u3a member recounts stories from the Battle of Passchendaele

Tony, a member of St. Ives u3a, marked Remembrance Day last year by buying a limited edition poppy pin marking the 100^th anniversary of the Battle of Passchendaele, in which his grandfather fought. He then went on to research his grandfather's story and those of other soldiers who lost their lives in the battle - here he shares those stories.

Remembrance Day is a time for our nation to stop, remember, and give thanks silently for all those who made the greatest of sacrifices for the freedom we take for granted in our everyday lives.

As the Day of Remembrance, 11th November 2024, drew near once again, two moving and significant memories came to the forefront of my mind. The first is a personal memory; the second is a debt of gratitude that I feel I owe to a man not known to me, one of the fallen.

The first memory is that of my own maternal grandfather, William Thomas Northfield, Corporal, 202731 Suffolk Regiment. His campaign medals are now firmly in my keeping.

I have, from the internet, his actual service record as a survivor of the conflict. I still recall his latter years, lived quietly in a tiny terraced house with his wife, May. I remember the smart, upstanding soldier (pictured above) as a frail old man, offering tea to his wife, cup, saucer and spoon jangling nervously in his hands. Another memory I have is watching him frying sausages in a pan.

“Tony,” he said, “I have seen dead men lying in rows, just like these sausages.” Surely both age and war had taken their toll on this quiet and dignified pensioner. My only regret is that he passed away at the age of 91, unaware that that his very first granddaughter, Catherine Victoria, would be born some six months later. Sitting by his bed, I had tried to tell him, but realised that by then he was beyond reach. However, some thread of optimism suggested that, just maybe, he had heard? It would have pleased him enormously.

My second memory I consider to be a debt of honour to a soldier completely unknown to me but with his memory in my safekeeping. He is one Gunner John Henry Wolverson, 136418 Royal Field Artillery, killed in action on 20 October 1917. The picture below is an actual picture of Corporal Wolverson, published some time after his death.

For Gunner Wolverson, along with the traditional red poppy, there is the tiniest metal poppy, deeply personal and specifically made for this brave soldier. In total, the British Legion commissioned the making of 60,083 of these poppies, one for each of the British soldiers killed in the Battle of Passchendaele.

In the making of these poppies, each one unique, soil from the actual battlefield site is ground into powder and mixed with red enamel. Each poppy therefore contains the 'essence' of the battlefield. There is a commemorative certificate, one for each of the fallen, to go along with the poppy or ‘medal’. Mine was that of John Henry Wolverson.

It is easy for me to feel a deep affinity with John Henry as he is, tragically, one of the many ‘lost’, who have no known grave. He perished in the sea of mud which was the battlefield. For the Wolverson family of Bradley, this must have been a disaster beyond comprehension, as John Henry was the second son to die in battle in less than three months later. His brother Edwin is interred in Dozinghem Military Cemetery, Belgium, with a fitting headstone.

So when the time of the traditional two minutes’ silence arrived, I was one of the quietly respectful crowd gathered around our local war memorial, witnessing the standard bearers gradually lowering their flags. A lone bugler broke the silence, poignantly intoning the plaintive notes of the Last Post in the chill autumn air. My grandfather’s now-warm medals were clutched in my hand and Henry Wolverson’s metal poppy was proudly displayed on my lapel, for all to witness.