School Camp 1930's

Ronald, Walter, and Douglas 1930's

In 1933, School Camp! Our metal teacher used to take a party of boys to camp and the headmaster asked me if I would like to assist him, to which I agreed. I took both Douglas and Ronald with me. The place was Goring by Sea, near Littlehampton. It made a great change for the boys and myself, and May was quite relieved she had some time at home to organize things. We went for two weeks. I used to assist in the cooking and supervising the boys in cleaning up after meals. It became a yearly affair. Pevensey, Bembridge, Swanage, and several other seaside resorts we went and pitched our tents.

In 1935, Douglas left school being he was fifteen years of age and he went to the Malden Handicraft Works. Quite a long way for him to cycle, so I arranged to get him a situation nearer home. He was pleased to work for Coppens, the family grocery firm, and he stayed on at that job until he told me he wanted to joining the army. (More about that later.)

So Walter and the rest of his family settled in to everyday life in England between the wars. The 1930's gave them a chance to catch their breaths before another war landed - literally - on the Wildgoose doorstep.

From Dinapore to Lucknow to Khartoum

After baby Cyril died in September 1924, Walter, May, and young Douglas moved one more time:

Poor May, she has had some hardships! We left Dinapore to go to Lucknow in November 1924, and we had to get settled down once more in new surroundings. Everyone had the same experience. A soldier’s life!

Douglas was now nearly five years of age and he was beginning to understand me more, as he had never seen me before. May used to attend the “Old Tyme” Practice dances, and she used to perm the ladies’ hair for them, as she had the proper equipment. I did not go in for that sort of pastime. I looked after Doug in the quarters, and my dog, Dan, a lovely spaniel.

(I have omitted some items of 1926:) During the Monsoon season, the married families used to go up in the Hills. In our case it was Ranikhet in the Kumoan Hills. Our regiment were stationed in Chaubattia and it was there that my son Ronald Leslie was born 24 June 1926. Doug was his nursemaid as he wheeled him all over the place. Douglas would be six years old now. They were two good children, and there was one particular toy I would not buy him was a drum. I used to go wild listening to other children’s drums. They drove me mad.

We stayed in Lucknow until November 1928, when the regiment was notified that it would be going to Khartoum. This gave everyone time to dispose of most of their possessions, as this would be above the allowance to be taken on ship or train. My chief worry was Dan. I wanted to find a good home for him which I was successful in doing so. Our Medical Officer offered to have him so off Dan went quite happy and it was a great relief. We entrained for Bombay and then on the troopship called the Devonshire. When it arrived at Port Sudan, the regiment disembarked and after a few hours rest, we got on the train to take us to Khartoum. The married families were taken to England, all parted again from their husbands. May was lucky to be able to get a nice flat in North Sheen.

So Walter and May separated one last time during his military career - he to Khartoum to finish out his army time and she and the boys to England to await his return.

Sunday visits to dad

John Wildgoose, Walter's father, had to live out his days in the Firvale Infirmary after suffering the sunstroke that invalided him out of the army. The Firvale Infirmary was a part of the Sheffield Union Workhouse in the Pitsmoor area of Sheffield. The census lists him as "pauper."

As mentioned in yesterday's post, the Sheffield Union Children's Homes was also a part of the workhouse. Though many of the homes were scattered around the city, Walter, Bert and Harry lived in Ivy Cottage on the workhouse grounds and in close proximity to the infirmary where their father lived. Interestingly, the boys only visited their dad on Sundays. Here's Walter's account of the visit routine:

Poor Dad! In that infirmary with his arm and leg paralysed through sunstroke in India. He was invalided out of the army, and he brought us all home from India, and stayed with Grandmother in Aldershot until arrangements were made for us to go to Sheffield. Brother Fred went back to Folkestone with my mother after leaving Harry, Bert, and I at Aldershot. Sister Annie was sent to the Girls Home in Witley Bay in Northumberland, and I never seen her again until I was due to go to Aden in 1911, fifteen years afterwards. She was in service as House Parlour Maid in Lancaster Gate, and she stayed there until she met Charles Bissell, a milkman, in Richmond.

When Walter was about to leave school (and on his way to the training ships), his father gave him a little advice:

The time was drawing towards leaving school, and we went to see Father the following Sunday and told him about our new life that was opening out for us. I told him I would like to go to sea, and he told me, “It is your life, Boy. I cannot help you, but take my advice – never let the nails in your boots go rusty.” And I realized what he meant.


But according to Walter he wasn't very close to his father:

My poor Father passed away in February 1905. My mother came from Folkestone to pay her last respects. He was interred in Burngreave Cemetery Sheffield, his hometown. He was a Sheffielder, and all his relatives lived there. I couldn’t mourn the loss, as I didn’t know Dad all that much as I did not have any family life, nor did Bert or my sister Annie. Harry had already run away from the Home, and I never seen him again. He would be 94 years of age if he’s still alive. We became a bunch of “happy wanderers.”

I do wonder about the exact nature of John's medical condition - was it just physical or was there a loss of mental capacity as well (which can happen with sunstroke)? I have a copy of his death certificate, but it doesn't mention specifics on this.

The innovations and idiosyncrasies of Sheffield Union Children's Homes

While I was in England researching some of the particulars of Walter's story, I was fortunate enough to spend a day in the Sheffield Library's Local Studies Center. All of the librarians there were very helpful and helped me unearth some interesting background on the Sheffield Union Children's Homes where Walter spent most of his early years.

The SCH idea was quite revolutionary for its day. Sheffield was one of a number of innovative children's homes systems established in the late 19th century throughout England. Instead of one large institutional building, smaller family-type homes ("Cottage Home") were set up and "scattered' throughout the Sheffield area. In fact, SCH-type homes are referred to as "Scattered Homes."

However, several of the homes were located on the Workhouse grounds, and it was in one of these - Ivy Cottage - that Walter, Bert, and Harry shared space with 17 other boys and Mr. and Mrs. Lemming, the house-parents. According to Walter, the Lemmings were tough but fair. Mr. Lemming was a cobbler by trade, and on Saturdays some of the boys helped him in the shop.

The Sheffield Homes differed from other children's homes of the day in another way. It was not restricted to orphans only, opened as well to children of parents who could not provide for them. This is why the Wildgoose boys had a place there, since both John and Annie were alive when they were forced to split up the family because of John's sunstroke injuries.

I read an interesting account of how difficult it was to get community and governmental approval for such a place. There were fierce arguments against it - many from Anglican clergymen! - who felt that to allow children whose parents were still alive would be rewarding these children for their parents' bad behaviour and decisions. Can you imagine that train of thought? Children completely at the mercy of events over which they have no control should not be given a clean, wholesome place to live, educational opportunities, food, clothing, medical care - because their parents messed up (or in Walter's case, had medical problems that prevented the parents for caring for the children)? Actually, it was a pretty common 19th century notion - in England and America. Fortunately for the Wildgoose family, the powers that be in Sheffield went out on a limb and it proved very successfu.

But life in the SCH was by no means easy. In addition to the daily routines of Bible study and school, the children had work assignments:

When Saturday came, and there was no school, we all had to go on the farm. Some boys cleared the cowsheds, others would clean the stables and supply them with fresh hay and straw for bedding, but the task I did not like was weeding between the long rows of cabbages. It was a damp and cold job. The turnips had to be sliced in a machine for fodder. Some boys would work in the shoemaker’s shop. Mr. Leeming (our foster father) was the cobbler. It was a large area which included the cottage hospital and the sports field together with the market gardens. We would all return to our home for lunch and in the afternoon we were allowed to go on the playing fields.

However good the scattered homes system, there was still a stigma attached to them. The children in the homes attended schools and churches in the community, so were in contact with children outside SCH. I found an account online from a woman who'd attended Owler Lane School - the same as Walter and Bert - and she described her experience of being singled out by a teacher and shunned by the community:

Childhood memories of the cottage homes on Herries Road
After breakfast was over we would then finish getting ready for school and lining up in twos we would make our way down to Owler Lane School with an older girl in charge of us. There was quite a strong stigma attached in coming from the children's home, which I'm sure many of us felt. For me it was made worse when the teacher in a strident voice on my first day there bellowed out, "Stand up the cottage home children for free milk." I had my milk the first day but didn't bother after that because I felt so awful about it that I wouldn't put my hand up for milk again. I much preferred to go without. One girl I made friends with there had been telling me all about the Enid Blyton books and even offered to lend me one. We weren't allowed to visit people's homes so she said she would run ahead after school to her home in nearby Coningsby Road and come to me as we made our way back up to the cottage homes in our two by two file. Quickly she handed me the book and I was so thrilled at the thought of having something interesting to read. We hadn't gone very far before this mad woman (my friend's mother) having found out about the book came shouting after us wanting the book back. I felt awful and very humiliated. We were told later never to accept anything from anyone again.

Walter never mentioned this sort of behavior in his letters, but it was not in his nature to do so. Based on my research of options available to the Wildgoose family after John's sunstroke, it seems they made the best choice possible at the time. SCH seems a far cry from an Oliver Twistian-sort of workhouse orphanage, even though Walter's cottage was on the workhouse grounds.

Sheffield Town Centre, May 2005

The house on Clifford Avenue

Walter, May, Doug, and Ron at Clifford Avenue, 1930's

After a remarkable childhood and 22 years with the colours, Walter was ready for some stability. He secured a job as a school caretaker and was ready to become a home-owner:

In the summer of 1932, I was really on top of my job, and I felt that I would like to live nearer to the school, which would be more advantageous to both the children and myself. I told May that I was taking her out house-hunting. We sent the two boys in the recreation ground, with some refreshments and some soft drinks and told them we would not be home until midday. They were quite happy to be playing with the other children. We set off and we called at all the estate agents offices. We were lucky at the last one. They had a house in Clifford Avenue (quite near the school) for £750. He gave us permission to “view by appointment,” and we called on the lady concerned. I was greatly impressed with what I saw and I decided to buy it. I gave the estate agent a preliminary deposit of £5 as a deposit. He asked if I had any capital to put down as part payment, and we gave him £300 which we had saved during our time in India and I arranged a mortgage with the Huddersfield Building Society. By October the transaction was completed and on the 17th October we moved into No. 23 Clifford Avenue Mortlake.

I had to go to Hounslow periodically to draw my pay, which was due to me until the 6th June, when my final discharge was due. I then had to go to Dover and report to the regiment to receive my army discharge book and particulars relating to my service pension. The adjutant, Major Impson, strongly advised me not to commute my pension, but to draw it each week which was the princely sum of 25/1d per week. So I received £2.5-0 for my job and 25/1 pension, which totaled £3.10 per week. We had to be careful those days, although we had a little balance in the Building Society.

Walter and May lived at 23 Clifford Avenue, Mortlake, from 1932 until May's death in 1971 - almost 40 years.

Walter and May, 9 October 1915

I'm four days late celebrating Walter and May's 90th wedding anniversary. Cheers!

Life after the Lincolnshires

By 1930, Walter had spend 22 years in the army: 16 with the Royal Lincolnshires (1908-1915, 1921-1930) and 6 with the Machine Gun Corps (1915-1921). With the exception of a few months in England during little Cyril's medical care in 1923, Walter hadn't been "home" in 11 years. It was, of course, a different world from the one he'd left in 1919 - and Walter had to get back into a non-military life. Here's how he handled it:

I have completed my story up to my final discharge from the army in June 1930, and now, I am going to continue my story of life in the Cold World.

When I arrived in England, the regiment went to Dover and I was sent to Hounslow to the Army Vocational Training Centre. Here you are furnished with references to produce to any prospective employer. I had a good “jumping-off” ground, as May and the two children were settled in a flat in North Sheen near Richmond. I was granted three months’ leave pending discharge from March to June. I hadn’t decided what steps I should adopt in seeking employment.

My brother-in-law Charlie (who I assisted in his window cleaning business in 1919 for four months, which enabled him to get established) called round to see May and I to see how we were faring. He told me there was an advertisement in the Barnes and Mortlake Herald for a school caretaker. £2-5-0 per week at the Mortlake Boys’ and Girls’ Central School, and he advised me to apply for it. He suggested that I go and see Mr. Blake, a well-known jeweler in East Sheen who was also a great friend of Charlie’s family. I did so, and Mr. Blake took me to the Bull Hotel where he asked me to have a drink and then wait for him, as he was going to see someone in the Lounge about my intention to apply for this caretaker’s post. After a while, Mr. Blake came out, and told me to write out an application enclosing my references to the Divisional Officer, and I was to await for a reply.

A few days later, I was informed to attend a Selection interview at the East Sheen Junior School where the school managers were present. There were twelve applicants, and we were interviewed in alphabetical order, so I was last to be seen. Many questions were asked of me, but one question nearly got me “stumped.” Did I have any experience of central heating boiler work? “A little,” I said, “but I would soon overcome that difficulty.” I was selected to be the caretaker, commencing on the 29th April 1930.

The work that had to be done was very exacting. I had two women cleaners who were not very co-operative. They had apparently been employed for several years, but that didn’t deter me to adopt a new system of hours they must perform. I used to go home at night, very tired with sweeping classroom floors, and stoking four boilers, but I gradually got into the way of things. The Headmaster, a Mr. Hill, he was a Captain in the East Surrey Territorial Army. I used my cycle to great extent around the playground. When the Whitsuntide holiday arrived, the boilers were not required, so the work became much easier. Whitsun holidays came along, and the school had to be cleaned throughout. I was gradually getting used to the many tasks that my job entailed.

The days and weeks went by, and I became more confident in my work. I got much amusement out of the children during their play interval, and they got to know me. I was able to arrange for Douglas and Ronnie to attend the school. Douglas in the Boys’ School, and Ron in the Primary School. Doug was able to cycle to and from school, whereas I used to take Ron on the crossbar of my cycle with a cushion to sit on, as he was nearly five years of age then. I was still receiving my army pay while I was working at the school, as it was in my leave period. It was a struggle for us to get used to the shopping and the various commitments that had to be met, but by careful self-denial, we managed quite alright.

As always, Walter rolls with the punches and is able to conform to whatever situation in which he finds himself - from the workhouse children's homes to the training ships to life in (and out of) the military wherever it may take him. Very adaptable and level-headed throughout.

The ring and the clock

1915 - Back in England. Once May forced Walter to "make his intentions known" and the wedding date was set, Walter set about finding a proper ring for his fiancee. As often happens when the wearer of the ring and the buyer are in different locations at that time of purchase, problems can ensue:

I went to a jewelers in Grimsby with a comrade of mine to choose the ring according to a ring card which May had sent me. I bought the ring. I was granted four days leave. I went to London Earls Court, as there where May was staying with her sister and her husband Doc. The next afternoon, I was speaking to Violet, I was rather shy on these matters, and I was rather anxious to find out if the ring was suitable. Violet took the ring to May who was in another room, and to my horror, the ring was much too small. May came out, and we hurried out to go over to Richmond to buy another ring. May chose a nice one, and it was quite a relief. This obstacle had been removed.

All was not lost, however, with the too-small ring. A lovely keepsake came out of it, according to Walter:

The time came for me to return to Grimsby, and I took the ring which was too small back to the shop explaining that he had made a mistake with the ring card. He was full of apologies, and he asked would I like anything else in the shop in exchange for the ring. And my eyes rested on a grandfather clock or a hall clock, which could be hung upon a wall. I decided on that, and I brought it away. When I went to London next time, I took it and shewn it to May, and she got her mother to have it in her house until we needed it.

That clock, when I eventually settled down in Mortlake on my return from Khartoum in 1930 and later on when I was able to purchase a house in 1932 which was quite near to the school where I was employed as caretaker. It was then I hung that clock in our hall passage which gave the entrance a distinguishing appearance, and it stayed there until I was obliged to sell the house on the death of my dear wife in Roehampton Hospital aged 81 years. She died on her 81st birthday 1971. And that old clock passed into the hands of my granddaughter now living in Lewes [?], although I do not see her. So Mary my dear, that is the story of the ring and the clock.

The two Goslings - "six of the best across their back sitting rooms"

A school in Sheffield, c. 1900

The person Walter was closest to during his years at the Sheffield Children's Homes was his brother Bert, who was older than Walter by one year. With the family scattered to the four winds, the two brothers formed a very tight bond and formed their own abbreviated version of the larger Wildgoose clan. Day to day life at the homes and in school went something like this, according to Walter's letters:

Bert and I were in the same class, but the teacher would not allow the “two Goslings” to be together. (He had reasons, I suppose.) Scripture was the first lesson for 15 minutes. We had moved into a new school which had been built alongside the old one. Our old headmaster’s name was Mr. Laycock, a portly gentleman who asked no questions as to why you was late for school (and he had a nice cane). We done some walking during the day. To school in the morning, home for lunch, back to school after lunch and finally we return home for our evening meal. We were allowed until 6pm to return, so the preparation for the evening meal would not be completed until then, so that gave Bert and I more time to look around to see who we “could assist” for the purpose of earning a honest penny. We were successful on many occasions, which didn’t entail too much time. We were able to buy little luxuries for a ha-penny, or a farthing. We would buy some marbles to play with in the playground. We were in a mixed class, and the little girl who sat next to me was very careful I could not copy from her lesson or she would put her hand up for the teacher to hear what she had to say. I was made to stand on the desk seat for punishment so that all the class could see me. (I could see Bert having a good laugh.) I felt so guilty that I used to blush with fury. We were both very dark-haired and rosy-appled complexions, and the nickname soon passed around the school “the Goslings.’’

Both boys were enterprising and precocious. Here's one example of the Goslings' habit of fending for themselves.

On the following Friday, we both feigned illness and asked to be allowed to sit in the playground which was granted. It didn’t take us long to leave, and soon, we were looking for new fields to conquer. We went to a mission hall, and offered our assistance in tidying up, for which the ladies were grateful. This earned us a shilling each, which was a lot of money those days. We went to see a magic lantern show, where there was a phonograph with cylindrical records playing. Quite a nice evening, I may say, but the time was running out and we would be late to get home for 630pm so we decided to stay out. We went to have something in an eating house and some tea. We had had a very busy afternoon and were tired. We crept into a hayloft and laid down among the straw and we both were soon asleep. In the early morning, I heard a crowing of the birds which was a signal to get up and get moving. We got up and brushed all the bits of straw from our clothes. We got on to the street which was as silent as the grave. We were talking as we walked to give each of us moral support, when I heard footsteps behind us. It was a policeman. He came up to us and asked us where we were going? I said “for a walk.” “Where do you live?” We hesitated at that question. He then took our caps from off our heads, which had our names and the letters S.C.H. taped inside (Sheffield Children’s Homes). “You had better come along with me,” he said. He took us to the police station and the sergeant asked us if we would like something to eat. (They had apparently been informed of our absence.) He brought a chunk of dry bread and a mug of tea. We did our best to eat it, as there were no butter or dropping on it. We enjoyed the tea, though! Later on, an official arrived from the Homes to collect us. We were dirty from the afternoon’s frolics. Mr. Sykes, the superintendent, was at the lodge gates to receive us. We were taken into his office, and he did not ask us any questions. Mr. Perry, the farmer, was there, and he got hold of me and pushed my head between his legs and held me for Mr. Sykes to give me “six of the best” across my “back sitting room.” Bert was next, and we were allowed to go to our home to Mr. Leeming. That knocked some of the spirit out of us both. Mr. Leeming just told us to go to the bathroom and have a good bath. We were glad of this, and we made ourselves tidy again, but Oh! My bottom was sore! We were given a good lunch. This was Saturday and no school. She told us that after we had finished our lunch, we would have to go to bed as a punishment. I considered it as a relief, as we could do with a good rest. Next day, Sunday, we felt much better and we had to go to church – another long walk. We were marshaled to the church and then we could come home as we wished, but we were never late for lunch. Then it was Sunday school in the afternoon. It was the Sunday for our visit to Father, but we decided not to go that week, as we had a guilty conscience.

I suspect there were more episodes like this, though Walter didn't write about them, and that such behavior led to Bert and Walter being sent to the training ships.

Walter's letters make it obvious that Bert was the major influence in his younger brother's life (the other force, later, was May), and he was devastated when Bert was killed at Aubers Ridge 9 May 1915.

The games people play (in 1903)

Walter wrote more about his childhood in the Sheffield Children's Homes than he did his World War I experiences (which is probably not so surprising). Despite the workhouse environment, the "two Goslings" managed to find a bit of fun.

The Christmas of 1902 passed by without any regret, as we were unaware of the spirit of the occasion. The time had come to think more of my school lessons, as I realized I would be leaving school next year. All the boys in the Home were very friendly, as we were marshaled to the lodge gates to be checked by the superintendent, we were then allowed to go independently to school which was quite a distance. We didn’t loiter, as we would get the cane if we were late. We got to the school playground in plenty of time to play our favourite games: Marbles, Peg Top, Buttons, and Cherry Wobbles. The cherry stones were a great source of fun. Four boys would play, by each one throwing a “cherry wobble” up a gutter spout to see it come down and stop. The others would throw their “wobbles” up the spout and if they hit the ones which were on the ground, he would be the winner. Cigarette cards too were another interesting hobby. A series of fifty footballers or cricketers and to get a complete set, much exchanging took place between the school boys. We obtained our cherry stones by purchasing a pennyworth of cherries, and then we would put the stones in a little bag. These games gave us great fun.

When Saturday came, and there was no school, we all had to go on the farm. Some boys cleared the cowsheds, others would clean the stables and supply them with fresh hay and straw for bedding, but the task I did not like was weeding between the long rows of cabbages. It was a damp and cold job. The turnips had to be sliced in a machine for fodder. Some boys would work in the shoemaker’s shop. Mr. Leeming (our foster father) was the cobbler. It was a large area which included the cottage hospital and the sports field together with the market gardens. We would all return to our home for lunch and in the afternoon we were allowed to go on the playing fields.

Sunday was our special day. We put our best suits on to go to Church, we were marshaled to this place of worship in Sheffield, and we would all be accommodated in the gallery overlooking the congregation. The service used to get so boring that Bert and I devised some fun by rolling pellets of paper and flicking them over the gallery rails on the people below. We got some fun from this, but not for long. This habit was reported to the foster father, and he punished us all by denying us to go and play in the afternoon, and we had to stay around the home compound. Discipline was strict here, so as the days were dragging on, we paid more attention to our lessons.

We used to go to father each Sunday now, as he asked for this favour, as he wanted to have little talks with us, as he must have got lonely in the Infirmary. He asked us how had we got on at school, also at Sunday school. We went to Sunday school each Sunday afternoon and the teacher used to give us a text card, and these, we showed them to Father. He always gave Bert and I a penny, and we treated it with much respect, as we took it to school the following morning to be put in our Penny Savings Book.

Ah - the glorious spit-ball. A classic in a kid's book of tricks called "How to Amuse Oneself at Church and School." As far as I know, kids are still flicking those little bits of paper (and church and school janitors are still sweeping 'em up).

I love that Walter went into detail about Cherry Wobbles and the cigarette cards. The boys managed to find a lot of fun - whatever the situation. Just like children everywhere have had to do.

It's hard to imagine the kind of day-in/day-out life John Wildgoose had in the workhouse infirmary. He was paralyzed on one side - was his mental capacity effected in any way? Walter never says one way or another. Still, it must've been quite a come-down from his military days in India.

(Thanks to Picture Sheffield for the photo.)

Great War reading

As a literary soul I've always been attracted to the First World War, thanks in large part to the remarkable writing so identified with the era. No other conflict comes close to matching the personal accounts, historical fiction, and - of course - the poetry produced during and since World War I. (The American Civil War comes in a distant second, in my mind, though the writing is formidable for that war, as well.)

Now, a lot of folks complain that World War I writing is the very reason that the war is so misunderstood and why - like the US Civil War - its causes and battlefield/trench decisions are still being argued over today. Critics complain that diaries and poems produced in the thick of battle have a particular slant (well, obviously), that accounts written immediately after the war were colored by the prevailing political thought of the day, and that oral histories of survivors recorded in the 1960's and 70's are riddled with all sorts of inaccuracies. So, according to many people, I guess we'll never figure the thing out.

And maybe we won't. But I think by reading as many accounts as I can - fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and personal remembrances - that perhaps I can piece together what it was like in the trenches, hospitals, back home in England/America/France/Germany.

I'm always on the look-out for good suggestions for WWI reading material. Currently, I have only a few chapters left in Robert Graves' Goodbye To All That, which I've torn through this week. Though I tried to read it several years ago, it just wasn't the right time, I guess. I find the book a very good detailed description of day-to-day life on the Front.

I think I'll go back and re-read Vera Brittain's Testament of Youth (which I read probably 25 years ago) - it seems a good companion read to Graves' account. After working with Walter's letters over the past two years, I think Brittain's book might be more meaningful to me now.

Other good books about the First World War that I've read so far include:

• Pat Barker's Regeneration trilogy, that includes Regeneration, The Eye at the Door, and The Ghost Road (which won the Booker Prize for Fiction). Regeneration was far and away my favorite of the three, but maybe I need to go back and re-read The Ghost Road.
• The First World War by Hew Strachan. Not your standard history of the war, organized more thematically than chronologically, easy narrative to read.
• The First World War by John Keegan. A comprehensive account of the war; also easy to read.
• Forgotten Voices of the Great War by Max Arthur. Taken from recordings made in the 1960s and 1970s of World War I veterans, nurses, regular citizens - British, American, French, German.

I've had Lyn MacDonald's books recommended to me, so I may dive into those after I finish re-reading the Brittain and Barker books. And I must admit that when I want a nice mystery to settle into, I pull out the latest Charles Todd, whose Scotland Yard Inspector Ian Rutledge is haunted by his World War I experience in the form of Hamish, the soldier he had to execute for cowardice during the war.

I'm open to all suggestions regarding other books that can add to my understanding of the war.

A cushy blighty

World War I Hospital (though not Walter's Clopton War Hospital)

In the middle of 2nd Ypres, Spring 1915, fortune smiled on Walter in the guise of a foot wound that proved serious enough to get him back to England. He'd been wounded in the leg at Le Cateau, but it wasn't serious enough to get him home. Walter describes what happens:

When our regiment were relieved from our trenches in Ypres, we went into billets for a rest. There was plenty of work to do though. We were unloading boxes of ammunition from a lorry, and one fell on my right foot which caused me to be sent to the Field Casualty Centre. I had my boot cut off, and my big toe was in a very bad state. I was sent to England to the Clopton War Hospital near Stratford on Avon. It was situated in vast countryside away from all the town life. I had an operation, and a part of my big toe was amputated, but it soon began to heal, and I was able to get about again. As I got stronger I was able to stroll around the grounds and in the meadows surrounding the Hospital.

One day, I went out with another patient called Joe Dennett. We went mushrooming, and while doing so, we came across a rabbit which had got caught in a wire snare. It was quite dead. We took the wire from off its neck and took our “find” to the Matron, together with the mushrooms. She didn’t shew any signs of pleasure over our enterprise, but she relieved us of our load, and then told us to get our shoes cleaned and change into slippers, which we had to wear in the Ward.

I've had a hard time finding specific information about Clopton War Hospital near Stratford and it's role during the war. I think it is now an apartment house or condominiums. Anyone know where I can find out more about how the war hospitals worked?

Meeting May

May Bissell, 1910 - 20 years old

Walter returned from Aden in November 1912 and settled back into military life in Portsmouth until August 1914 (and we all know what happened then). While back in England he reconnected with his little sister Annie, who had recently married Charles Bissell. Here's the story from Walter:

We stayed in Aden until 1912 November, when we were relieved and we returned to our old barracks in Portsmouth. The usual military training took place during 1913, and then again in 1914.

My sister got married while I was in Aden, but I had never seen her very much, as she was in service in London. I had a surprise one day, though. She and her husband Charles Bissell paid me a visit in the barracks, and it was to find out how I had been getting on in all these years. They invited me to come and spend a weekend with them when possible and I said I would bear it in mind. They were living in Kew Foot Road, near the Richmond Rugby Ground. His family was a large one and they all lived in the Richmond area. I went to see them one weekend, but I noticed my sister seemed to be rather distant, but she “thawed out” before I returned. I think of myself as a “rolling stone.” My brother, who was in the Royal Sussex Regt, had completed his service and was now in Scotland, and he used to visit Charles and Annie when he had “leave.” It was another visit I paid them, when I was introduced to one of Charles’ sisters. Her name was May, and she was in domestic service in Kew Gardens. We formed a friendship, and I used to write to her from Portsmouth.

So the Wildgooses and the Bissells ended up with a double connection: Annie and Charles, Walter and May.