The Last Tommy
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The Last Tommy
Fellow Prunners, this thread has been running on the 'other means' and I think is worthy of our support as well, particularly at this time of year:
The Last Tommy
We should not let these brave men go without a last hurrah to show that we have not forgotten
PCD
The Last Tommy
We should not let these brave men go without a last hurrah to show that we have not forgotten
PCD
An excellent suggestion on ARRSE, that the last WWI serviceman should receive a state funeral. Wouldn't it be a refreshing change if our politicians did something right for once?
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Re WW1 survivors, today's (6th Nov) News of World, is running article claiming 9 current UK survivors;
Sorry no link available
RE State Funeral, yes subject to family wishes
PZU- Out of Africa
Sorry no link available
RE State Funeral, yes subject to family wishes
PZU- Out of Africa
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I've not seen the NoW - does it include William Stone, who is an RN vereran? Last year aged 103 he walked unaided to The Cenotaph to place a wreath marking the 90th anniversary of the start of WW1, and he went to Dunkirk 5 times during the evacuation.
At the rate he is going I think he'll outlive me ...
At the rate he is going I think he'll outlive me ...
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Old soldiers never die they simply fade away... 
We had one who disappeared in Flanders. Gran hung onto the hope that it was her brother under that slab in Westminster Abbey. I still remember, but when I too am gone, there'll be no-one left who does and Great Uncle William will have finally faded...
We had one who disappeared in Flanders. Gran hung onto the hope that it was her brother under that slab in Westminster Abbey. I still remember, but when I too am gone, there'll be no-one left who does and Great Uncle William will have finally faded...
Two of these old boys have a strong connection with you blokes on the military forum of PPRuNe, as they were aircraft groundcrew. One from the RNAS, one from the RFC:
The Guardian website printed extracts of interviews with both:
"Henry Allingham
109 (born June 6 1896)
Air mechanic, Royal Naval Air Service
I wanted to go straight into the service, but my mother was on her own and she didn't want that. So I carried on working for a while. Then, in September 1915, my mother died aged just 42. As soon as I lost her, I joined up.
I went to the RAC in Pall Mall. I had a Triumph TT motorbike at the time and they were looking for dispatch riders for the Royal Engineers. When I told them about my bike, they said they would accept it and that all I had to do was pass the medical. I went along with two others, and they put my name down. I waited. Monday came and still no call and I didn't like that. I wanted them to send for me quickly. I was impatient. Then, one day, I went out for a ride on my pushbike, and I saw an aeroplane and I thought, "That's for me!"
When we were flying off the ships, we couldn't stay airborne for long because we would run out of fuel - that was the trouble. People sometimes had to ditch their aircraft. I saw about seven ditchings. Sometimes the plane would be going up steeply, then it would stop and start going back and it would have no speed - no power. The wind was stronger than the power it had to go forward. In about 12 months they were able to overcome that with a lot more power.
We never ditched - fortunately - because if you ditched, you were in big trouble. We never had any parachutes and we didn't have radio. We had pigeons which we carried in a basket, but I never had to use them. Some of our people who were adrift in the drink could be there for up to five days, and they used to let the pigeons go. They would fly back to the loft at the station, and a search party would be sent out to look for them. As a general rule, after five days of searching, they would give up, and the men were lost. However, I met a fellow once who was on leave from the Halcyon; he was sitting beside me one afternoon by the river Dee, and he said how he had been lucky. He had ditched and they were about to give up looking for him when somebody thought they saw something - and sure enough, it was him. He was very lucky.
In those days, you had an open cockpit and it was very cold. You had a leather jacket and a leather helmet, and you'd put Vaseline on your face, and you had gloves to protect you from frostbite. The standard issue was long johns and you had a thick shirt and a vest. Over the top of that you had a grey shirt and a tunic. Your working gear was a tunic with patch pockets, which was very useful and practical.
Then you had a choice: you could have trews or you could wear britches and puttees [strips of cloth wound around the leg to form leggings], which took a while to put on. With regard to equipment, you didn't have gun mountings in the aircraft until about June of 1916. That was when we first got the Lewis gun. Once Lewis guns were mounted on our planes, we had the problem of trying to shoot through the propeller. In the air, if you tried it, you'd just shoot the prop away. Then they developed the synchromesh gear with the engine, which synchronised the firing of the machine gun through the prop. But when I first got in the cockpit, it was my job to sit behind the pilot and defend the plane with a pair of Lee Enfield rifles.
In September 1917, we were sent to France to support the Royal Flying Corps. I joined No 12 Squadron RNAS at Petit Synthe, near Dunkirk. The squadron had been formed in June 1917 and was equipped with a mixture of Sopwith Pups, Triplanes and Camels.
The first thing I did when I got to Calais was have a nice plate of egg and chips. My job was to service aircraft and to rescue aircraft parts from any machine that crashed behind the lines of trenches.
As mechanics, we had to keep the aircraft flying using anything we could. The pilots liked to take their mechanics up in the plane with them, because that way they knew the mechanics would service the plane properly. I used to sit behind the pilot and drop out bombs. If the enemy appeared, I used to open fire with the Lewis gun.
Once when we were moving forward on the Ypres Salient to support the offensive, we got to this particular place just as it got dark. It was a strange place and we hadn't been cleared to go forward by the Canadian engineers. There was a lot of fighting in the area and you couldn't walk about as it was too dangerous. It was safest to stay put, so I stuck where I was. I put my groundsheet and blanket down on a bit of concrete and I went to sleep. You didn't have a pillow. You put your boots together and you'd sleep with your head on them.
I got up in the night, took a couple of paces and fell straight into a shell hole. It was absolutely stinking. There was everything in there, you name it - dead rats, no end of rats. You know what they fed on in this hole? The bodies of the boys listed as missing.
So there I was, in this filthy great big hole. I decided to take a chance and I moved to the left. If I'd gone to the right, I don't know what would have happened. It was shallow and I managed to get to my feet, and I tried to climb out. I tried several times, but no joy. Somehow, though, and I don't know how, I heaved my belly up on to the side, and I could just pull myself out. I was soaking wet, right up to my armpits, but I had to stay where I was until daylight. I didn't dare move again. I wore that kit until it dried off on my body.
We all got lice in our clothes. We used to run the seam of the shirt over a candle flame to get rid of them. Of course, you'd wash your shirt if you could - and when you did wash it, you'd hang it on a bit of line. Next thing you'd see was the lice crawling along the line.
Thinking back to the first war, I don't think I knew what to expect. I thought we'd win - but I never thought we'd have to fight again like that for 100 years. I'll never forget my comrades, but you can't dwell on the terrible things that happened. You couldn't go on if you did. But on days like Armistice Day, I pray for them. At the Cenotaph in 2004, I was thinking of the blokes I knew who burned. I saw them come down - men I knew, whose planes I knew - crashing into the ground.
There's good stuff to remember: the camaraderie and knowing you can depend on your mate, but not the other things. I used not to think about it at all, but now people want to talk to me about it because I'm one of the few left. So now I have to think more about it.
But there are things I would rather not think about. In fact, it often feels like something that happened to someone else.
William Roberts
105 (born Sep 29 1900)
Corporal, Royal Flying Corps
My dad was in the Royal Engineers. He joined in August 1914. I remember his number was 43968. One day in 1915 I went with my mother, who originally came from the Dudley area, to stay with her relations in Birmingham. While we were there, we got news that my dad was home at a barracks just outside London, and we could see him there. He had his week's leave with us, and then it was "cheerio" and that was it. I never saw him again. He was due home from the trenches in December 1915, but he never came. A German sniper got him.
After that, I wanted to join up. I wanted to join the Durham Light Infantry, but they wouldn't entertain having me. I was too young - 16, I think. Eventually, when I was 17, I joined the Royal Flying Corps. I thought I was a big man but I got a shock.
I was sent to Laffans Plain at Farnborough, where they had no accommodation indoors so we were all under canvas, near the aircraft repair factory. My job was to maintain the aircraft engines. My number was 81853. Not bad for my age, to remember that, eh?
They used to take the planes out, fly them and test them. Rather than go to the bother of putting ballast in, they'd take a passenger up with them: usually one of us youngsters who wanted to fly. One beautiful sunny day, it was my turn. The aerodrome was a blaze of blue sky and green grass. We were in an old Maurice Farman pusher machine with the engine at the back. A great big thing; I'd never been in one before. I listened to the engine and we started to move.
I looked up at the beautiful blue sky, when suddenly, there was this loud zoom and I was hanging upside down, staring at the ground. I undid my safety belt and fell flat on my head. The plane had gone completely over. The pilot was a Belgian officer. He got me by the shoulder and he said, "Run away, because it'll go up in flames - and if the fuel goes over you, it's worse." And I did run. An hour later, that same pilot took up another plane, which crashed and killed him.
I look back nowadays, and I think of the great war as a lot of political bull. There shouldn't be wars. That war was a lot of bloody political bull."
Both of my grandfathers fought on the Western Front (one with the Royal Engineers and then the RFC, the other with the Machine Gun Corps). I remember the stories one of them told, 60 years later, but never met the other, alas.
The Guardian website printed extracts of interviews with both:
"Henry Allingham
109 (born June 6 1896)
Air mechanic, Royal Naval Air Service
I wanted to go straight into the service, but my mother was on her own and she didn't want that. So I carried on working for a while. Then, in September 1915, my mother died aged just 42. As soon as I lost her, I joined up.
I went to the RAC in Pall Mall. I had a Triumph TT motorbike at the time and they were looking for dispatch riders for the Royal Engineers. When I told them about my bike, they said they would accept it and that all I had to do was pass the medical. I went along with two others, and they put my name down. I waited. Monday came and still no call and I didn't like that. I wanted them to send for me quickly. I was impatient. Then, one day, I went out for a ride on my pushbike, and I saw an aeroplane and I thought, "That's for me!"
When we were flying off the ships, we couldn't stay airborne for long because we would run out of fuel - that was the trouble. People sometimes had to ditch their aircraft. I saw about seven ditchings. Sometimes the plane would be going up steeply, then it would stop and start going back and it would have no speed - no power. The wind was stronger than the power it had to go forward. In about 12 months they were able to overcome that with a lot more power.
We never ditched - fortunately - because if you ditched, you were in big trouble. We never had any parachutes and we didn't have radio. We had pigeons which we carried in a basket, but I never had to use them. Some of our people who were adrift in the drink could be there for up to five days, and they used to let the pigeons go. They would fly back to the loft at the station, and a search party would be sent out to look for them. As a general rule, after five days of searching, they would give up, and the men were lost. However, I met a fellow once who was on leave from the Halcyon; he was sitting beside me one afternoon by the river Dee, and he said how he had been lucky. He had ditched and they were about to give up looking for him when somebody thought they saw something - and sure enough, it was him. He was very lucky.
In those days, you had an open cockpit and it was very cold. You had a leather jacket and a leather helmet, and you'd put Vaseline on your face, and you had gloves to protect you from frostbite. The standard issue was long johns and you had a thick shirt and a vest. Over the top of that you had a grey shirt and a tunic. Your working gear was a tunic with patch pockets, which was very useful and practical.
Then you had a choice: you could have trews or you could wear britches and puttees [strips of cloth wound around the leg to form leggings], which took a while to put on. With regard to equipment, you didn't have gun mountings in the aircraft until about June of 1916. That was when we first got the Lewis gun. Once Lewis guns were mounted on our planes, we had the problem of trying to shoot through the propeller. In the air, if you tried it, you'd just shoot the prop away. Then they developed the synchromesh gear with the engine, which synchronised the firing of the machine gun through the prop. But when I first got in the cockpit, it was my job to sit behind the pilot and defend the plane with a pair of Lee Enfield rifles.
In September 1917, we were sent to France to support the Royal Flying Corps. I joined No 12 Squadron RNAS at Petit Synthe, near Dunkirk. The squadron had been formed in June 1917 and was equipped with a mixture of Sopwith Pups, Triplanes and Camels.
The first thing I did when I got to Calais was have a nice plate of egg and chips. My job was to service aircraft and to rescue aircraft parts from any machine that crashed behind the lines of trenches.
As mechanics, we had to keep the aircraft flying using anything we could. The pilots liked to take their mechanics up in the plane with them, because that way they knew the mechanics would service the plane properly. I used to sit behind the pilot and drop out bombs. If the enemy appeared, I used to open fire with the Lewis gun.
Once when we were moving forward on the Ypres Salient to support the offensive, we got to this particular place just as it got dark. It was a strange place and we hadn't been cleared to go forward by the Canadian engineers. There was a lot of fighting in the area and you couldn't walk about as it was too dangerous. It was safest to stay put, so I stuck where I was. I put my groundsheet and blanket down on a bit of concrete and I went to sleep. You didn't have a pillow. You put your boots together and you'd sleep with your head on them.
I got up in the night, took a couple of paces and fell straight into a shell hole. It was absolutely stinking. There was everything in there, you name it - dead rats, no end of rats. You know what they fed on in this hole? The bodies of the boys listed as missing.
So there I was, in this filthy great big hole. I decided to take a chance and I moved to the left. If I'd gone to the right, I don't know what would have happened. It was shallow and I managed to get to my feet, and I tried to climb out. I tried several times, but no joy. Somehow, though, and I don't know how, I heaved my belly up on to the side, and I could just pull myself out. I was soaking wet, right up to my armpits, but I had to stay where I was until daylight. I didn't dare move again. I wore that kit until it dried off on my body.
We all got lice in our clothes. We used to run the seam of the shirt over a candle flame to get rid of them. Of course, you'd wash your shirt if you could - and when you did wash it, you'd hang it on a bit of line. Next thing you'd see was the lice crawling along the line.
Thinking back to the first war, I don't think I knew what to expect. I thought we'd win - but I never thought we'd have to fight again like that for 100 years. I'll never forget my comrades, but you can't dwell on the terrible things that happened. You couldn't go on if you did. But on days like Armistice Day, I pray for them. At the Cenotaph in 2004, I was thinking of the blokes I knew who burned. I saw them come down - men I knew, whose planes I knew - crashing into the ground.
There's good stuff to remember: the camaraderie and knowing you can depend on your mate, but not the other things. I used not to think about it at all, but now people want to talk to me about it because I'm one of the few left. So now I have to think more about it.
But there are things I would rather not think about. In fact, it often feels like something that happened to someone else.
William Roberts
105 (born Sep 29 1900)
Corporal, Royal Flying Corps
My dad was in the Royal Engineers. He joined in August 1914. I remember his number was 43968. One day in 1915 I went with my mother, who originally came from the Dudley area, to stay with her relations in Birmingham. While we were there, we got news that my dad was home at a barracks just outside London, and we could see him there. He had his week's leave with us, and then it was "cheerio" and that was it. I never saw him again. He was due home from the trenches in December 1915, but he never came. A German sniper got him.
After that, I wanted to join up. I wanted to join the Durham Light Infantry, but they wouldn't entertain having me. I was too young - 16, I think. Eventually, when I was 17, I joined the Royal Flying Corps. I thought I was a big man but I got a shock.
I was sent to Laffans Plain at Farnborough, where they had no accommodation indoors so we were all under canvas, near the aircraft repair factory. My job was to maintain the aircraft engines. My number was 81853. Not bad for my age, to remember that, eh?
They used to take the planes out, fly them and test them. Rather than go to the bother of putting ballast in, they'd take a passenger up with them: usually one of us youngsters who wanted to fly. One beautiful sunny day, it was my turn. The aerodrome was a blaze of blue sky and green grass. We were in an old Maurice Farman pusher machine with the engine at the back. A great big thing; I'd never been in one before. I listened to the engine and we started to move.
I looked up at the beautiful blue sky, when suddenly, there was this loud zoom and I was hanging upside down, staring at the ground. I undid my safety belt and fell flat on my head. The plane had gone completely over. The pilot was a Belgian officer. He got me by the shoulder and he said, "Run away, because it'll go up in flames - and if the fuel goes over you, it's worse." And I did run. An hour later, that same pilot took up another plane, which crashed and killed him.
I look back nowadays, and I think of the great war as a lot of political bull. There shouldn't be wars. That war was a lot of bloody political bull."
Both of my grandfathers fought on the Western Front (one with the Royal Engineers and then the RFC, the other with the Machine Gun Corps). I remember the stories one of them told, 60 years later, but never met the other, alas.
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Thanks Jacko. William Roberts story is similar to my grandfather who transfered from the infantry to the RFC as a fitter/mechanic. After a second period of convalescing, this time after the Somme, he took an opportunity to swap the trenches for work on RE8s and enjoyed a number of ‘test’ flights. More to the point, he survived and, although he died in the late 60s, he and his colleagues left a rich legacy. I am deeply proud of him.
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Whilst I totally agree that we should never forget the sacrifice these young men gave, I'm not convinced a state funeral would be the answer. It would certainly have to be with the full approval of the family. I'm not sure that I'd want a state funeral for my grandad. They may just want a quiet family affair.
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One can study warfare for ever and learn little, but it is comments like this one from Cpl Roberts that show war for what it really is:
'I look back nowadays, and I think of the great war as a lot of political bull. There shouldn't be wars. That war was a lot of bloody political bull.'
I don't think that even Churchill ever said it better.
'I look back nowadays, and I think of the great war as a lot of political bull. There shouldn't be wars. That war was a lot of bloody political bull.'
I don't think that even Churchill ever said it better.
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I don't know if this Remembrance Day video from Canada (6.5MB) circa 2003 has featured here before but it has a good, albeit slightly mawkish, message:
http://www.army.forces.gc.ca/chief_l...lish/video.asp
http://www.army.forces.gc.ca/chief_l...lish/video.asp
Well that was one of the most humbling TV programmes I've seen.........
Amused at the tale of the last surviving RFC veteran, when he decided to swig some engine oil as a laxative.....
Amused at the tale of the last surviving RFC veteran, when he decided to swig some engine oil as a laxative.....
Last edited by GeeRam; 9th Nov 2005 at 08:08.
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An excellent programme. Can't wait for the concluding part.
In this day and age it seems imossible to imagine the conditions these guys endured and the dangers they faced.
The clarity of their memories so many years on is astonishing
In this day and age it seems imossible to imagine the conditions these guys endured and the dangers they faced.
The clarity of their memories so many years on is astonishing
Gentleman Aviator
when he decided to swig some engine oil as a laxative.....
High performance oils then (and until quite recently) were very probably vegetable rather than mineral, and almost certainly castor-oil based (if you're old enough, remember the smell of Castrol "R"!)
In fact, that's where "Castrol" got its name from.
There is anecdotal evidence that pilots could find the fumes alone to have a laxative effect inn the cockpit.... but maybe meeting a staffel of Fokkers would do that!!
.... not as stupid an idea as you might think, but he wouldn't have needed to drink it.
High performance oils then (and until quite recently) were very probably vegetable rather than mineral, and almost certainly castor-oil based (if you're old enough, remember the smell of Castrol "R"!)
Come on guys. There's a distinct lack of "an excellent idea, I've written to..." posts here. 
Get writing
Letters to: Prince Charles, PM, Sec of State for Defence, Armed Forces Minister, Micheal Howard, Shadow Sec Def and email to RBL are on their way from me.
Get writing
Letters to: Prince Charles, PM, Sec of State for Defence, Armed Forces Minister, Micheal Howard, Shadow Sec Def and email to RBL are on their way from me.
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Yes I've written to my MP (William Hague) and had a positive response;
Re Henry Allingham, was in London today (Remembrance Sunday) for a meeting, and on entering hotel lobby there he was just leaving after lunch - looked remarkably fit;
Spoke briefly with a member of his party, who in effect offered to introduce me - didn't take him up on his offer, still not sure if I did the right thing or not;
PZU - Out of Africa
Re Henry Allingham, was in London today (Remembrance Sunday) for a meeting, and on entering hotel lobby there he was just leaving after lunch - looked remarkably fit;
Spoke briefly with a member of his party, who in effect offered to introduce me - didn't take him up on his offer, still not sure if I did the right thing or not;
PZU - Out of Africa
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And a very poignant last 5 mins of the series - when you realise those brave guys are largely no longer with us.
A well filmed programme by the BBC - just wondered why it wasn't aired a few weeks earlier.... might have got a few more peole digging into their pockets.
A well filmed programme by the BBC - just wondered why it wasn't aired a few weeks earlier.... might have got a few more peole digging into their pockets.