Michael D.Heath-Caldwell M.Arch.

1917

General Frederick Heath-Caldwell CB aged 57/58.

Constance M.H. Heath-Caldwell aged 47/48

Cuthbert Eden Heath OBE aged 56/57

Sarah Heath aged 56/57

Admiral Sir Herbert Heath KCB, MVO, etc aged 55/56

General Sir Gerard M. Heath KCMG, 52/53

Lt Cmdr Cuthert H. Heath-Caldwell DSO aged 26/27

Leopold C. Heath (Griggs) aged 21/22

Genesta Heath – aged 17/18

Madeline Marion de Salis (ne Heath) aged 23/24

Rosamond Heath (Posy) aged 22/23

Admiral Sir Herbert Heath KCB MVO and Sir Thomas Lane Devitt at the Inauguration of Pangbourne College. Berkshire, England in 1917.

Video Link here - about three videos.

Diary of Genesta Heath

1^st January 1917

Thanks to an enterprising person Anzac, tonight there was another small and heavenly dance, in uniform, and after dinner. When it was time to stop we went into the dining room, and the sight of big glass jugs and Glasson on the sideboard evoked shouts of joy, which turned to howls of sorrow on the discovery that the jugs contained nothing but water!

8^th January 1917 – Anstie Grange, Surrey

There are many funny moments. I took a tray up to a new patient and he said, ‘Awful place for a hospital, this is.’

I couldn’t think what to say, but eventually replied, ‘It is rather far from the station.’ Later I heard that he had asked someone who I was, and we appalled to hear that I was the owner’s daughter!

Last night Anzac gave me some snapshots he had taken of Gallipoli, France and the hospital – very good ones. He told me of friend of his, the best he had ever had, without exception. They used to share everything, and were great friends. The other man had just received a pot of jam, and before opening it said, ‘I think I’ll go and see if that dugout is all right.’ While he was there a shell exploded and a piece hit him, cutting his jugular vein. He was carried up the steps, and he just had the strength to say to his friend, ‘I leave you that pot of jam, Healey!’ before he died.

Today, I left Anstie for a month’s leave in London. Such a send-off I had! The pantrymaids came to the front door and some of the patients too. Then Sister Mary appeared and took me into the hall, to say goodbye  to the men there. Then I had to go to the office. Then I bolted back to the hospital car and was embraced by the pantry staff. Someone said, ‘Don’t leave them out of it!’ and when I looked at the bow window in the hall I saw a lot of men in their white dressing gowns, bedroom slippers etc., waving walking sticks and laughing. At last we got away and they all cheered. I had already been round the wards saying goodbye, and had quite a long chat with Macky.

18^th January 1917 – London

A few days ago Mother (Sarah Heath 1859-1944) told me that she had arranged with Dryden Sneyd, my cousin, to give a little dance, which took place tonight. Dryden is a field gunner; he had been in France for ages, was awarded the MC and is now home on a month’s leave. The dance was a great success, Billy Heath (Maj Gen. Gerard William Heath CBE, DSO MC 1899-1980), my cousin, came and, though wounded in the foot, danced all the time. Muni Sneyd brought a party of twenty, among whom were several Australians.

19^th January 1917

Today has been quite eventful, First we went to the Carlton and had tea with Captain Phillips. He was doctor and had joined the Australian Army Medical Corps. He was very interesting about Australia and said that he found the manners and customs of England so strange and hard to remember! We asked him to come back with us to supper, and we put some records on the Vocation and danced. Uncle Mike Gambier and Aunt Irene turned up and stayed a short time.

When Mother went to the door to let them out there was a muffled roar. She thought it was the Zepps again. This was about 7pm. However, there was nothing to be seen, so we forgot about it until half an hour later when Alice, the parlourmaid, appeared with a telephone message; there had been an explosion somewhere in north London, and our little kitchenmaid, who was out for the evening, had fainted in the tram from shock and a policeman was bringing her home in a taxi.

Captain Phillips being a doctor, we turned to him for instructions. When the taxi arrived she was put to bed with hot water bottles and brandy. For some time she was half-conscious, and kept talking about flames and Zeppelins. Then she went to sleep and woke up later quite all right, but very shaken. We are afraid this explosion was at Woolwich Arsenal – a disaster for the munitions.

12^th February 1917

I went to Anstie with Father (Cuthbert Eden Heath) tonight. I am overjoyed to be back here. Start work tomorrow.

16^th February 1917 – Anstie Grange

This was an eventful day. To being with I heard in the village (Holmwood or Coldharbour) that my cousin, Captain Fred Heath (1889-1954), younger brother of Raymond (Capt Raymond Heath 1885-1915) who was killed in 1915, had been seriously wound in the neck. This was the first I had heard or it – the village grapevine knows everything.

This evening we were told that a convoy of thirty was coming in at midnight. Great excitement among the upstairs people, as there were only twenty-five beds, but someone raised some others and everything was beautifully arranged. It was 2.30 when the convoy arrived – thirteen walking cases and seventeen stretchers. The last man was tremendously bandaged and looked – what we could see of him – very ill. We sent up drinks and waited until3.45, when I was sent to bed because I had been up early. And the last case, the very last to be taken in, was Fred Heath himself! I felt he was coming somehow, but for all that it was a great surprise.

( Capt Frederick Dunbar Heath 1889-1954 – severely wounded Wylschaets, being shot through the neck and when he arrived at Anstie Grange Red Cross Hospital was paralysed in both arms and legs, but made a marvellous recovery)

17^th February 1917 – Anstie Grange

Commandant took me up to see Fred this morning. He looks very ill and is in great pain. His right side is half paralysed and he cannot speak. It is extraordinary that he should be here – he had not asked to come, nor even mentioned the place. How strange the way things work out.

I only had three hours’ sleep last night. Am fagged out.

27^th April 1917

Much excitement when we heard that a plane had crashed out Snake’s Hill way; doctor went out and brought back the pilot, who proved to be the famous ace Captain A. de B. Brandon, DSO, MC. Who has brought down two Zeppelins. He was badly hurt, leg fractured, but is getting along well now and walking on crutches.

Anzac has gone and Fred has left. He is now at the Empire Hospital, St. Vincent’s Square – the place where Brian Brooke died. He is going on well, but needs special treatment. Great joke – Mother is always at daggers drawn with Fred’s parents at their house, Kitlands, and they were not allowed at Anstie. But she could not forbid them visiting their son at Anstie, and they came through the wood every day to see him.

(Fred Heath’ parents Arthur Raymond Heath 1854-1943 and Flora Jean Baxter 1860-1953)

Kitlands is another family home, said to date from Saxon times. It is a rambling old house, enlarged from time to time, and set in a wonderful garden. Here there are walls of rhododendrons, glades of roses and azaleas and some exotic and quite famous trees, brought back from distant lands by my grandfather, the sailor Leopold Heath (Admiral Sir Leopold Heath), and given to his brother Douglas who was a dedicated gardener.

17^th May 1917

I had my leave two days ago, and now we are in the West Country for a while, starting at Plymouth. Fred has come back to Anstie and is to stay there until he is fit. He had made a very good recovery, speaks and walks (still on crutches) quite well.

18^th May 1917

Captain and Mrs Brooke are here too. Their boy, Pat, is ill in his ship with typhoid, and she spends all her time with him. Pat is making slow progress. He is the youngest of the boys of the Fairley branch of the family.

We went for a walk towards Devonport where we saw the Russian man o’war Askold (five funnels hence her nickname of ‘Packet of Woodbines’). She is here refitting as she has run out of ammunition, and we have none to fit her guns.

23^rd May 1917

Newton Abbot is a quaint little place. Went to the market this morning, we were interested in the Dartmoor ponies – small, very strongly made, with an Arab look about them.

25^th May 1917

Had a ride this afternoon with Father (Cuthbert Eden Heath). I had a strong little dun cob. We went up over the moors, but I am disappointed in Devon scenery. Moors indeed, on the top of the hill, but cultivation up all the slopes – very dull. I rode down a narrow, twisting track; my sure-footed Dartmoor pony never made a mistake. When we returned to the top, Father was angry with me for the first time in my life, as his big horse could not follow the narrow track, and he was worried.

26^th May 1917

Pat Brooke has died, ten months and one day after Brian. He is the third son the Brookes have lost in this war, and they have also lost their son-in-law. One of the sons and the son-in-law were both VCs. The last remaining boy is in India and married. The poor parents are devastated with grief – all their splendid sons gone, except one. It makes one’s heart ache and there is nothing one can do to help.

2nd June 1917

Gt Grandpa in Portsmouth awarding Military Medal to Gt Mouat, 3rd / Hants.

Genesta Heath's dairy continues.

16^th June 1917

Back to Anstie

17^th August 1917

Today the hospital closes for three weeks’ cleaning – badly needed, in spite of our efforts! We have been getting rid of patients by degrees; most have gone to the Cambridge Hospital. Today the last six went.

17^th August 1917

Came to London a short time ago. Father and I went on to Portsmouth to stay for a weekend with Uncle Fred (General Frederick C. Heath-Caldwell CB) who is the GOC there, and Aunt Connie (Constance Heath-Caldwell). There was a small dinner party for the Commander-in-Chief, Admiral Sir Stanley Colville.

18^th August 1917

In the morning we went round the harbour in the Admiral’s barge, escorted by the charming coxswain. Then on foot round the dockyard and saw torpedoed ships, one of which, the Ettrick, had her bows completely blown off. She was escorting a transport and had managed to intercept a torpedo fired from a German submarine, thus saving the other ship.

Dinner at Admiralty House, where Princess Vitoria (once) of Schleswig Holstein is staying. She is charming and most amusing. Her side beat us at billiards.

19^th August 1917

Went to church at the regimental chapel – a delightful service, nearly all singing. Lunch on board ‘Superb’ Uncle Herbert’s flagship (Admiral Sir Herbert Heath) which is in dry dock undergoing repairs. Captain D’Ath took us round her. She is a wonderful ship, a dreadnought.

On our way home we saw tanks in the distance and found our way there. Princess Victoria and Lady Adelaide Colville were there; they had both been in one, and Uncle Fred (General F. Heath-Caldwell) said I might go. One squeezes through a tiny door into a dark and oily interior. It was very bumpy and very hot, yet we were going over smooth ground and the top was open. I would not have missed it for anything. [Genesta’s note - These were the first tanks to go over seas – the first every built ]

Wednesday 3rd October 1917

To Aberdeen for a few days, then on to the Brookes at Fairley. The house is full of mementoes of their dead sons, and hanging up in the hall is Brian’s old rifle with a record on it of the beasts he shot.The spae-wife told my fortune and was good about the past. For the future – nous verrons. While I was there we went to the regimental sports and to a garden party given by the Gey Gordons. (Gey, I am told, is Gaelic for ‘terrible,’ and the clan had earned itself this name centuries ago. People who don’t know any better call them the ‘Gay’ Gordons.) Joined Father and Mother and went on to Aboyne. While we were there I was lent a fat piebald pony belonging to the hotel. I went with Father to his shooting moor, Lumphanan, and explored the hills around. On top of one is a disused quarry, and a big pond with a low wall round it. It gave me quite a shock when I first came on it, it was so still and deep; and, as a storm was coming up, there was a weird, dark look about everything. It fascinated me. 

[Sir Harry Vesey Brooke, KBE, and Lady Brooke of Fairley House, Countesswells.]

Tuesday 30th October 1917 - London.

There was a raid tonight. I was asleep when I found myself being hauled out of bed. The Take Cover whistles were going down every street, also hooters which the army uses on its cars – they are more noisy and certainly more penetrating than any whistle. We trooped downstairs in every degree of undress.The guns started in the East End. Every now and then Mother would go to the door and open it half an inch. The guns grew louder and louder as the Boche came nearer. Once or twice we heard the hum of the Zeppelin, but couldn’t see it. Shrapnel from our guns tinkled down outside. This lasted for about two hours. Then it suddenly stopped.

Tuesday 6th November 1917

Today I came to the Hill Hospital, Farnham, to work in the wards. The Commandant is my cousin, Dot Gore Browne, who also runs Anstie. This place is for the ranks.

Friday 30th November 1917

There is a camp not far from here, at Farnham, where some Serbians hare stationed. This morning they marched along the high road, singing most beautifully: a weird, eastern-sounding chant which they sand in parts. They looked rough and untidy, but they are grand fighters. I wish I could hear them singing again; it was fascinating and haunting. 

Wednesday 12th December 1917

Today I was present at my first operation. It was not very serious – a hand. I got through it safely!These boys’ pluck is simply incredible. Everyone talks of it and everyone knows it, but you don’t realize it until you are with them yourself. One boy was having his arm massaged by my blind cousin, Harry Crofton. I am not sure what was wrong with it, but it had been in a sling for ages and this was the first time it had been massaged. I was behind him and could not see his face, but his head was twisted sideways and down onto the table with the agony of it, and he gasped, but never let out a word or groan.

Tuesday 25th December 1917

High festivities today and lots of work preparing things. They had a truly Xmas pudding for lunch: full of threepenny bits and silver emblems. They all had fires in their wards, too, which was a great joy, and we spent the afternoon hanging small presents on the Christmas tree. Then came tea, with crackers and cakes to their hearts’ content; we put paper head-dresses on top of our caps, and looked festive. After tea we took the presents off the tree again and handed them out. The boys drew for them in a box of numbered tickets, and then we hunted frantically round for the things indicated on the tickets, feeling their waiting eyes upon us, and deafened by the absolutely indescribable noises of the musical things they got. I believe this will be the last war year; next year will bring us victory and peace.