Michael D.Heath-Caldwell M.Arch.

1916



Cuthbert Helsham Heath-Caldwell – aged 27

Leopold George Heath – aged 22 

Genesta Heath –aged 16

Major General Frederick C. Heath-Caldwell – aged 58

Admiral Sir Herbert Leopold Heath

Cuthbert Eden Heath OBE

Letter -

From - Lt Cdr C.H.Heath-Caldwell

To - Constance M.H.Heath-Caldwell

Ali Gharbi

6th Jan. 1916.

My dear Mother

We have been here a week, and really as places in Mesopotamia go it isn't bad. There is a small party of cavalry here, but nobody ever seems to ride. My usual day runs something like this.

I turn out shockingly late and after a hot bath have breakfast somewhere between nine and ten.

After that wander up and down the bank for half an hour for a little fresh air, & if I feel energetic wander round and see what the sailors are doing and give my valuable opinion on any little points that may arise.

Then I usually settle down & try to sketch for a little then lunch, & after that go on with my artistic efforts till about half past three when I do my daily walk down to Ali Gharbi "wood," about three miles there & back, admire the view and go home to tea.

After that it gets dark, & usually we have one or two soldiers on board till its time for dinner. If there is no one to dinner we play a hand at picquet, then read, or write until about half past ten or eleven when its time for bed.

We have had a lot of rain lately and the river has risen about three feet in the last 48 hours. In between the showers the weather is perfect with a nice healthy "bite" in the air.

Ali Gharbi is the nearest the Tigris gets to the Pasht-i-Kuh. The summits are snow covered, thus seeing they were a glorious sight with great clouds banked up high above them, lit up by the setting sun.

We had two soldiers dining here last night. One of them a Gordon Highlander was quite interesting. He was wounded and taken prisoner at Le Calieau after five months in a German hospital he was exchanged as they thought his right arm would never be any use, but there they made an error, so after a winter or two in Gallipoli he has drifted on to Mesopotamia.

Reuters have been more than usually uninteresting lately. They are laying such emphasis on the fact that we will not have peace, that I shouldn't be surprised to wake up any morning & hear that peace was signed!

It is now 11:30 pm, a clear moonlight night, have just been outside, it must be nearly freezing, expect we shall find ice on the puddles tomorrow.

But love from your very affectionate son

Cuthbert

 Letter 

To Major General F.C. Heath-Caldwell C.B.

Director of Military Training,

War Office

Whitehall S W.

18th January 1916

Sir, 

I have it in command from His Majesty the King to inform you, as next-of-kin of the late SECOND LIEUTENANT MARTIN FREDERICK HEATH-CALDWELL of the Royal Horse Artillery, that this Officer was mentioned in a Despatch from Field Marshall Sir John French dated the 31st May, 1915, and published in the "London Gazette" dated 22nd June, 1915, for gallant and distinguished service in the field.

His Majesty desires to condole with you on the loss you have sustained and to express his high appreciation of the services of the late Second Lieutenant Martin Frederick Heath-Caldwell.

I have the honour to be,

Your obedient Servant,

B.R. James-

Lieutenant-Colonel, Assistant Military Secretary.

Letter

From - Lt.Cmdr C.H.Heath-Caldwell D.S.O.

To - Constance M.H.Heath-Caldwell

Ali Gharbi

2nd Feb. 1916.

My dear Mother

Your 53rd letter of the 11th Dec. arrived a few days ago, and I hope to get two more very shortly.

Since my last letter we have been to the Arab village for a short stay, there were two or three boats up there, and of course there are camps, and staff officers and all the other paraphernalia of an army scattered about.

I was not sorry when various bits of our engines broke, and we were sent back here to put them together again. It seems to me that our part of the show up there is rather playing at it. Down here we make no pretense, but simply go in for our old role, and belong to the good old moral effect party, there is always a horse to ride when I feel like it, only one camp with its attendant smells to avoid, and plenty of good open

country, while the sailors get plenty of football, and I think are fairly contented.

Bayis & two soldiers spent the afternoon chasing wild geese from about 2:30 till 6, walking most of the time, no bag, but we all got a few shots at birds three or four hundred yards up, and on the way back we all made the usual remarks about hearing the shot hit the geese and bounce off again.

Tomorrow morning another ride and so on. If fortune is kind to me, my relief should be appointed shortly, as my application must be home by now.

In tonight's Reuters the Germans say they have decided to sink our hospital ships! I can't see that it will make very much difference to us, but I suppose it will put the Yanks in an awkward position, as it will require some expenditure of brain-power to hit on a really convincing reason for keeping out of it. On the whole I think it is good news, as it sounds as if the Germans have lost their heads.

You will have seen the Mesopotamian Communiques, so you know as much about this bit of the war as I do.

With best love from you

very affectionate son

Cuthbert.

Leopold George Heath – aged 22

A short time after I had started my duties as M.L.O. the Surrey Yeomanry Details who were at Matruh left for France. For a time my existence was rather "hand to mouth" as far as worldly comforts were concerned. I slept in a badly pitched marquee and had no servant. My meals I took on the ships that were in the harbour.

One night I woke up to find that there was a terrific gale, with one side of the marquee blown open. A sand storm was sweeping over the ground, and I was in the direct line of fire. As a result most of my belongings were buried in the sand, and my hair was full of it. On another occasion, the marquee was flooded out, and I had to sleep on the office table, having no bedstead. When, however, my servant, whom I had been unable to take with me, arrived from England, things rapidly became more comfortable.

About the end of March we received news that Sollum (further up the coast) had been captured. The officer under whom I was working was sent to manage the embarkation arrangement, etc., up there. I was then left in sole charge of Matruh.

Things gradually became more and more comfortable. I was given a wooden hut as an officer, a large shed for storing goods, and the Engineers very kindly let us have a bungalow. By "us" I mean the Beachmaster (a Naval officer who as working with me) and myself. The water supply, of which there had been a great scarcity at the bungalow, was now organised, so that there was no shortage. Fresh water was pumped from the ships into the large storage tanks, and the supply was supplemented by a condenser, which however, owing to the neglect of a native engineer, had got into a bad state, and was not much use.

The number of troops at Matruh was gradually reduced, until only a comparatively small garrison was left. Things becoming very slack in my department, I applied to return to my regiment, and after handing over to another officer, I sailed for Alexandria; this time on the transport Borulos of the Khedival M.L.

On reaching Alexandria I was sent to base at Moustafa, a western suburb of Alexandria, and very different from Mex, being really a delightful spot with plenty of vegetation instead of a salt lake.

At the end of May, 1916, I sailed for France on S.S. Manitou of the Red Star Line, in charge of a draft of men from all kinds of different Units, about the most disorderly crowd I have met, and worse still, my N.C.O.'s were very inefficient. The other troops on board were Australian and New Zealanders, an agreeable set of men.

On the voyage we frequently changed our course and described circles for fear of submarines. In three weeks we landed at Marseilles, where my draft showed themselves at their best! We marched up to the station in the dark, and I had the greatest difficulty in keeping them together. Somehow we managed to arrive without any casualties, but I got rid of one of the worst offenders by handing him over to the Military Police.

Our journey to Rouen took three days, during which period I think I lost three men altogether. Two of them were left behind at one station in spite of my orders that no one was to leave the train, and the third fell out of the train while it was travelling! He eventually reappeared bandaged up, but not seriously hurt. I have never been so thankful as when I handed over the men at Rouen.

The adjutant at the base was most sympathetic when I told him my story, and gave me a receipt for the men I produced, saying nothing about those that were missing. It was my earnest hope that I should never have to conduct a draft again.

After reporting to the Cavalry Base, and getting a week's leave, I joined my wife in London. Returning to Rouen, I was appointed Censor to the Remount Depot not far away, and had to examine about 300 letters every morning, after which I was free.

In due course I was ordered to join my Regiment at the front. The train took about 18 hours and I finally alighted at Heilly, a few miles from Amiens. My squadron was at Bavelincourt, within a walk, but to be reached preferably by lorry.

My first problem was to find Bavelincourt, but there seemed to be no lorries going in that direction. The result was that I had to walk, and the journey seemed never-ending. It was a blazing hot day, and I was carrying a haversack and other equipment which did not help matters. At last however, I reached Montigny, a village about a mile from Bavelincourt, which was the Headquarters of the Third Corps.

Presently I came across an office labelled "Camp Commandant," so decided to go in and find out exactly where "C" Squadron was hidden. They were then at Dernancourt, for which place I left in a motor car. After meeting with a break-down, I was able to board a lorry and the driver promised to drop me at the nearest point to Dernancourt.

My first view of what had been the front at Albert, showed the gilt statue of the Madonna leaning at right angles from the Cathedral tower. On reaching Dernancourt I found that the Squadron was still some way further on. At last I met two officers of the Squadron whom I knew, and they pointed out the spot. I found that I had not been expected; but got a tent and settled in.

The Squadron was again attached to the D.L.O.'s and our camp was on the boundary of cultivated land. We did not remain there long, but soon had orders to return to Bavelincourt, a charming little village; the Headquarters of the Regiment were at Beaucourt, about half a mile off. I then had to relieve one of our officers at the Prisoner's cage at Fricourt Farm, a little beyond Albert, and well in the devastated area.

The firing line at this time ran through Mametz and Bazentin, about 2½ miles away. I was quartered in a captured German dug-out, which was really a marvellous affair, consisting of long corridors about 40-ft down, connected with rooms attached. The walls and ceilings were all timbered. It was not however a very comfortable place to live in, the atmosphere being very unpleasant.

Our prisoners were mostly a very dejected-looking crowd, and it was my duty to take charge of them as soon as they were brought in from the line, search them, and take them over to the Intelligence Officer who examined them. After this, they were marched down to the Corps Cage further back. This was a large barbed wire enclosure divided into four parts, so that the prisoners could be separated.

Life here was not very exciting, the chief distraction being an occasional fit of shelling by the Huns, and on returning to Bavelincourt I got a new job. Our Colonel was the Town Major of the villages of Beaucourt, Bavelincourt and Montigny, and I was appointed his deputy for Bavelincourt.

I had to arrange billets for any troops coming into the village, and also look after sanitation, and minor repairs; in fact I was a sort of medium between the Maire of the village and the Army. I was kept pretty busy at first, as Artillery was continually passing through.

I always remember one group coming in. They all passed into the field in which they were going to camp, when suddenly amongst their transport I beheld a cart made out of a packing case about two feet square, and containing a large fat Sergeant with his legs hanging out in front. It was a distinctly humorous sight, although perhaps, most of the humour is lost in the description.

In September I was again sent up to Fricourt Cage. This time I was quartered in a dug-out with the Assistant Provost Marshal under whom I was acting. Later on, the cage was moved to Bazentin-le-Petit, further up the line. Here we found a new cage had been built, but not nearly such a good one as that at Fricourt. However, we made the best of it.

The A.P.M. and I were quartered in a dug-out which had been hastily constructed by the Engineers. Few prisoners passed by just then, so we had plenty of time to explore further afield. The village of Bazentin was practically non-existent. I was told that our artillery had destroyed the place in 12 minutes, and the destruction was pretty thorough. The only signs of a structure which remained standing was a corrugated iron building erected by the Germans, and this was rather badly knocked about. It was possible to distinguish here and there what had been the door-steps of houses, but the houses themselves were merely piles of refuse.

Nearer to the line the place was just like a desert; nothing but brown earth dug with trenches littered with old tins, steel helmets, etc., and other sights which I need not mention.

Diary of Genesta Heath

4^th February 1916

On 7^th October 1915 a possible governess for me had come to lunch with us, (I was seventeen and wanted a job, not a governess.) She called herself Eva de Bournonville, and said that she came from an old French family. Her grandfather, or great-grandfather, had emigrated to Copenhagen, where she was born, but her father had gone to Sweden and she became a naturalized Swede at the age of eight. I like her. Attractive, short and slight, she had a very pale face, straight nose, rather thin, pale lips and big, dark eyes. She was neatly dressed and talked seven or eight languages, including German. She had been working in a Swedish embassy and had come to England to try to get a censorship job at the War Office.

Eve de Bonenville https://images.nationalarchives.gov.uk/assetbank-nationalarchives/action/viewAsset?id=30537&index=87&total=1000&categoryId=15&categoryTypeId=1&collection=Crime&sortAttributeId=713&sortDescending=true

During lunch this lady spoke a little German to Mother, who knows it well. The lady spoke it very fluently. The talk turned to spies. Suddnely Mother turned to her and said, in her disconcerting, straightforward way, ‘How do we know you are not a spy?”

Tossing her head, the lady opened her bag and produced a card signed by the Danish Minister in England, saying that she was all right. We looked at the card. Then she went away. It was obvious that she no longer wanted to give me lessons.

Two mother later a plain clothes policeman visited us. Mother called me. The officer asked me what I know of the de Bournonville; I told him all I could remember. He told us she really was a spy and was now in prison in Holloway.

Some time later, a friend came to see us who had been at the woman’s trial. She said there had been thirty-seven witnesses against her. She was condemned to death, but appealed and her case went to the Home Secretary. She received penal servitude for life, which no doubt means that she will be released after the war.

We thought this sentence far too light for a proven spy. She was the only woman spy who had been working on her own. It was she who had directed the last Zeppelin raid on London. Our Intelligence knew she was trying to come to England long before she arrived. Apparently she came to us because one of my uncles was a general at the War Office, another a general commanding Portsmouth and a third Second Sea Lord.

26 March 1916

Major General Frederick C. Heath-Caldwell -

GOC, Portsmouth Garrison

Heath Records – From March 1916

I took over the command of the Portsmouth Garrison, which at that time had a strength of some 36,000 officers and men. I was personally complimented on the efficiency of the garrison by Lord French, who said he would bring the fact to the notice of the Secretary of State. I was mentioned in War Office despatches for good work.

Diary of Genesta Heath

6^th June 1916

Father (Cuthbert Eden Heath) came home tonight with the news that Lord Kitchener of Khartoum has been drowned. Next day the papers said he and his staff (including our friends Sir H.F. Donaldson and Colonel FitzGerald) were on their way to Russia in H.M.S. Hampshire when she struck a mine and sank in ten minutes. As there was a very heavy sea running, the two torpedo boat destroyers which accompanied her had been detached and sent back to harbour. Consequently when the ship sank there was no one near to rescue the men. It is a terrible blow.

(Sir Hay Frederick Donaldson – Chief Technical Adviser to the Ministry of Munitions. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hay_Frederick_Donaldson)

(Colonel Oswald A. Fitzgerald –

Video of funeral - http://www.britishpathe.com/video/burial-of-lt-col-o-a-fitzgerald-aka-kitcheners

Mother bought shirts for the troops overseas, and so her name became known in the trade. One day a salesman appeared, trying to sell her mackintoshes – he said they were the best quality and that Lord Kitchener and his staff had bought some for their journey to Russia. So though none of us, and not even Lady Donaldson, had known about this trip, it was not a well-kept secret and enemy spies may well have known. We believe the Hampshire was torpedoed, not mined, as the press said. It is strange that the Hampshire’s escort was sent back to harbour just because of rough seas. Were the messages fake? Certainly the enemy knew Kitchener’s plans and movements.

24^th July 1916

Last February, before Gerald went to the front, he had six days’ leave which he spent with us. He brought to the house a man in the Gordon Highlanders – Captain Brian Brooke, son of old Captain Brook, ‘Father of the Gordons’. Brian is a magnificent man – tall and broad, with red hair and brown eyes and thoroughly Scottish (except, of course, no accent). Last May, when they came on leave, we saw him again. I call him Sir Galahad. Mother called him Brian Boru. (Her history was muddled; Brian Boru was Irish, not Scottish.)

On 1^st July the Great Push started. On the 3^rd we had a wire to say that Gerald had been seriously wounded in the leg, and Mother went over to Rouen to see him. Some time later we heard that Sir Gerald was also badly wounded and that he was at the Empire Hospital, St. Vincent’s Square. By this time Gerald was a Netley Hospital, recovering slowly, and Mother was back in England.

We went to see Brian. He was badly wounded in the neck and his left arm was paralysed. I saw him three times. Then, tonight, we went on to the hospital from Victoria Station, having come from Anstie.

25^th July 1916

Sir Galahad (Captain Brian Brooke) died last night under chloroform, as a result of the operation. He was operated on at 7 p.m. and died at 9 p.m. He was twenty-seven years old. Brian had a curious aversion to flowers. Our rooms in the Portman Square house were full of them, and Brian always sat with his back to them if he could. The last time we saw him my arms were full of roses from Anstie. When the porter said he was coming past the glass doors, I asked Mather where I could put the flowers as he hated them so much. She said, ‘Don’t be silly, hold them.’ He saw me still holding them, and looked away. Perhaps he had ‘the sight’ and a foreboding that flowers meant death for him. Almost the last thing he saw was me holding those flowers. I could not get this memory out of my head.

Admiral Sir Herbert Leopold Heath

In September 1916 Admiral Heath was given command of the 3^rd Battle Squadron with the acting rank of Vice-Admiral, was appointed Second Sea Lord and Head of Personnel on the Board of Admiralty

Captain Frederick Dunbar Heath – aged 27

He was promoted Lieut in 1915,and temp. Capt in May, 1916. Afterwards he was for a short time Aide-de-camp to his uncle, Major General F.C. Heath-Caldwell, C.B., then Commanding the Portsmouth district. Being, however, very anxious for active service, he re-joined his regiment, then forming part of the Eastern command under Lord Lovat.

The 1st Sussex Yeomanry were brigaded in the Eastern mounted Brigade under Lord Lovat, and had a very rough time in the coast patrols they had to undertake during the blizzard of the winter 1915-1916.

In September, 1916, he was selected with five other officers to take out a large draft of 300 men from 2nd Sussex Yeomanry to reinforce the 11th Battn Queen's West Surrey Regiment. He as very severely wounded in the trenches at Wylschaets, being shot through the neck, and when he arrived at Anstie Grange Red Cross Hospital, was paralysed in both arms and legs.

After making a marvellous recovery, he was attached, during the summer of 1917, to 4th Sussex at Tunbridge Wells, and was gazetted permanent Captain in June of the same year. He went through the officer's course at Bedford, which he passed with very high marks. Being very anxious to return to the front, he was attached, so soon as he could pass the medical board, to 18th Gloucesters, July 18th, 1918, and in August , being in command of a company, he left for France with his regiment.

Cuthbert Eden Heath OBE

In September, 1916, Anstie Grange was given over to the War Office for use as an Officer's Hospital. It was fitted out with all the most modern appliances, and though a Red Cross Hospital, was, in consideration of its being equipped and carried on without any expense to that or any other fund, put immediately under the control of the Military Authorities at Aldershot. The grant, received monthly from the Government, which varied with the number of patients treated, was made over to Georgina Countess of Dudley, who admirably administered the "Heath Fund" for helping officers discharged from hospital.

Miss Gore-Brown, a cousin of Mrs. C.E.Heath's, was appointed Commandant of the Anstie Grange Officer's Hospital, and it became a "First Line Hospital," receiving almost all its patients straight from the Front by special trains from Dover and Southampton to Holmwood Station.

Nearly 700 patients passed through the hospital. Out of these only two died, a fact which, considering the desperate nature of some of the injuries treated, speaks volumes for the care and skill of the resident surgeons and staff. The latter numbered almost 50, all of whom were housed either at Anstie or in cottages on the property. The largest number of patients at one time was 56. The hospital was finally closed in December, 1918.

Diary of Genesta Heath – aged 17

2^nd September 1916

We started from Folkestone this afternoon. Mother and I and our maid Elizabeth. We journeyed up with a Frenchman who had been in the trenches and was then sent over by his government to see about munitions. He said the war must last at least one more year – I believe it will finish in February 1918.

11^th September 1916

This afternoon we saw the Somme films; they are very terrible. The worst part is the actual advance; you see the men in the trenches, then the officer jumps onto the parapet and waves his arm – the signal for ‘Advance.’ The men spring up and leave the trench, but two are killed at once and slip back. two or three more are caught in the wire, and another is entangled and left behind. He is shot. It is terribly vivid and gives one some slight idea of what this war is like. Brian (Henry Brian Brooke 1889-1916) was wounded in this advance. He fell, but got up and went on, then was hit again; this wound was mortal.

Also you see dead Huns being buried; and some nerve-shattered prisoners being brought in were quite pathetic. They were also mad, and kept holding their arms up, signifying ‘Kamerad.’ It was pitiful to see the half-puzzled, half-terrified expressions on their faces. I hate them as much as anyone does, but you can’t help feeling sorry for them.

Madelaine Marion Heath – Nurse – aged 24

In Oct, 1916, I was posted to No.8 Stationary Hospital, Wimereux. There again, the work was quite different from that performed in an English hospital, sometimes we were very busy, at others very slack; in either case we generally had a convoy in every night, and an evacuation every day.

Instead of remaining in the ward for months, most of our patients moved on in a few days, and we always tried to get as many as possible sent to Blighty. The hope of getting home seemed to be the only thing that kept many of them going during the long dragging, painful journey to the base; and indeed at every stage of treatment that I saw the wounded always seemed to have a pathetic hope that they would miraculously get well as soon as they were moved to the next stage.

We took in a heavy convoy just after the first use of mustard gas by Germany. The men walking along in groups of about ten, each with his hand on his neighbour's shoulder, following on in order. For the time being they were quite blind. Fortunately, all but the very worst cases recovered in a week or so. 

Later on, the hospital treated some thousands of German prisoners. As a rule, they were good patients, almost aggressively humble and anxious to obey orders, but those who had been treated by German doctors almost always suffered both mentally and physically from the effect of large or frequent doses of morphia.

Diary of Genesta Heath – age 17

29^th October 1916

I joined the pantry staff at Anstie, which has been turned into a first-line hospital for fifty officer patients. There is a modern operating theatre and everything is up to date. There are fifty staff, including doctors, nurses and orderlies; my cousin Dot (Doreen) Gore Browne is the commandant. Father pays all the expenses, which are vast.

Last night they telephoned from Anstie to say that there would be a convoy in and that I was to come down from London today. I arrived in time for lunch and went to the pantry afterwards to work. Everyone was tired, because the convoy had arrived at 1 a.m. and they had been sitting up until two in the morning and then came on duty again at 7 a.m.

My fellow workers are Mrs Kenny, Miss Martin, Evelyn Elgee, Poppy Hind, and Olive Monk. We are divided into two lots; Mrs Kenny and Miss Martin are the two ‘bosses.’ We work like this: all six go down at 7 a.m. and work until 3 p.m., when three go off and the others carry on until 6 p.m. Then the three who have been off come and take their places and go on working until it is all finished and they retire to bed.

Next day it is our turn to go off at 3 p.m. and come on again at six, until all the washing up is done, about 9 or 10. So we have a good eleven hours’ work a day, and more if a convoy is coming in at night.

Rosamond E.B. Heath – Nurse – aged 23

After some months at a Red Cross Hospital at 13, Grosvenor Crescent, London, and a long spell of enjoyable leave, I was appointed in Nov., 1916, under the W.O. scheme to Beaufort War Hospital. The work here was very interesting, but after living for a year in the work-house, standing in the grounds of the converted lunatic asylum, where we worked, I jumped at my first chance of foreign service, and in December 1917, embarked for Egypt

Letter

From -  Lt Cdr C.H. Heath-Caldwell

To - Consantce C.H.Heath-Caldwell

3rd December 1916.

H.M.S. Odin,

EAST INDIES.

My dear Mother,

Grayfly is having a few alterations, which entail pulling my cabin to bits, with a vast

amount of hammering, so I have come up here for a few days rest-cure. My application to be sent home has gone in and if approved should get home in a couple of months, it remains to be seen whether I get any more change than I did two years ago. I can't expect much leave anyway. The cold at home will be rather trying. We are getting mails anyhow now, I think the people who sort them at home must be pretty slack, I have had no letters for two mails now.

No news.

Your affectionate son

Cuthbert.

7th Dec. 1916.

My dear Mother

Have just returned to find everything finished, so shall go back to Basra tomorrow. This is the most successful refit we have had. The three or four days in Basra living in a comparatively comfortable ship has done me a lot of good as I was feeling a trifle reedy to start with.

Everyone seems the same, I think the beginning of the cold weather shakes one up. Did I tell you that the Admirality back stopped our hard-lying money, not only that but we have got to refund all we have had, is for two years in many cases. I don't mind so much for myself, but think it is extremely hard on the sailors, no one can say that they are overpaid, and to have to pay back £20 or will severely strain their resources, especially those with families to keep.

I expect we shall be going down to Basra soon, it is a long way to go, over 600 miles, and a beastly place when you get there. Well I hope the war is nearly over, but fully expect we shall have another eighteen months of it. Your affectionate son

Cuthbert.

Basra to Amara.

15th Dec.

My dear Mother

We have been rushed off at short notice, one of the results being that I have missed the mail.

I suppose we are going up to Amara on account of the "push" that commenced yesterday, we have been told that the operations have been completely successful so far, but I am quite ignorant as to their nature. I expect we shall go and sit at Amara for a week or so.

We left our sole surviving native servant behind in Basra, which is a nuisance, but I hope to get him back. We now have to do the best we can with one of the sailors, I have chosen the biggest fool of the lot, so as to make as little difference as possible to the work of the ship.

Yesterday forenoon I had two hours snipe shooting, four guns 16 couple of snipe and three duck; personally I contributed very little to the bag as I was shooting worse than usual, which is saying a good deal.

In the evening I attended at sing song in the Dalhousie, given by some soldiers from one of the depôts, and a very excellent show too. They have been sending these troupes all around the country to amuse the soldiers, a great improvement on the old days.

People lately from Bombay say India is just the same as usual, and that no one realises that there is a war on. 

later:

We have anchored at Kurna for the night, shall go on up river early tomorrow.

love from

Your very affectionate son

Cuthbert.

Amara.

21st. Dec. 1916

My dear Mother

As usual I have to apologise for any slackness in my writing. We arrived here on Sunday, and have been propping up the bank ever since. Our time has not been entirely wasted, as we are getting time to effect various little improvements.

We have built quite a comfortable little washroom, with the help of a carpenter, some timber & canvas. It packs up in about two minutes if we have to clear for action, and it adds immensely to the liveableness of the ship now that the cold weather is upon us.

We get very little news from up-top, except what we see in Reuters. Anyway the gunboats up there haven't had anything to do yet. I gather that we have a division or more & the cavalry buzzying round the right bank of the Tigris [scratched out "and"] beyond Kut, but I don't know whether They intend to cross or not, I suppose it really depends on the relative strength of ourselves & the Turks, another point on which I am completely ignorant.

Anyhow [scratched out "the"] our troops will be fighting under much better conditions than they ever have before in this country, I believe they are getting plenty of food, now, and they have started a canteen thus cutting out the infamous prices charged by the motley crowd of Arabs, Turks, Jews, Armenians and other riff raff that this delightful land harbours.

I am dining out tonight, for my sins, but I have an ulterior object in view, as I hope it may lead to a mount in a jackal hunt in a few days.

love from your very affectionate son

Cuthbert

Amara.

Dec. 26th.

My dear Mother.

On the forenoon of the 24th we were alone here, but about lunch time gunboats began rolling in from all directions, and there were four of us here for Christmas which made things much cheerier. We have had a combined lunch on board here, as we are the only boat which at present possesses a wardroom, and seven of us got in quiet [quite] comfortably, and had a most successful lunch, the various turns being provided and cooked in the different boats, not forgotten; a couple of bottles of champagne, share of the 10 dozen thoughtfully provided by the Lord Curzon for the MEF.

In the evening most of us went to a very successful dinner given by the Political officer, with an excellent band in attendance, at which a few nurses were present, it was a little sticky at first but soon warmed up & became a most cheerful and successful evening. In the afternoon the sailors played football, though it was rather too much for some of them, & towards the end quite a lot were overcome & had to stand easy for a bit.

Altogether we have had a most successful Christmas, with no tragedies, one is always rather afraid of some too – Christmasy sailors getting drowned or making a nuisance of himself somehow or other. I breathe a sigh of relief when it is all over, & am thankful that after all it only happens once a year.

Another boat turned up today, & now we are all waiting for orders. I am hoping that we shall go upstream when we are restaffed, as a week is quite enough in any one

place. Ali Gharbi & Sheikh Saud[?] are neither of them the place one would choose to visit for long, but the great thing is to keep on the move as much as possible.

We have had three or four hours rain this evening & the wardroom stood the strain very well, no leaks to speak of. My cabin as usual wept a bit, but I think I have defeated all the leaks now. I expect the soldiers are having an unpleasant night, unless they have changed their habits, they never seem to look ahead very much.

A mail arrived today & I received the two letters brought out by Vane-Tempest. I am not the only one after them, as he has let other people down as well. I think he is a good fellow really but possibly a trifle casual. One wouldn't expect too much from a volunteer, as they have not had the benefit of being brought up in the gun-room.

One of our fellows here has been fool enough to get engaged to a hospital nurse, he is a good fellow & I hope it will blow over. I am expecting to see his "pa" out when he hears, as he is a retired Admiral of a very strong (not to say obstinate) turn of mind. Best from your very affectionate son

Cuthbert.

Diary of Genesta Heath – aged 17

26^th December 1916

We had a signal that a convoy is coming tonight. Doreen Gore Brown, tall, statuesque and beautiful, in a red uniform with a very long white veil on her dark hair, stood in the doorway holding up a lantern; a perfect vision of safety and comfort to the tired, strained and suffering men as they arrived. We have had two more convoys.

Of course, we in the pantry don’t meet the patients much, but I know one or two. There is Macky – Mr Mackness, a lung man. He was terribly ill, and they had to operate on him twice; he is better now, though he has relapses. Then there were Cheery Charles, Precious Percy and Carrots. The cheery one is Lieutenant Fitz-Randolph (Archibald Menzies Fitzrandolph) , Canadian, very amusing. Percy – Captain Abbott – another jolly soul who loves the ladies, is popular. Carrots is Mr Matheson – red hair, or course – a very nice Australian boy.

(Captain Archibald Menzies Fitzrandolph - http://rotherhamwarmemorials.weebly.com/a.html )

Captain Percy Abbott- Australian Politician -1869-1940 - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Percy_Abbott_(Australian_politician)

Had Enteric Fever

It is thrilling to see a convoy come in. they usually arrive late at night. All the HA’s (Higher Authorities) assemble on the front steps to meet them. Frist come the walking cases, in the hospital cars; then four or six Red Cross ambulances. There area also our own three orderlies, Battersby, Chapell and Duxury.

No matter how cold or wet it is, they move about without hats to show that they belong to the house. When the ambulances arrive they help to draw out the stretchers and put each one on the ground for a minute or so, standing back to let the patient breathe fresh air. Then two men pick it up and take it into the house – out of the pantry’s ken.

Now for our Christmas festivities, which took place on Boxing Day. There was to be a dance; we were all free from 2 p.m. until the time we went to bed. We joined the patients in the hall and sang songs, then had tea with them. Then stockings filled with presents appeared, each marked with the name of the person it was for – one for each of the staff and patients.

We played games – hunt the slipper, musical chairs, etc. Then we ladies retired to robe ourselves for dinner – mufti was allowed so we wore our prettiest evening clothes. We proceeded into the dining room two by two, as in the old days. Mr Broadhead took me in – he is a ‘leg man’ and such a nice boy. Dinner was delicious.

I danced the first two with Mr Leslie, Black Watch. Then I danced with Mr Healey, the Australian whom I call Anzac. He dances beautifully. I had six dances with him and one with Captain Roper. Then we knocked off. But first we trooped into the dining room and had some drinks and sang ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ Never have  I enjoyed myself more than I did that night.

Madelaine Marion Heath – aged 24

Nurse - 3^rd Southern General Hospital at Oxford

The main hospital was in the New Schools, and the great Examination Hall, with its panelling and stately portraits, now set off by long rows of iron bedsteads, made an impressive and remarkable picture; but I must confess that we did wish that examinations had required bath rooms, for like all improvised hospitals, our quarters were ill-provided with taps, sinks, etc.

We shall none of us forget our Hospital Christmas in 1916. The ward was decorated, the patients eagerly awaiting a real peace-time "spread," when the orderly rushed in shouting "There's a convoy in, Sister! You'll have to manage your dinner for your selves. I'm off to the station."

Too true! We had just distributed sixty helpings of turkey with some difficulty, when the plum-pudding arrived along with the stretcher cases. A bustling half-hour followed as we tried to feed our indignant old patients while we settled the new arrivals into bed. One of these, a particularly rosy-faced boy of about 17, nearly wept when Sister snatched from him with a cry of horror the huge helping of plum-pudding just handed to him by a fellow patient. She had seen his label, "Acute appendicitis!"