and address and also brother Jim’s number and address. I immediately rang my brother Jim to tell him the good news. He was astounded as I had been. The link which was broken 54 years ago was now re-established and much was to come of it. We made many more phone calls after that and exchanged letters and photographs. especially the one of them together (showing how tall Tom was) and the one of Tom smiling showing the gap between his two upper front incisors. These were to prove vital clues later on in the search.
Both Jim and myself decided to go and see Luke in early March. It was a wonderful day spent mostly reminiscing about old times mainly with brother Jim and I filled in what had happened in Wingate after the war. However he did mark on the map the position which he thought was the area or at least the bridge they were defending. He also said he saw Tom go down defending the bridge and shortly after that he was wounded by a piece of shrapnel through his thigh and he took no further part in the battle. He was taken prisoner and spent the rest of the war in a Stalag in Eastern Germany. Such was the bombardment after he saw Tom go down that he was convinced he had no grave at all. The position he marked on the map was in the Le Bas Hamel area to the North West of St Venant some three to five kilometres distant. I asked him if he was sure, and he was quite adamant that this was the area. Again all this puzzled us, as it did not tally with the War Diary but was nearer to Martin McLane’s account. When I got home I read this account again and looked at the map in detail. Martin McLane said that the area in front of the bridge was marshy, and on the night prior the battle his recce party had returned to report that the Germans had already crossed the La Basse canal to the south of where “B” Company was dug in. I knew that the tanks would have to come up a road rather than across marshy ground so I decided that the only position on the map, which fitted most of the details, was the junction of the roads Rue d’Aire and another road, which I learned later, was Rue Berthalotte. This proved to be the correct area but I did not find out for sure until I got to France.
I decided to write to Jim Miller and also Martin McLane for verification. They both wrote back and confirmed the place to be the one that I had chosen. This was still some three kilometres from St Venant and so the puzzle remained but at least I had something to find when I visited France. I have the original letters from both men which I have included in the account. Martin McLane’s letter also has a small sketch map on page three. While all this was happening I was keeping Alan and Trevor informed at each stage. Alan managed to get a copy of an account of the battle of St Venant from the 1st Battalion Royal Welch Fusiliers, and I obtained the account of the same battle from the 1st Battalion Royal Berkshire Regiment. Both of these accounts fitted well into the picture of the battle that we already had. They confirmed that the D.L.I. came off the worst of the three battalions for casualties although both of the other battalions lost a lot of men.
The date was now about the middle of April, and I thought we had enough information in order to find this humped back bridge and the roads and farm buildings where Tom was killed and at this stage it was all brother Jim and myself hoped to do. Then out of the blue came the letter from M. Faivre and the invitation to the exhibition.
We were all excited, thinking perhaps M. Faivre had some vital information which would give us the exact position where Tom was killed. He had more than that. The information he had and the personal details we had about brother Tom enabled him to pinpoint not just where he was killed but also his grave in St Venant Communal cemetery. However we did not know that at this stage.
We all set off, brother Jim, myself and our two Nephews Alan and Trevor on Friday 26th May 2000. The journey was uneventful but by the time we reached our guesthouse on the outskirts of Ypres, the weather had deteriorated and it was raining very heavy with quite a strong wind. We all hoped it would be better the next day.
The next day dawned bright but windy and we had an early breakfast. We set off for st Venant; first calling at the market in Ypres in order to buy two bunches of flowers. Brother Jim was dressed in flannels and his navy blazer complete with his war ribbons. He looked very smart and I told him in words to that effect.
We reached St Venant at about eleven o’clock and parked the car. We decided to visit the exhibition and have a close look at what was on view. M. Faivre had said he would be too busy to day to see us but would see us on the next day, Sunday 28th May 2000. I went to the reception desk and introduced myself and explaining why I had come I asked what would be the best time to see M. Faivre tomorrow. I was told that M. Faivre was having lunch with the civic dignitaries and would be able to see me between 1 and 2 p.m. I accepted that decision and told the others. We decided to continue looking around the exhibition then have some lunch and return about 1.30 p.m. The exhibition itself was very interesting and quite absorbing. I was looking at some hand drawn maps of the battle when I got talking to a lady whose brother had fought in the battle of St Venant with the Royal Welch Fusiliers and had been killed on the same day as Tom. He was buried in the cemetery at St Venant. I was telling her about Tom and how we were all here to find out where the battle took place and where he was killed. A gentleman who introduced himself as M. Fiavre interrupted our conversation.
I was surprised as I expected the president if the military historical society to be an elderly gentleman but he was a young man in his early thirties. He asked me if I was M. Rodgers and the conversation continued from there. I told him that my brother Tom had been in “B” Company and it was a then that he dropped the first bombshell. I asked him where in the village was the bridge and canal, he answered,
“Non, non your brother fought outside the village. Companies “A” and “C” were in the village, Companied “B” and “D” were outside some three kilometres to the west. I will show you tomorrow. Please meet me here at 10 a.m. and we will go to the place where you brother was killed.”
I thanked him very much and excused myself to the welsh lady and went to find the others. I was so excited; at last it was beginning to make sense. The War Diary obviously referred to Companies “A” and “C” and their bridge and canal. Companies “B” and “D” had their own bridge and we would be shown where that was tomorrow. When I told the rest they were as excited as I was. We quickly made plans to finish looking around the exhibition, have some lunch and then have a good look around the village and drive out into the surrounding area.
We had lunch at Hazebrouck and then had a look at the Military cemetery at Haverskerque. Four lads from the D.L.I. who were killed on the same day were buried here. From there we then drove back into St Venant and then out to the west. We took a very narrow road, which eventually brought us to the Lys Canal. There was a steel bridge over the river but it was far too narrow for tanks to get across had been built after the war. We had a look over the other side and the ground was marshy and similar to that described by Martin McLane but we could not find a road or a hump-backed bridge.
We returned to St. Venant and took some photographs of the bridge over the canal and the café that companies A and C had been defending Alan and Trevor were familiar with this area, as they had been there 2 years before. We had a look at the monument commemorating the part played by the Royal Welch Fusiliers and wondered why there was none for the D.L.I. or the Royal Berkshire regiment. We then returned to the exhibition where we learned that there was to be a march past and a wreath laying ceremony by the Korean veterans of the Royal Welch Fusiliers at 7pm. We decided to stay and watch it. Some members told us that amongst them were two veterans from the battle of St Venant. We met one of them just before the ceremony, his name was Bill Prescott. He was the father of the Deputy Prime Minister and I asked him about the battle. He obviously never knew our Tom, but he did say
“They were bloody good fighters them Durham lads, never gave up. Stayed there to the bloody end a lot of them never got away.”
A couple of dozen words from a comrade just about sums the whole battle better than any official military history
We watched the ceremony which was both moving and very impressive and again wondered why there was no D.L.I. delegation here to commemorate the 6oth Anniversary. We returned to our digs to mull over the days events and what we expected to happen the next day. None of us in our wildest dreams could have guessed what the Sabbath had in store for us.
Sunday dawned lashing down with rain and gale force winds. We had an early breakfast and set out for St Venant about 9a.m. The wind had torn off many of the new spring branches from the trees and it was still raining very heavily. We arrived at St Venant shortly before 10.00 a.m. and although the wind was very strong the rain had become very heavy, intermittent showers. True to his word M. Faivre was in the reception area with his team of researchers, all of who were roughly the same age, late 20’s or early 30’s. He said he could not come himself but one of his team would show us around the battle scene. The young man’s name was Laurent Soyer and he spoke very good English.
We turned left at this junction and a few hundred metres up this road came to a left hand turn into a road called Rue Berthalotte and a hundred and fifty metres up this road was the bridge which was where brother Tom was killed. A new, level bridge had been built over the hump-backed bridge but we could see the original walls of the bridge, pock –marked with bullet holes and shrapnel gouges. Laurent told us where the D.L.I. had been dug in at the side of the road and they had been pinned down by sniper fire from a small wood some 500 metres away. At the junction of the roads Rue d’Aire and Rue Berthalotte were three original farm buildings which had been used for cover by company headquarters. The walls were riddled with bullet holes and shell impacts. The wind was howling and blowing some lose tiles from the roof of one of these buildings as I passed it Laurent shouted,
“Tres Dangereux, Tres dangereux”,
“Thank you”, I cried back but also thought “Not as tres dangereux as it was 60 years ago.”
We were all very excited at last we had found the place and it fitted exactly with McLane’s description; besides the walls of the buildings told us of the ferocity of the battle. By this time it was raining very heavily so we decided to return to St Venant to thank M. Faivre and all his team and then return to the scene when the weather improved to take some photographs and make a sketch. I also wanted to show M. Faivre the folder we had compiled during our research.
When we arrived back at the exhibition centre M. Faivre and his team were busy talking amongst themselves and looking through some files of papers. He told me that Martin McClane had been to St Venant 5 years previously and showed them where the battle had taken place and the team had made a video. He asked us if we would like to see this video. We most certainly would so he immediately produced it and set up the apparatus. Jim, Alan and Trevor watched the video intently while I went through my file with M. Faivre and his team. I gave them a photograph and other details about brother Tom, as well as all the other material I had brought with me including a sketch map, which I had drawn from Martin McClane’s description. The map proved to be a good representation of the area. My brother drew my attention to the video. Martin McClane was describing the place on the Canal Lys where he swam across. It was the exact place where we had been the day before. The area where the new steel bridge had been erected across the canal. We all exclaimed how uncanny it was that we had taken the wrong turning and ended up there.
Suddenly M. Faivre and his team got quite excited and started asking me some personal questions about Tom. What colour was his hair? How tall was he? and then something about his teeth. I called Jim over, since he knew more about this than me. His hair was brown, and he was 6 feet tall, or 1m 80cm. I repeated this. I could not understand what they were asking about his teeth. One of his team got us to understand, “Did he have teeth at the front like one of your comedians?”.
“Like Terry Thomas?” Jim said
“Yes” he cried.
Jim said he did have a gap between his upper front teeth. The whole team became excited and began to talk amongst themselves very quickly in their own language. They searched furiously for papers amongst a very large pile that had brought with them. One of the team then said that they thought that they had identified my brother. He passed me a piece of paper with “95% sure”, written on it. M. Faivre had the mortuary records at his own house he immediately went to retrieve them. While he was away the rest of the team checked again and again; colour of hair? – brown. How tall was he? – Six feet 1m 80cm. Did he have a gap or space between his two upper incisors? – the answers were a resounding “YES”
We were all very excited and by this time quite a crowd had gathered. When M. Faivre returned with yet another file of papers again there was much searching and talking amongst themselves then M. Faivre produced a piece of paper. One of his team called Philippe who spoke the best English said to me, “We think we have found your brother. We are 99% sure. We can take you to his grave”. I just could not believe it, my legs felt like jelly, my guts had turned to water but my mind was racing like a dynamo.
“We’ve done it, we’ve done it, we’ve done it!”
Through all this sanity returned with brother Jim whom is deaf in one ear saying, “What did he say Young’un!” I replied “He said that he is 99% sure that he knows which grave is our Toms, and he is going to take us there”.
“Oh my God that’s bloody great”
He gave me a great big bear hug and saying, “I can’t believe it you’ve done it young’un, well done!”
By this time we were both close to tears and we turned round to Alan and Trevor and told them. I said, “Thanks to us all for everything we’ve done. It’s been a team effort and I just cannot believe this is happening”. Then Trevor paid me a compliment I shall remember for the rest of my life he said,
“Thanks to Uncle George for his careful and thorough research, we’ve found what we came looking for”
Three members of M. Faivre’s research team, Laurent, Philippe and Alfonso then took us to the Communal cemetery. Most of the Military Cemetery is to the right as we entered through the gates, but we turned to the left. Both Alan and Trevor said that they did not know that there were any military graves in this area of the cemetery. We walked along the single row of war graves. I counted 21. Tom’s was 21 years old when he was killed. Uncanny but then so had everything else that had happened that day. They showed us the grave and Philippe said,
“We are 99.5% sure this is your brother’s grave”, and then they left us with our thoughts.
Our lad and me with arms around each other just looked at the headstone and tears rolled down our faces.
I know brother Jim was seeing our Tom as he knew him in the flesh, a happy go lucky young lad with everything in front of him. Jim kept saying, “I wish you had known him, you’d have loved him. He was a lovely lad”. He kept on saying this and I knew that he could see our Tom and was talking to him. For me all I could picture was his photograph- the smiling one showing the gap in his teeth, and also the happy smiling face of the “Old Man” saying,
“Well done lads, you’ve found him – now bring him home.”
“Don’t worry Da, he wont stay here” I replied through my tears.
I don’t know how long we stayed there hugging each other but at the end I said to our Jim,
“Lets fight to get his name and everything else on a new headstone”
“Yes, young’un, but it won’t make any difference if they don’t we both know this is his grave” he replied.
We placed a bouquet of flowers on his grave and bowed our heads and each said “We’ll take him home to his Mam and Dad” With that we turned away to thank Laurent, Philippe and Alfonso shaking each of them warmly by the hand. Alan and Trevor were by now paying their respects, no doubt thinking about their mother, Tom’s sister, and wishing that she could have been there to experience that most wonderful moment.
I thought that would have been the end of our time with the three researchers but no, they wanted to take us back to the bridge and go over the battle terrain with us again. Once again they explained where the D.L.I. were dug in, where the snipers were hidden and where the tanks had come across. They also showed us the farm building, which had been the battle headquarters and also the field just opposite one of the buildings where six of the fallen soldiers were buried in a mass grave. We had another bouquet of flowers, which we wanted to tie to onto the bridge where brother Tom was killed but we did not have any string to fasten them to the bridge rail. Philippe immediately went and knocked at the door of a nearby house and explained to the owner what was happening. Within a couple of minutes the owner returned with some twine and also as he walked over towards us he picked a poppy, a simple red Flanders poppy, and gave it to us to put with our flowers. A simple gesture of thanks and gratitude which touched us all so deeply.
By this time quite a few of his neighbours had come out to see what was happening. After tying the flowers to the bridge rail we placed the poppy in the centre and had our photographs taken. We also took a photograph of Laurent, Philippe and Alfonso on the bridge. We then thanked them very much and much to our amazement they asked us all back to the town hall for a celebratory drink. Jim and myself went over to the gentleman who had given us the twine and the poppy and thanked him very much and also shook hands with his neighbours. They all waved and cheered as we drove away and we both thought how wonderful they had been, and no doubt they still after all these years really appreciated what our lads had tried to do in order to stop the German’s from occupying their village.
When we arrived back at the town hall M. Faivre explained, through Philippe, who spoke the best English how they had been able to identify brother Tom’s grave. Apparently after the battle the fallen were buried, some in mass graves, in the fields close to the road. Brother Tom and five others were buried in a field opposite the farmhouse on the corner of the road junction. This field belonged to a man called Paul Walle.
On June 6th 1942 the bodies, i.e. the remains, were exhumed and taken to the church or village mortuary to be examined by a pathologist. The 6 bodies were numbered 154 to 159 (see mortuary report), and those with dog tags were identifiable. Those without dog tags were ‘inconnu’, unknown. The pathologist then made an examination. His examination of 154 reads,
“Bonne dentition, - chevreuse bruns – Incisives esfracces – machoires superieuse – bonne taille.”
Translated this reads, “Good teeth, Brown hair, Incisors in upper jaw parted, good height” ‘Bonne-taille’ can also mean of good build or stature.
The description fitted brother Tom. M. Faivre also told us that four out of the six had been identified, and the remaining one was much smaller or shorter in height. Therefore they were able to identify Tom as No 154. He is buried within the military cemetery within the Communal cemetery of St Venant in plot 3b Grave 21.
They all raised their glasses and wished us all the best. In turn we raised our glasses and thanked them all very much. I made a little impromptu speech, which Philippe translated for the rest, in which I thanked them for all their hard work and endeavour, their kindness and total consideration. I hoped their association would continue to flourish and have more success in the future. I also wished each one every happiness and success in their private lives.
They gave us a standing ovation and refused our offers of drinks and donations. Philippe said, “Non, non M. Rodgers”, and placed his hand on his heart. Indeed the feeling and true excitement of it all had come from the heart. By this time a small crowd had gathered and they broke into clapping and cheering and wanting to shake our hands or hug our shoulders. It really was a moment to savour, real Gallic - English friendship, right from the heart. If only our politicians could be the same, what wonderful progress could be made. M. Faivre then told me that he would send me copies of the relevant documents so I could forward them to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. Hopefully they will be accepted and Tom can have a new headstone erected complete with his name, number, rank and regiment. We will add our own thoughts and have these engraved on the stone.
We returned again to the cemetery to have another look at his grave and also to put a small cross which one of the Royal Welch Fusiliers had given me the previous day. I took a small sample of soil and some cuttings from his grave so that I could grow them on when I got home.
If I am successful they will be placed on his Mam and Dad’s grave. (They are buried on top of each other, at Wingate Cemetery), Brother Jim thought that this was a good idea - our way of taking him home. At last something tangible to have in his memory. We returned to Ypres and really celebrated our success of the day. I telephoned home and let them know what we had done and found. They were also ecstatic and could not wait for us to return and tell them the full story.
Monday was spent visiting the 1st World war museum “In Flanders Fields”, in Ypres. This was a wonderful museum which brought to life the horrors of trench warfare. Brother Jim and myself could have spent all day there. I was reminded of some of the things the “old man” said used to tell us on the rare occasions he talked about the war. I used to think that he exaggerated to give it more effect. My profound apologies Dad, you toned it down for us. You could never have told us the truth; it would have been far too horrific. In the afternoon we visited the Canadian cemetery and Tyne Cot cemetery where alongside nearly 12,000 headstones there are nearly 35,000 soldiers who like brother Tom have no known grave.
A truly awe inspiring place and one which almost tears your heart out. Why did so many men lose their lives for a few hundred yards of muddy fields? After all this carnage why was there ever another war of attrition between the same countries at the same place some 21 years later? It was almost as if the father survived the first war then his sons would succumb in the second war. Thus it proved to be just that.
On Tuesday we returned to the St Venant - St Floris – Robecq area to see where the Royal Berkshires and the Royal Welch Fusiliers did most of their fighting. We visited the small town of Robecq and photographed the three bridges they were supposed to defend but never reached. The Germans had beaten them to the bridges and crossed them a day earlier. The Royal Welch Fusiliers lost a whole company when they were ambushed and cut off from their H.Q. On the way to Robecq we stopped briefly at a British Military Cemetery from the 1st World War and we had a look at some of the graves. We found a few with the names of soldiers from the D.L.I., which read, “Believed to be buried”, or “Known to be buried". At the very least we should be able to obtain that on our Tom’s new headstone but only time will tell.
Wednesday was spent visiting Sanctuary Wood and Hill 62 where the “Old Man” fought. The museum part was very informative and the trenches outside had been preserved. It gave us all some idea how the men must have suffered living and dying in abject squalor. In the afternoon we visited the Hooge Crater and Cemetery which was just down the road from where we were staying. Amongst the graves we came across one of a Durham Light Infantryman. Flowers had recently been placed on his grave and tucked in amongst then was a black and white photograph. It was of two young lads in uniform, the one who had been killed and his friend, Littlefaire who had survived the war. During the evening when we were back at our digs Alain, the landlord, showed a video that had been made two years previously by a Channel 4 team. They had brought over four veterans from the First World War, all of them at least 100 years old. One of them was this soldier Littlefaire. He was 102 years old and from Darlington. It showed him with his granddaughter and his great-granddaughter visiting the grave of his best mate. We all thought how uncanny that was. Mr. Littlefaire died the following year but at least he had realised a life’s ambition to see where his best mate was buried.
On Thursday Alan and Trevor very kindly drove us to St Venant to visit brother Tom’s grave one last time before we set off home. It was so sad, we did not want to leave him, after so long, but we made him a solemn promise to return with the rest of his sisters when he would get his new headstone. Our next stop was Dunkirk to see the cemetery and the plaque which had his name engraved upon it. Both Jim and myself were very disappointed with its location. It was surrounded by electricity pylons and in the industrial part of the town. Surely this cemetery should have been as near to the beaches as possible with the lads graves looking over towards England – their home which they never made it back to from France. The weather was cold, grey and miserable. The gardeners were busy replanting the flowerbeds in preparation for the ceremony on the following Sunday. It was to be the final commemoration as the Dunkirk Veteran’s Association was disbanding. We both said that Tom was no longer here. We had a good look around and then left for Calais and then home.
On Sunday I watched the B.B.C.’s coverage of the last Dunkirk commemoration. The presenter David Dimbleby was interviewing this Lt.Col. John Hughes Wilson about the Dunkirk evacuation and to describe some of the events leading up to the evacuation. Wilson was telling him about how the panzers had broken through then stopped some 10 miles from Dunkirk. Had they continued then they would have cut the British defences in two. He put forward various reasons why they paused, but he did not mention how ferocious the battles had been against the 4th and 6th Brigade which had suffered terrible casualties but also must have given them a fright. The indefatigable spirit of the British soldiers had showed itself again. No doubt the German High Command had as many incompetent leaders as we had. David Dimbleby then went on to say,
“Picture the scene as Lord Gort, in his bunker drank his last bottle of champagne and smoked his last cigar before embarking for England.”
Complete crass carelessness on the part of the B.B.C. with hundreds of thousands of men already killed or taken prisoner and many more thousands to suffer the same fate. Nothing had changed at all from the First World War.
I duly received the necessary documents from M. Faivre and also received a letter from Luke Bowden confirming Tom’s death. These have all been sent to C.W.G.C. These documents will be sent to the Ministry of Defence along with any addition material the C.W.G.C. can provide. If the Ministry of Defence are satisfied the final decision will be left in the hands of the Director General of the C.W.G.C. The process will take some months so it will probably be early 2001. No matter we have waited 60 years so a few more months is no wait at all.
My sincere thanks and gratitude to the following :-
