Wilfred Watkins in World War I
In 1970 my grandfather, Wilfred Watkins, talked to my mother about his life, and she and my father recorded it and transcribed it. He was 16 when World War I started, and already a mine worker in the South Wales valley. I thought today was a good day to post his recollections about what he did in the war.
Thanks to history_monk for assistance getting this material ready. This is an extract from the full conversation which we published in our fanzine, Attitude, in the 1990s. If people are interested, I can try to post the rest of the transcript later. (Edit: it's now at http://doubtingmichael.livejournal.com/16694.html)
When I'd been working [in the mine] for a year or two, the First World War came along.
I'll tell you about that; I was very keen to go. I wanted to be a hero. Five of us went down to the recruiting office in the Billiard Hall and told the Recruiting Sergeant we wanted to join the Army. There was no possibility we could join unless we had the manager's signature to release us. So we thought, "That's done it." We got outside and I said to the other boys, "Wait a minute, we'll fix this now. We'll go down to Top Pit and I'll copy the manager's signature for us all." So we went and I copied the signature on to all the forms and took them back to the Sergeant. He had a look at them. "Oh," he said, "so everything's all right, is it?" "Yes, yes," we told him, "everything's all right, we've got the signatures." "Well, now," he said, "do you know what you've done? You've forged the manager's signature by here." He said, "I've got his real signature here, see. Now, the best thing you lot can do is to bugger off home before you get into trouble." And I thought I'd been clever!
So back we went, downhearted, of course. Well, my blind brother, Bert, always called us in the mornings, so that night I persuaded him - well, I bribed him - to sleep late in the morning. So he did that and we all met again as we'd planned and we went down to another recruiting office in Pontypridd. We went through it all again and we were asked again, "Where are you working?" One of the chaps, Frank Wallace, had an uncle who was a foreman in the quarry so we said, "Oh, we're working in the quarry." "Oh, that's all right, then," he said, "as long as you're not working underground. Strip off, then." So we all stripped off and he had a good look at us. Now in those days it was reckoned a bad thing to wash your back, they said it was weakening. So he saw we all had a black patch on our backs. "Oh yes," he said, "I can see you're working in the quarry, you little so-and-so's. Well, I'll pass it over, get on the scales."
Well, we were all weighed and measured; four of us passed but one of us, Frank Wallace, was standing on tip-toes and he failed. We were dished out our clobber: tunics, hats, great-coats, everything, and that night we dressed up and thought that we were very big, walking down the street. My trousers were about a foot too long, my great-coat was dragging on the floor and my tunic was a bit too slack, sure, but we thought we were looking great. The following morning we had to go to Milford Haven, to Ubbeston Fort, from Quaker's Yard station. So the four of us trooped over there and behind us came my father, trying to get me back out because my mother was terrible about it. But it was no use, we'd signed, everything was settled, so off we had to go. I was glad, myself, of course. Well, we got to the camp and they gave us three planks each for our beds, two little trestles about nine inches high and two or three blankets and a kit-bag for our pillow. So that was how we slept that night - no mattresses, of course - and when we got up in the morning we were a bit sore, sure, but we didn't mind. They brought in breakfast, then, bacon and something else. Well, we were waiting like lemons, now, for it to be brought to us, but as soon as the orderly brought it in everyone rushed for it. Of course, we just sat there, waiting - we had no breakfast, anyway. But, believe me, when the next meal came we were there with them!
When we'd been there quite a while they wanted volunteers for the Dardanelles. So out we trooped, the four of us, again. The CO came up to us and looked at us. "Are you sure you want to go out there?" "Yes, sir, of course we do." "Well," he said, "I think you're rather young." (We were only about 16 then.) "Yes, I think you're rather young, all of you. Now, wouldn't it be better for you if you stayed here and joined the bugle band?" "All right, sir, if there's nothing else for us, we will."
Well, Fred Thomas became a cold-shoe-er - I don't know why, because it wasn't the cavalry - and I forget what Will Harris did, now, and two of us joined the band. I was on the drums and John James was on the bugle. We'd never played anything before but we got on pretty well; it came pretty natural. We had a good teacher, too, kind, not stern, and in fact, I became right-hand drummer, leading drummer in the band, that is. So we had about a year in the band. There was a brass band there as well, of course, and we always used to follow them. Well, we noticed that whenever we went through a town or village they struck up; when we were marching through open country we could play! We didn't like this, so one day when the brass band had finished and we had orders to strike up, none of us would! We mutinied! So when we got back to barracks we were put on a charge; they gave us a full pack to put on our backs and there they were, doubling us up and down the parade-ground all the time.
Anyway, things went pretty well after that; they sent a Captain Berry from Merthyr to take charge of us, a very decent chap he was too. He could do anything with us; he'd come round - "Any complaints?" "Yes," we'd say, "there's not enough sugar in our tea." "Right", he'd say, "I'll see to that." And he would, too. Then he'd come into our hut and have games with us, boxing and everything.
He was boxing one night with the lance-corporal and the lance-corporal gave him a black eye. He was on parade next morning with this black eye; he didn't resent it a bit but some of the other officers turned their noses up at him.
Oh, it was quite a happy time there but we still weren't satisfied, we kept on volunteering all the time, you see, we kept on at them so much that they got fed up with us in the end and they put us on a draft. They kitted us out - oh, we were right now, we were going to be heroes. We had to leave the band, of course, and start training for this draft. Training or not, though, we had no idea what to expect, no idea at all.
They put us on this boat - we were sailing from Folkestone to Boulogne - and in the middle of the ocean we had to stop and put all lights out - there was a U-boat in the offing. Things cleared up and we landed at Boulogne, had a day or two at a camp there, then they sent us up to Rouen. A bit longer there, then the call came for us to go up to the front line. Now we were happy!
We got there and what we saw of the front line wasn't a trench at all, it was just a lot of shell holes. That was where we were posted, into these shell holes. We were sitting there quite happily, with some old soldiers, you see, and shells came whistling overhead - well, these old soldiers were ducking down every time, but we sat there on the edge to have a good view, laughing and cheering and whooping. And they said to us, "Yes, you little buggers, you won't laugh just now, when they come a bit nearer!"
Well, about a yard away from our shell hole was another with the Cheshires in it. And in a minute a shell came over and landed a direct hit on it. It blew my mate down into our hole and blew me up into the air and then down on top of him. When we went to help these Cheshires, as we thought, there was nothing left of them, brains and blood and bits splashed everywhere, equipment all over the place, but nothing else left of them at all; I did get a bit frightened then, sure.
Well, we had quite a time there until we were relieved, then when we were coming out from the line, I was in the gun team. We had to carry ammunition over our shoulders and it was very, very muddy there. We had to walk on boards, you see, and I remember one chap carrying two buckets of ammunition, one over each shoulder. He slipped off the boards, went down into this mud and he sank before we could get to him. It was so soft and so deep and he'd got this weight on him as well, you see - we couldn't do anything about it. Coming out, now, I got stuck in the mud, too, but it wasn't quite as bad as that. My trench boots came off and I was exhausted now; I couldn't go any further. I just leaned over, there in No-Man's Land between our trenches and the Germans. Well, when they got back they missed me and they sent one chap out to look for me, but I didn't care, I didn't want to move. What he didn't threaten me with wasn't worth telling! Oh, he was going to shoot me and I don't know what all! When I did get back they made me take a tot of rum. Well, I'd never tasted the stuff before, you see, and I drank it all up at once; I couldn't get my breath for a while. But afterwards I was walking on air! I didn't get my boots back, of course; they gave me another pair.
We came out on December 23rd, very pleased because we were supposed to be having six weeks' break back in reserve on Divisional Rest. In the meantime, though, the Germans had annihilated the Pioneer Corps - Dai Watts-Morgan from the Rhondda was in command of them. They only had picks and shovels, no weapons at all, because their work was digging the trenches and that, but the Germans came and annihilated them. So instead of having our six weeks' rest, we were called straight back up on Christmas Eve to go and bury their dead and to take up positions again. We spent our Christmas in the line and nothing special happened, no carol singing, no fraternisation, no parcels, nothing at all. I think it was on Christmas Night that I was out on listening post, in two feet of snow, lying flat on the ground, about two or three hundred yards from the Germans. We could hear them laughing and talking and every now and then they'd send up Very lights to have a look at us, but we were covered in a - a thing like a white sheet - to hide us. We could hear them clapping their hands to keep warm, but we couldn't move, of course, and we were so cold, when it was time to get up we just fell back down.
I saw some nasty things happen there; I was walking along one day with my mate by my side and the shells were whistling overhead. I turned to my mate to say to him, "That was a bit close!", and I saw him walk a step or two without his head. The shell hadn't hit him, you understand, but it had passed so close, the force of it had taken his head clean off. A great friend, a mate of mine. His head was clean off his shoulders and I suppose his nerves had carried him forward, but only a couple of steps and then he dropped.
I was with another mate now, on listening post in the snow as I was telling you about, and I saw he was falling asleep in the snow. I had to keep nudging him all the time to wake him up. When we got back to the line and reported, we were put on guard with our heads just looking over the parapet. The same mate was with me and when I looked at him there he was again - asleep with his head on the parapet. The captain came around, heard him snoring and thought it was me sleeping! At this time I was feeling very ill. I'd got feverish, you see, and I tried to explain to the captain. "It wasn't me, sir," I said, "I feel too ill to sleep. I feel more like dying," I said. "Well, that won't do me," he said, "You'll report to the Company Commander in the morning. You've been caught sleeping at your post and you know the consequences of that." He meant I'd be shot. "Very good, sir," I said, "but I wasn't asleep."
Anyway, morning came and I had to crawl to get down to the Company Office down the line, but when I got in there, "What the devil is the matter with this boy?" the CO said. "He shouldn't be here. Get him down to the first-aid post at once," he said.
So that was what they did; they had stretcher bearers to take me down to the first-aid post and from there to the clearance station, where they put me in bed. "Oh," I thought, "how lovely." That was all I remembered for a fortnight. It was pneumonia, I think, and frostbite. And they put PUO - something of unknown origin - pyrexia or something, I think. Some sort of fever. When I was getting better they decided they'd send me back to England. When I said I was from Wales they sent me to Portsmouth. They always did that - if I'd been from Portsmouth they'd have sent me to Wales, I expect.
The hospital had previously been a workhouse. Look through one window, you'd see a prison, look through another and you'd see a graveyard, and you could see an asylum through the other one, I think. But the nurses and sisters were very nice. They called me Tiny because I was so small and young-looking - one sister wrote to me when I left. "Dear Tiny Watkins," she used to begin.
I had a few months there, then they sent me to a convalescent camp, Heaton Camp in Manchester, for a while until I got well, then they sent me to Pembroke Dock. They called all the men who'd been in France out to the front and asked us who'd like to go on courses. So I stepped out, of course - still volunteering - and they asked us if we'd like PE, musketry or anything like that. I chose musketry, so they gave us two stripes straight away and I had to go up to Alcar, to the musketry school up there. I don't want to sound big-headed but it was only because I didn't want to stay there to be an instructor that they didn't give me a Distinguished Certificate; as it was, they gave me a First-class Certificate. But by now, I wanted to get back home. I was offered the chance to become a Permanent Staff Instructor and I think it would have been a very fine life. I was often sorry later, very sorry I was, because I think I was good at it; it came quite naturally. I had a chap in the squad one day, asking me a lot of questions, tricky questions, and I was answering them. I thought, "I fancy you've had experience of the Army before." So I put it to him one day; I said, "Have you been in the Army before?" "Yes," he said, `I was a sergeant- instructor, and I congratulate you." I reckoned he'd joined again after deserting. Quite a few of them used to do that.
When I came back home again there wasn't any fuss or much of a welcome. Well, from my own family there was, of course, but everybody was used to seeing soldiers coming back by then; it was the first few who got all the flags and everything. It was a bit of a let-down after the first day or so because I had to go back down the mine; I soon realised that it would have been a better life if I'd stayed, much better.
Thanks to history_monk for assistance getting this material ready. This is an extract from the full conversation which we published in our fanzine, Attitude, in the 1990s. If people are interested, I can try to post the rest of the transcript later. (Edit: it's now at http://doubtingmichael.livejournal.com/16694.html)
When I'd been working [in the mine] for a year or two, the First World War came along.
I'll tell you about that; I was very keen to go. I wanted to be a hero. Five of us went down to the recruiting office in the Billiard Hall and told the Recruiting Sergeant we wanted to join the Army. There was no possibility we could join unless we had the manager's signature to release us. So we thought, "That's done it." We got outside and I said to the other boys, "Wait a minute, we'll fix this now. We'll go down to Top Pit and I'll copy the manager's signature for us all." So we went and I copied the signature on to all the forms and took them back to the Sergeant. He had a look at them. "Oh," he said, "so everything's all right, is it?" "Yes, yes," we told him, "everything's all right, we've got the signatures." "Well, now," he said, "do you know what you've done? You've forged the manager's signature by here." He said, "I've got his real signature here, see. Now, the best thing you lot can do is to bugger off home before you get into trouble." And I thought I'd been clever!
So back we went, downhearted, of course. Well, my blind brother, Bert, always called us in the mornings, so that night I persuaded him - well, I bribed him - to sleep late in the morning. So he did that and we all met again as we'd planned and we went down to another recruiting office in Pontypridd. We went through it all again and we were asked again, "Where are you working?" One of the chaps, Frank Wallace, had an uncle who was a foreman in the quarry so we said, "Oh, we're working in the quarry." "Oh, that's all right, then," he said, "as long as you're not working underground. Strip off, then." So we all stripped off and he had a good look at us. Now in those days it was reckoned a bad thing to wash your back, they said it was weakening. So he saw we all had a black patch on our backs. "Oh yes," he said, "I can see you're working in the quarry, you little so-and-so's. Well, I'll pass it over, get on the scales."
Well, we were all weighed and measured; four of us passed but one of us, Frank Wallace, was standing on tip-toes and he failed. We were dished out our clobber: tunics, hats, great-coats, everything, and that night we dressed up and thought that we were very big, walking down the street. My trousers were about a foot too long, my great-coat was dragging on the floor and my tunic was a bit too slack, sure, but we thought we were looking great. The following morning we had to go to Milford Haven, to Ubbeston Fort, from Quaker's Yard station. So the four of us trooped over there and behind us came my father, trying to get me back out because my mother was terrible about it. But it was no use, we'd signed, everything was settled, so off we had to go. I was glad, myself, of course. Well, we got to the camp and they gave us three planks each for our beds, two little trestles about nine inches high and two or three blankets and a kit-bag for our pillow. So that was how we slept that night - no mattresses, of course - and when we got up in the morning we were a bit sore, sure, but we didn't mind. They brought in breakfast, then, bacon and something else. Well, we were waiting like lemons, now, for it to be brought to us, but as soon as the orderly brought it in everyone rushed for it. Of course, we just sat there, waiting - we had no breakfast, anyway. But, believe me, when the next meal came we were there with them!
When we'd been there quite a while they wanted volunteers for the Dardanelles. So out we trooped, the four of us, again. The CO came up to us and looked at us. "Are you sure you want to go out there?" "Yes, sir, of course we do." "Well," he said, "I think you're rather young." (We were only about 16 then.) "Yes, I think you're rather young, all of you. Now, wouldn't it be better for you if you stayed here and joined the bugle band?" "All right, sir, if there's nothing else for us, we will."
Well, Fred Thomas became a cold-shoe-er - I don't know why, because it wasn't the cavalry - and I forget what Will Harris did, now, and two of us joined the band. I was on the drums and John James was on the bugle. We'd never played anything before but we got on pretty well; it came pretty natural. We had a good teacher, too, kind, not stern, and in fact, I became right-hand drummer, leading drummer in the band, that is. So we had about a year in the band. There was a brass band there as well, of course, and we always used to follow them. Well, we noticed that whenever we went through a town or village they struck up; when we were marching through open country we could play! We didn't like this, so one day when the brass band had finished and we had orders to strike up, none of us would! We mutinied! So when we got back to barracks we were put on a charge; they gave us a full pack to put on our backs and there they were, doubling us up and down the parade-ground all the time.
Anyway, things went pretty well after that; they sent a Captain Berry from Merthyr to take charge of us, a very decent chap he was too. He could do anything with us; he'd come round - "Any complaints?" "Yes," we'd say, "there's not enough sugar in our tea." "Right", he'd say, "I'll see to that." And he would, too. Then he'd come into our hut and have games with us, boxing and everything.
He was boxing one night with the lance-corporal and the lance-corporal gave him a black eye. He was on parade next morning with this black eye; he didn't resent it a bit but some of the other officers turned their noses up at him.
Oh, it was quite a happy time there but we still weren't satisfied, we kept on volunteering all the time, you see, we kept on at them so much that they got fed up with us in the end and they put us on a draft. They kitted us out - oh, we were right now, we were going to be heroes. We had to leave the band, of course, and start training for this draft. Training or not, though, we had no idea what to expect, no idea at all.
They put us on this boat - we were sailing from Folkestone to Boulogne - and in the middle of the ocean we had to stop and put all lights out - there was a U-boat in the offing. Things cleared up and we landed at Boulogne, had a day or two at a camp there, then they sent us up to Rouen. A bit longer there, then the call came for us to go up to the front line. Now we were happy!
We got there and what we saw of the front line wasn't a trench at all, it was just a lot of shell holes. That was where we were posted, into these shell holes. We were sitting there quite happily, with some old soldiers, you see, and shells came whistling overhead - well, these old soldiers were ducking down every time, but we sat there on the edge to have a good view, laughing and cheering and whooping. And they said to us, "Yes, you little buggers, you won't laugh just now, when they come a bit nearer!"
Well, about a yard away from our shell hole was another with the Cheshires in it. And in a minute a shell came over and landed a direct hit on it. It blew my mate down into our hole and blew me up into the air and then down on top of him. When we went to help these Cheshires, as we thought, there was nothing left of them, brains and blood and bits splashed everywhere, equipment all over the place, but nothing else left of them at all; I did get a bit frightened then, sure.
Well, we had quite a time there until we were relieved, then when we were coming out from the line, I was in the gun team. We had to carry ammunition over our shoulders and it was very, very muddy there. We had to walk on boards, you see, and I remember one chap carrying two buckets of ammunition, one over each shoulder. He slipped off the boards, went down into this mud and he sank before we could get to him. It was so soft and so deep and he'd got this weight on him as well, you see - we couldn't do anything about it. Coming out, now, I got stuck in the mud, too, but it wasn't quite as bad as that. My trench boots came off and I was exhausted now; I couldn't go any further. I just leaned over, there in No-Man's Land between our trenches and the Germans. Well, when they got back they missed me and they sent one chap out to look for me, but I didn't care, I didn't want to move. What he didn't threaten me with wasn't worth telling! Oh, he was going to shoot me and I don't know what all! When I did get back they made me take a tot of rum. Well, I'd never tasted the stuff before, you see, and I drank it all up at once; I couldn't get my breath for a while. But afterwards I was walking on air! I didn't get my boots back, of course; they gave me another pair.
We came out on December 23rd, very pleased because we were supposed to be having six weeks' break back in reserve on Divisional Rest. In the meantime, though, the Germans had annihilated the Pioneer Corps - Dai Watts-Morgan from the Rhondda was in command of them. They only had picks and shovels, no weapons at all, because their work was digging the trenches and that, but the Germans came and annihilated them. So instead of having our six weeks' rest, we were called straight back up on Christmas Eve to go and bury their dead and to take up positions again. We spent our Christmas in the line and nothing special happened, no carol singing, no fraternisation, no parcels, nothing at all. I think it was on Christmas Night that I was out on listening post, in two feet of snow, lying flat on the ground, about two or three hundred yards from the Germans. We could hear them laughing and talking and every now and then they'd send up Very lights to have a look at us, but we were covered in a - a thing like a white sheet - to hide us. We could hear them clapping their hands to keep warm, but we couldn't move, of course, and we were so cold, when it was time to get up we just fell back down.
I saw some nasty things happen there; I was walking along one day with my mate by my side and the shells were whistling overhead. I turned to my mate to say to him, "That was a bit close!", and I saw him walk a step or two without his head. The shell hadn't hit him, you understand, but it had passed so close, the force of it had taken his head clean off. A great friend, a mate of mine. His head was clean off his shoulders and I suppose his nerves had carried him forward, but only a couple of steps and then he dropped.
I was with another mate now, on listening post in the snow as I was telling you about, and I saw he was falling asleep in the snow. I had to keep nudging him all the time to wake him up. When we got back to the line and reported, we were put on guard with our heads just looking over the parapet. The same mate was with me and when I looked at him there he was again - asleep with his head on the parapet. The captain came around, heard him snoring and thought it was me sleeping! At this time I was feeling very ill. I'd got feverish, you see, and I tried to explain to the captain. "It wasn't me, sir," I said, "I feel too ill to sleep. I feel more like dying," I said. "Well, that won't do me," he said, "You'll report to the Company Commander in the morning. You've been caught sleeping at your post and you know the consequences of that." He meant I'd be shot. "Very good, sir," I said, "but I wasn't asleep."
Anyway, morning came and I had to crawl to get down to the Company Office down the line, but when I got in there, "What the devil is the matter with this boy?" the CO said. "He shouldn't be here. Get him down to the first-aid post at once," he said.
So that was what they did; they had stretcher bearers to take me down to the first-aid post and from there to the clearance station, where they put me in bed. "Oh," I thought, "how lovely." That was all I remembered for a fortnight. It was pneumonia, I think, and frostbite. And they put PUO - something of unknown origin - pyrexia or something, I think. Some sort of fever. When I was getting better they decided they'd send me back to England. When I said I was from Wales they sent me to Portsmouth. They always did that - if I'd been from Portsmouth they'd have sent me to Wales, I expect.
The hospital had previously been a workhouse. Look through one window, you'd see a prison, look through another and you'd see a graveyard, and you could see an asylum through the other one, I think. But the nurses and sisters were very nice. They called me Tiny because I was so small and young-looking - one sister wrote to me when I left. "Dear Tiny Watkins," she used to begin.
I had a few months there, then they sent me to a convalescent camp, Heaton Camp in Manchester, for a while until I got well, then they sent me to Pembroke Dock. They called all the men who'd been in France out to the front and asked us who'd like to go on courses. So I stepped out, of course - still volunteering - and they asked us if we'd like PE, musketry or anything like that. I chose musketry, so they gave us two stripes straight away and I had to go up to Alcar, to the musketry school up there. I don't want to sound big-headed but it was only because I didn't want to stay there to be an instructor that they didn't give me a Distinguished Certificate; as it was, they gave me a First-class Certificate. But by now, I wanted to get back home. I was offered the chance to become a Permanent Staff Instructor and I think it would have been a very fine life. I was often sorry later, very sorry I was, because I think I was good at it; it came quite naturally. I had a chap in the squad one day, asking me a lot of questions, tricky questions, and I was answering them. I thought, "I fancy you've had experience of the Army before." So I put it to him one day; I said, "Have you been in the Army before?" "Yes," he said, `I was a sergeant- instructor, and I congratulate you." I reckoned he'd joined again after deserting. Quite a few of them used to do that.
When I came back home again there wasn't any fuss or much of a welcome. Well, from my own family there was, of course, but everybody was used to seeing soldiers coming back by then; it was the first few who got all the flags and everything. It was a bit of a let-down after the first day or so because I had to go back down the mine; I soon realised that it would have been a better life if I'd stayed, much better.