Thomas Valentine Williams. 1892 - 1916.

Private Thomas Valentine (Val) Williams was born in Castleford, Yorkshire on St. Valentines' day, 14th February 1892. He moved with his parents, Thomas and Eliza (nee Wheater) Williams, and settled in Nottinghamshire where he became a Collier. He joined the Kings Own Yorkshire Light Infantry at the beginning of the First World war - the Great War - and after two years of fighting, he was killed during the 3rd battle of the Somme. His death occurred during what became known as the 'Battle of the Ancre', near Beaumont Hamel, on or about the 18th November 1916 when he was aged just 24 years. The battle had by then been going on since July 1st with little success including the first use of Tanks. This also with very little success as it happened.

He has no known grave but his death is commemorated on the War Memorial at Thiepval near Albert in Northern France. This monument is dedicated to those British Soldiers who died but have no known grave. The Memorial (right) is, as shown, a very elegant construction of red bricks, in stepped blocks each surmounted by a white topping. The white sections on the base are the piers on which all the names of the dead are inscribed. The Commonwealth War Graves Commission have the positions of every name and can provide photographs of the appropriate section.

Over all is a stepped arch topped with flagpoles, normally flying the Union Flag and the French Tricolour.

It is lovingly cared for by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission using local based gardeners, some of whom are British, living in France.

Val's name is inscribed on the memorial between pier 11 C and pier 12 A.

Our family visited the memorial in 1969 and were very impressed with it's well cared for appearance.

The battles of the Somme, especially those in 1916 were infamous for the tremendous loss of life also the atrocious conditions under which the troops on both sides had to live. Trench warfare was really dreadful. As well as the mud, men had to contend with unburied corpses, rats, poor food and lack of even the most basic sanitary provisions. The Officers fared little better, though their treatment - when they too, couldn't face another day of the seemingly endless bombardment and foul weather - was vastly different. Soldiers were shot for cowardice! Officers were sent back to base jobs or home to push pens for the duration. The Other Ranks knew this and much contempt was the result.

"Lions led by donkeys" is a phrase coined later.

The exact manner of Val's death is not known to the family. A letter written by a relative to her granddaughter tells us that "..he was killed by a sniper." If this is so then the manner of his passing was of some small consolation to those left behind. Certainly it was believed that he would have lived and died bravely. To have withstood two years of trench warfare he must have been courageous in the extreme, as were many others who also died or survived - Lady Luck deciding which.

Much is known, and has been written, of the conduct of the battle in which Val died. Here is a drawing of the general area and the front line about the time of the battle. Note the final reckoning, as indicated by the lines in the legend. How much land was taken over the weeks of the fighting? Was the price right? Who can tell at this length of time.

The map on the left shows just how much ground was gained in the battle between July and November 1916. Can we really believe that these few square miles were worth the flower of British manhood?

Contemporary accounts reflect the kind of spirit that prevailed at the time. I wonder if today's young men would feel the same. Some American servicemen refer to such motivation as being "Gung Ho". Even the most patriotic might - in retrospect - have seen the Somme as being a little beyond that.

"What the French do with their weaklings is a mystery. Their Gunners may be picked, but here are infantry and supply, all as big as our average; they have no such little men in this part of their line as a great many of ours. Their A. S. C. and ours differ also in age ; their men are in early middle age, ours are lusty youths.

We were on the move again between 2 and 2.30 pm . There was some half-clouded sunshine just after we started. For much of the way we were on a road that, forking at each end, had to carry a double load of traffic. We could only edge along in single file and so slowly that when we were no farther than Ginchy there was just light enough to let us see the shells of our big howitzers on the roadside soaring in flight against a gleam in the overcast sky. The road surface was worn to its foundations, broken by shells, and beyond putting in repair as things were. Lines of labour men at the sides made shift to keep the route passable. They plied their brushes among our feet, and shovelled any rubbish into potholes between the closely ranked moving wagons, horsed and motor. Men and animals tripped and stumbled and wheels skidded, on bits of loose timber and untrimmed branches which were flung into shell-holes for want of other filling, A couple of hundred yards of German corduroy in a dip was the only stretch near there on which the going was fairly good. In all that moving mass little was spoken. There was the monotonous grind of feet and wheels on the crumbling macadam, or the swish-swish where water lay inches deep, the clank of arms and harness, the scrunch of gears and brakes, the burst of a shell; but there was next to no talk. Mechanically a subaltern or sergeant ordered his men to "close up " or "lead on ". Wearily a driver muttered a curse when his horse stumbled, or his Wagon stuck in a hole or skidded; sombrely, stolidly, thousands of men plodded forward or rearward "

"In the meantime B Company also was on the move. They were soon held up by an unharassed machine-gun on their right. A Lewis gun was played on it effectually. One of the machine gun's team tried to get away, but Fox dropped him with a rifle shot: he was found later hit in the stomach. The silencing of that machine-gun helped A and D Companies to come into line and get forward. On crossing the ridge to where the ground sloped towards the main German position, the Companies came under direct small-arms fire, and a line of shell holes was occupied temporarily. Patrols were organised to work their way forward; they did so, and established themselves about 35 yards short of the objective line. The two Company Commanders then met and agreed that the most practical procedure - for the time being - was to consolidate on the crest behind these outposts. Their reasons were, the very exposed position of the objective, the difficulty of digging - for the sodden clay would not leave the shovel - and the fatigue of the men. When some senior artillery officers came up later to check the new line, there was an inclination to cavil at these 35 yards and our divisional disposition, but the CO upheld it.

On the right the 100th Brigade, who had been held up three days before when the French took Boritza, were unable to advance. When the Germans in the gap saw the progress that was being made on their flanks they left their shell holes and hurried back."

     From another's point of view, things seem pretty normal in the ranks. Here's a couple of recollections from a junior NCO of the          time. This man was in Val's Regiment, though of a different Battalion. The humour of the occasion is touching in its way.

"We were lying next to the Guards and you couldn't help admiring them. They were in exactly the same conditions as we were. It had rained on them just the same as it had on us. We were all out in the open air, but we were all scruffy and dirty and they were all clean and tidy. We didn't know how they did it! Their quarter guard was spick and span. Their sentry was on his beat, marching up and down, saluting officers and presenting arms as if they were all still at home in barracks. What discipline! It was marvellous.

"When I was safe in hospital, out of that hell of France, I scarcely knew how to adjust to decent society after living like an animal for so long. The only thing that kept worrying me was my promise to go and tell Bobby's people about his end. (Bobby was a comrade and close friend hit by a shell during an advance) . I dreaded the thought of them asking where he was buried How could you tell a mother he was blown to pieces? We'd buried him alright, a few yards behind our position in the wood, with a rifle plunged into the earth to mark the grave and his tin hat on top of it. But by the next morning it had entirely disappeared. Bobby was well in his forties so his mother was not young. He was separated from his Wife - he'd only ever mentioned her to me to rail at her - and they had no children. But she was there that day, the day I went to see his Mother. All 1 could tell them was that he was buried in Delville Wood

Corporal Len Lovell No.18692,6th Kings Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, 14th division.

    Another account - this time of an amusing episode in the trenches.

'I had to get the lads some hot grub. I had all the equipment and the food itself but I needed to light the trench cooker which was in a Cook's wagon, drawn - instead of a limber - by one of the gun crews. The firewood was damp and wouldn't light. I strolled over to the next line of trenches to my pal in the other battery and came back with some dry kindling. I threw it in on top of the paper and dropped a match in through the top of the cooker. A sheet of flame shot up and took my eyebrows, most of my eyelashes and the front of my hair off!

I found out that the Battery Sergeant Major had managed to "liberate" some petrol from the Tank troop and poured it in the cooker whilst I was away. He meant to tell me but, he too was called away before he could do so. What a shock!

The lads finally got Their hot food, such as it was. Cooking under battle conditions was often hell.

[A personal observation here; my own Father was a cook in the Royal Horse Artillery at the time and used to tell my Sister & I of the trials and tribulations of cooking under fire and in awful conditions so I can verify the likely truth of the above!]

As the Battle of The Ancre progressed, 2nd battalion of the Kings Own Yorkshire Light Infantry (KOYLI) and the rest of 97th Brigade (32nd Division) were attacking - out of the New Munich Trench towards the Munich Trench and Frankfurt Trench - northwards towards Serre. They attacked in heavy sleet. The British artillery was very poor and inaccurate - the 16th Highland Light Infantry (HLI) - 97 Brigade - were actually bombarded by our own artillery whilst going into the assembly trenches, and the artillery support during the attack was dreadful.

Elements of the 2nd KOYLI were pinned down in shell holes all day, but some of the Battalion joined up with elements of the Division on the flank, broke through and made it over
the brow of the hill and down into the valley towards Serre (it was said at one time that some troops were reported actually in Serre).

It was a famous attack and it is highly probable that it is well covered in the unit & higher echelon war diaries.

The battleground is still open farmland and positions / route of advance should be identifiable from diaries and relevant trench maps. Several cemeteries in the area may be significant.

It is believed that this was the action in which our Uncle, Val was killed.

Courtesy of Tom Tulloch-Marshall.

The Battles of the Somme were, arguably, the worst battles ever fought in modern or any other times. Of course, the Russians lost ten million or more people, military and civilian during World War II. In addition, the worst excesses of the US Military during the Vietnam conflict like "Napalm" and defoliants such as "Agent Orange" were also awful; but the actual scale and the truly horrific conditions in the trenches and at the front at that time and in that place combined to make things unbelievably appalling.

The 2 nuclear weapons assaults on Japan in 1945, were not - of course - by anyone’s standards, battles!

Many thousands of words have been written about the battles and indeed the whole of the so-called "Great War" . The mood of those times was that all the nation, especially the young men, should be patriotic and fight for "King & Country" regardless. Today this "My country right or wrong " propaganda would be regarded in a much more cynical light, bearing in mind the phenomenal loss of life on both sides. However, at the time it was an acceptable sentiment but the flower of several nations' youth was sacrificed at the altar of false pride and overweening ambition.

Several contemporary books have been written looking at the darker and less honourable side of World War 1 and one in particular stands out as a chronicle of the gradual change from "Jingoism" towards - not pacifism - but maybe a more compassionate view of war and warriors by them as opposed to those directing the conflict. That book is called "Memoirs of an Infantry Officer" by Siegfried Sassoon (or George Sherston to give his proper name), one of the now famous War Poets along with Rupert Brooke and others. He was brave enough to make his true feelings known and was threatened with Court Martial, imprisonment and total disgrace but he persevered and was eventually reinstated. There was really not much choice as, far from being branded as a Coward, he had already been awarded the Military Cross and was waiting for either a Distinguished Service Order or at worst, a bar to his MC when he was pilloried by the Establishment. The book is eminently readable as are his poems.

" I am making this statement as an act of wilful defiance of military authority, because I believe that the War is being deliberately prolonged by those who have the power to end it. I am a soldier, convinced that I am acting on behalf of soldiers. I believe that this War, on which I entered as a war of defence and liberation, has now become a war of aggression and conquest. I believe that the purpose for which I and my fellow soldiers entered upon this war should have been so clearly stated as to have made it impossible to change them, and that, had this been done, the objects which actuated us would now be attainable by negotiation. I have seen and endured the sufferings of the troops, and I can no longer be a party to prolong these sufferings for ends which I believe to be evil and unjust. I am not protesting against the conduct of the war, but against the political errors and insincerities for which the fighting men are being sacrificed. On behalf of those who are suffering now I make this protest against the deception which is being practised on them; also I believe that I may help to destroy the callous complacency with which the majority of those at home regard the contrivance of agonies which they do not, and which they have not sufficient imagination to realize".

Henry Williamson, better known for his "Tarka the Otter" wrote a book with similar sentiments called "A Fox under my cloak" which complements much of Sassoon's work'

The true number of casualties in that awful war may never be known. It was estimated that about one and a quarter million men from Britain and her Empire lost their lives and some 2 1/2 million were wounded. The allies, France, Italy, USA and Russia were said to have lost almost another 4 million between them. Germany and her allies were believed to have lost some three and a quarter million. Over twenty million were wounded and it can only be guessed how many of these died years later because of wounds, gassing and the dreadful mental anguish some had to endure. What may be even worse to contemplate was that many more may even have suffocated to death - after tripping or perhaps falling with a slight wound - under the press of their comrades rushing along the trenches without seeing or possibly even caring such was the pressure on them to fight, fight and fight again.

None of us can speculate on what our long dead but still revered relative would have achieved had he lived. He seemed to have been much loved and respected, certainly his Brothers and Sisters always spoke of happy memories of him It is said that death is just a temporary parting. Let's hope that's true.

I have spent much time researching the facts and writings relating to the various battles of the Somme, and very harrowing some of it is. I also recall vividly reading Sassoon's book when I was a teenager, hoping - in the ways of the time - that I too would soon be off to the war (the second one that is) and failing - at that time - to note the message he was sending. Fortunately that conflict ended before I managed to join the armed forces or perhaps things might have taken a different turn altogether.

By a cruel turn of fate, Val’s nephew, also named Valentine, after his revered Uncle, joined the Royal Navy and went down with his ship, H.M.S. Eagle during the Second World War. This must have been almost unbearable for his loved ones as one can imagine.

Thomas Valentine Williams

Kings Own Yorkshire Light Infantry

K I A Battle of the Ancre, Somme

18^th November 1916.

Above are the medals that would have been awarded to Val had he lived.

They are from L to R

the British War Medal, the 1914 – 1915 Star and the Victory Medal.

Below is a map showing the general area of the Somme battles. The River Ancre runs from West to East from just north of Equilloy to just South of Suzanne.

Note on this present day map the memorials and cemeteries marked Brit. scattered across the terrain.

My own thoughts on seeing the serried ranks of graves in the dozens of war cemeteries was a very sobering and saddening experience. Just to imagine - in place of each white standing stone - a young man with all his life ahead of him, as well as a loving Family waiting for him at home, is perhaps enough to make most people dream of a time when war is no more.

I am as much a Patriot as any man, indeed I served my country in the Royal Navy and the Royal Naval Reserve for many years,  but compassion makes for peaceful thoughts in my view.

Geoff Hunt September 1994.

(Revised December 2002 & October 2006)

Note.  The opinions expressed in this essay are mine alone.

Geoff Hunt