THROUGH SLUSH AND MUD:
THE LETTERS
He chaffs with frustration that despite his own letter writing efforts, he gets too few in return, dispenses advice to his mum on running the family farm and to his two brothers on various activities, updates his sisters on family acquaintances he comes across who are also serving in the army and escapes the drudgery or danger around him by imagining scenes of comforting family evenings back home. It is in his letters that Bert’s character shines through: his humour - both gently cajoling and now and then sarcastic - his compassion, his warmth for the family and at times a more acerbic side. There are also poignant glimpses into a maturing sense of the realities of the war he is involved in.
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He writes because it is a way to stay connected with normality and with those he loves, the promise that he will make it back one day to the life left behind: “Just a line or two to say how pleased I was to receive your letters.”
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He writes to keep himself occupied in lonely hours: “I am writing this letter for want of something to do this evening, as there is very little amusements in this place.”
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He writes because it allows him to exorcise some of the emotions caused by the unending pointlessness of it all, even when he feels writing home is the last thing he wants to do. “Don’t be disappointed if my letters do not come as often as usual, as I can only write when I get the opportunity. I find it hard now to settle down to write now.”
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He writes even when it costs him dearly to so: “I can’t write very well, as my hands are numb with the cold.”
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The threat of censorship looms in his letters however, perhaps at times curtailing what he would truly want to say. There was a general belief among the troops that most letters were seen by the censor – in fact only a minuscule number were. Only one of Bert’s letters has a red Censor’s stamp on it - and that was written while still on ship coming out from New Zealand. But, as a result of the fear of the censor, letters by soldiers are commonly headed 'somewhere in France,' self-censoring to comply with orders not to reveal troop locations - Bert uses this phrasing and directly comments several times about whether the censor will look at his letters. When he feels safe to write, he is mainly critical of the conditions troops endured. Early on in his service, in April 1917 while still waiting to get to the front, he also mentions that soldiers are rationed on pages. “We are allowed to write only two pages, so this is the end of the penny section.” But it is not clear if that restriction lasted once he was at the front and he, at times, wrote far more than two pages – though many more times the letters end almost abruptly as he runs out of things to say, often openly admitting that he can’t think of anything more to write or is simply too tired to write anymore.
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There are an estimated 61 surviving letters from Bert to family and friends back in New Zealand and some picture Post Cards. Estimated is all that can be said, because 23 of the letters are incomplete – stray pages, some with no indication of who they were written to or when. Some may actually be pages from a single letter, but with missing pages between them it is impossible to confirm that. In the transcription below these are indicated as ‘Fragments’ as opposed to full letters.
It is tempting to try to piece some of the letters together based on the paper they are written on or the colour of pen or pencil Bert used. But that is not reliable. The letters are written on whatever paper Bert could lay his hands on and in a variety of pencil and ink - sometimes both pencil and ink used in the same letter, perhaps indicating they are written over a period of days, and the various pages of a single letter can be on completely different sized paper.
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Many of his letters are written on YMCA letterhead and in one letter he comments favourably that “the YMCA has done some good work over here, and there is always a YMCA tent behind the lines in almost any village where we can buy a welcome cup of tea, and write a letter. I have seen YMCA’s even in dugouts behind the trenches well within range of the Huns’ guns.”
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Alongside the challenge of piecing together pages, many, even full letters, are undated. Trying to estimate when the undated were written and assemble the corpus of letters in a time line is another exercise in frustration. The best guide is the internal evidence of what he writes about – can it be checked against an entry in his diary or military records, or, failing that, does it relate to a topic in a firmly dated letter. There are some particularly thorny letters where it is absolutely impossible however. Of especial frustration is a series of letters involving the innocuous topic of ‘threading beans’. All evidence points to various of these letters being written in May, August and September. But why on earth would Bert be bringing up threaded beans repeatedly over a six month period? Most probably I have the dating wrong, but cannot reconcile a better order. What you find therefore is the letters timelined, because that is the most sensible way to read them, in an order which is my best guess, with the unhelpful caveat that I could be entirely wrong in some cases.
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Some of the letters also carry a Roman numeral. This numbering was added by family members at some time during the years as they tried to put the letters in order. The numbers were not written by Bert. At least one letter also has the word ‘early’ written on it, again an effort to date the letters.
Putting aside such minor issues of dating and ordering, the fact that 100 years on we have so much from Bert in his own hand is remarkable and a tribute should rightly be paid to all family members during those years who have been stewards to this precious treasure. The letters are gathered from a wide distribution. Most were written to the immediate family in New Zealand, but there is also a letter to a family friend who obviously kindly passed it onto the family and one to Uncle Alf in the UK who must have posted it on.
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The table below sets out who Bert wrote letters to and includes the ages of the family members in 1917 when the majority of the letters were written. Of the surviving letters the greatest number were to Bert’s mother, his older sister Nellie (sometimes spelt Nelly) and brother Frank. Clearly the girls from Doris downwards were too young to receive personal letters themselves.
It is clear Bert had a strong bond with Nellie and Frank. While his letters to his mum are usually upbeat or discuss family business, with Nellie he confided his true feelings at times and with Frank he allowed a little more of the gritty details of war to come through.
There are also three letters to the family after Bert’s death by soldiers from his unit: two are fragments and the third is a complete letter from Gordon Coates, Bert’s company commander. There is also a letter from Fred Cashmore and a postcard from Bert’s friend Mick Kew.
Letters before leaving New Zealand
The Gadd home in Pokeno with Frank sitting on the steps.
Bert enlisted on 24 July 1916 and by 26 July he was at Trentham and then Featherstone Military Camps in Wellington.
Letter 01
Full letter: One single sided page. A tear at the bottom with some words now lost.
To: Frank
Date: 12 August 1916, at Trentham Military Camp, Wellington
Notes: Bert references someone called Sratchyus (I think that spelling is correct.) He may be an officer of the territorials in Pokeno which Bert served with or a school teacher.
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Dear Frank,
Just a scrape o’ the pen to let you know how things are going. I am glad to say that we have no officers of the Sratchyus species. They treat us as man to man and we get on well together. We have had a little bayonet drill but most of the instruction we have received is mostly forming fours, rifle exercises etc. This week we have been having musketry, that is trigger pressing, loading, firing position etc. but we have not yet done any firing. We have physical exercises daily and a gargle parade every evening. They gradually increase the training till everyone is as hard as nails. They say this is a picnic to Featherston. I scored 28 points out of 30 at the shooting gallery. There is a place here just like a battlefield, with a network of trenches, dugouts, sandbags, barbed wire, entanglements etc. I suppose you have heard of the fame of the Trentham Stew. We get it every morning for breakfast, bread and jam for lunch and beef or mutton and spuds cooked with their jackets on, for tea. How are the bunnies getting on? They had better beware when I am home [missing words]. Do you ever go out shooting? Keep that gun well-greased and oiled.
Bert.
P.S. Tell Rosie and [letter is ripped]
Letter 02
Full letter: One single sided page.
To: Mother
Date: 12 August 1916, at Trentham.
Note: The letter talks about the Kews who were next door neighbours in Pokeno - Manfred Kew and his wife, Margaret, called by Bert “Mrs Kew” or “Nurse Kew,” their son Milo, known as Mick and a great a mate of Bert, and their unmarried daughter Alice who had a little girl Elsie. Mick also served in the NZ forces in France. Bert talks about Mick, Alice and little Elsie in other letters and has their addresses in his diary. Further notes on the Kews are at the end of the letters.
Dear Mother,
I received your welcome letter and many thanks for the cake. I received a letter from Mrs Kew. You will be surprised to hear that we will be shifting camp tomorrow to a place near Featherston on account of the influenza and measles going around the camp. There have been many cases of sickness and the camp is to be fumigated while we are away. I am sorry to hear that the dairy is no good but it needs proper roofing iron. I have been paid and I will settle up with you on leave. We receive 4s a day for the first month and 5s a day after. I will write and let you know my address in a day or two. Have you posted the accordion to me? There are several musicians in our hut. I am sorry to hear of the death of Edie’s child and it will be a sad blow to them. Tell Frank to improve his writing. I think it is very bad for a shop assistant. I have received two letters from Amy. Don’t write till I send my new address. I recognise many old acquaintances in the 16th , two of whom is one of the McIvor’s from Point Chev. and one of the Mills, late of Congregational Church. Well this is all I can think of so I will now close.
Bert.
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Letter 03
Fragment: We only have one single sided page remaining. The letter stops mid-sentence, so further pages are missing.
To: Mother.
Date: Undated, but 1916 while at Camp Featherston, Wellington.
Note: A ‘housewife’ is a small piece of kit containing sewing needles, thread etc. Regarding the farm, during the war the family lived in Pokeno. They seemed to have lived in two houses before finally settling on the farm, halfway between Pokeno and Mercer on the old Great South Rd. The area has undergone many roading changes since with realignments of Great South Rd and State Highway One. These days the old Great South Rd route in this area is called Pioneer Rd. The site of the farm is on the western side of Pioneer Rd – the right-hand side as you leave Pokeno. It is rough country and very hilly. In later years David and Doris Gadd, Bert’s brother and sister, took David’s son David Bernard Hallard Gadd, to look at the site. The old house had by then been pulled down. It is difficult today to determine where the actual site was.
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Dear Mother,
I am writing this letter as I have nothing to do at night so I fill in time writing. Did you receive the money order? When you go to town will you buy a housewife for me. They are more than useful and I don’t think they cost much. Some of the fellows received some but I missed them. You will be shocked to hear that I have bought a pipe. Tell Rosie to put the kettle on as I will want a good cup ‘o tea as soon as I get home on leave. A good cup is what we don’t get here. How is Pop getting on? Is the farm all right? You do not tell me much news in your letters. If you want the dairy to be any use, it must have proper roofing iron. The Wellington papers aren’t a patch against the Auckland ones, so I would like you to post me the Saturday Star now and then. I am one of Bill Massey’s navvy’s, but to be correct, I have been digging trenches today with a pick and shovel. How did you like having your teeth extracted. I don’t want to go to the dentist in a hurry. We get to know the character of each other. The chap who dodges his turn at mess orderly and doing his …
Letter 04
Full letter: One single sided page.
To: Mother:
Date: Undated but from early November 1916 due to the reference to embarkation.
Note: The reference in the PS note about photos gives us a clue that Bert has had his photo in uniform taken by now. Many soldiers had photos taken before leaving and they all look similar, often with the same background and furniture in the photographer’s studio. Bert says he is not sending a photo to Cash, the nick name for beloved uncle Percy Cashmore who lived in NZ.
Dear Mom,
Enclose find 3 notes. The date for embarkment has now been altered to the 14th of this month, and we do not go South. I suppose they have already sent you the next-of-kin tickets and we have no say in the matter. We will be on active service tomorrow or rather they call it so, as we will be paid 2s per day, and the rest to next-of-kin. Alice Kew sent to me combination fork, knife and spoon, but the tag is all I received. I have made all enquiries but I fear it’s lost, but it may turn up in the dead letter office. We are having awful weather. Give my love to all the kids and tell them to write.
You loving son Bert. No 31988.
P.S. Am not posting photos to Cash
Bert had this photo taken of him before leaving Wellington.
Letters on ship enroute to England
The Maunganui as it leaves Wellington Harbour.
Letter 05
Fragment: One single sided page that ends mid-sentence. The other pages are missing.
To: Mother
Date: 19 November 1916, aboard HMNZT Maunganui
Dear Mother,
Just a few lines to let you know how I am getting on. Excuse my writing in pencil as it is very awkward to write in ink, as there is no table to rest the writing paper on. We have no writing room or any place to spend the evening, as every bit of space is used. This sailor’s life suits me, and I have not yet been sea-sick and have not missed a meal. We are out of sight of land. We are warned to give no information about what direction we are going, or at what ports we call and as our letters are censored, you will understand if there is not much news in my letter. I have a good notion where we are making for but I cannot tell you. It is Sunday morning and I am writing this on deck ....
Letter 06
Fragment: One single sided page, the last page in a letter. It may well be a missing page from Letter 05 to his mother, but it does not flow immediately on from Letter 05, so if it is the same letter, there are other pages missing. Letter 05 and 06 are written on the same pad paper and in pencil, which Bert specifically mentions in Letter 05. The only internal evidence that the last page might not be a letter to his mum is a cheeky anecdote that the person he is writing to fell down stairs in their haste to get to the dinner table – does that sound too flippant a comment that Bert would make to his mum, so is the last page all that survives of a separate letter to Frank or one of his sisters?
To: Unknown
Date: 19 November 1916, aboard HMNZT Maunganui
Note: In November 1902 the family left England, sailing out to New Zealand on the maiden voyage of the Corinthic, which the dinner bell anecdote relates to. Also, of interest, there is a red Censor’s stamp showing that his letter has been seen and passed by a censor.
... Ansell who is now first lieutenant. He is on the staff and his headquarters is at Palmerston. I am doing the early to bed, early to rise wheeze but I can’t say that I am wise. Lights out goes at 9pm and get up at 5.30am. The rocking motion makes one sleep well. We have ship biscuits and cheese on the bill of fare and it reminds me of the balmy days on board the Corinthic and every time I go down the stairs, reminds me of the time when you rolled down the stairs on the Corinthic in your hurry to get to the table when you heard the dinner bell go.
Well I must now ring off.
Bert.
Letter 07
Full letter: Two single sided pages. Plus, a 12cm rectangle piece of paper with a printed poem which Bert has sent home.
To: Mother
Date: Undated, but from late November aboard the Maunganui as they have called into Albany, Australia, but not yet reached South Africa.
Note: The poem is titled For Honour And For Her, which is said to have been distributed by the YMCA in its thousands to soldiers. Cousin Edie is the daughter of Uncle David Gadd, the brother of Bert’s father Herbert senior, who had also emigrated to New Zealand. They lived in New Plymouth. She married Alex Taylor. Their address is written into the back of one of Bert’s war diaries.
Dear Mother,
There is not much news to tell, but I thought I would drop you a note to let you know that I am well and in splendid health. We have only called at one port so far, but we are not permitted to give any names. The weather is getting very hot, and very likely we will be allowed to sleep on deck in a few days. We have seen very little land, and we have been out of sight of land for over a week. We are having splendid weather, and the sea is fairly calm. Mrs Kew could not expect you to write to Mick, because she happens to write to me, as you scarcely know him, whereas I have been acquainted with her since I have lived in Pokeno. I pay more attention to cleanliness than I ever did before, and I have now a good set of teeth, which I take good care to keep clean. This training has taught me many good habits, and also to pay more attention to the serious things of this life. I am enclosing a little pamphlet, which appeals to me very much. I received a letter from my cousin Edie, and I have forgotten Alex’s surname, so I want you to tell me what it is as I will be expected to answer it, as I do not know how to address the letter. I want you to answer my letters, so that I will have a big batch when we get our next mail. Well I must now close with best love to you and all.
Bert
Letter 08
Full letter: Two single sided pages.
To: Frank
Date: Undated, but late November aboard the Maunganui
Note: The Kia Tupato was a shipboard magazine for the troops.
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Dear Frank,
Just a scrape o’ the pen to let you know that I am still alive and kicketh. We are not permitted to give the date on our letters, and the only information I can tell you is that we are somewhere on the ocean. Since writing Mom’s letter, the sea has become fairly rough, and at present the ship is attempting to stand on its end in the water. There is a notice pasted up telling us to beware of spies, and not to discuss military matters to strangers. I am posting the Kia Tupato, which I want you to keep, as I would value it in later years. Porpoises are plentiful, and they follow the ship in shoals of about a hundred. I am always striking fatigue, and today I am working down the butcher’s shop. The meat, butter etc is kept in cold storage, and bread is baked daily. Physical exercises is the main item on the programme, and semaphore comes next. The watch is working well. We were having sports one of the days, and the alarm went for boatdrill, and every one had to rush away and don the lifebelts. Washing in salt water is rotten, and it makes our faces like sandpaper and we use them for striking matches on. The hair becomes liketh unto coconut matting Well this is the end of the penny section,
Bert
Letter 09
Post Card: Picturing Promenade Pier, Cape Town.
To: Amy
Date: 11 December 1917. The ship docked at Cape Town from 10 to 27 December, 1917.
Dear Amy, I am writing this in Capetown. I like this place, which is about the size of Auckland. About half the population are blacks. We had fairly rough weather coming in to Table Bay, but today the weather was splendid. I can remember the Table Mountain. There are Australians, South Africans and British. Well, Goodbye, Bert. This will not be censored.
Letter 10
Post Card: Picturing Promenade Pier, Cape Town.
To: Nellie
Date: Probably the same day as the postcard above as both postcards are the same picture.
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Dear Nelly, I am writing this in Capetown, which is our second port of call. The town is somewhat about the size of Auckland, but it is more cosmopolitan and there are many blacks. I have done the sights. This will not be censored. Bert. In haste.
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Letter 11
Full Letter:
To: Philip Hitchen, a friend from Pokeno of similar age. Bert mentions him with disapproval in later letters because Philip is trying to avoid the draft.
Date: Undated but definitely while at sea as Bert says they have just called at a port, and most probably prior to Christmas 1916 because he wishes Philip happy Christmas – so either they have just been into Albany, Australia, in late November, or Capetown in early December.
Note: The rainy 19th refers to the 19th reinforcements to the NZEF which Bert was part of. The family has a photo of a Mrs Hitchens, presumably Philip’s mum, dated to 1949 indicating the families continued to keep in touch.
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Dear Philip,
You will perhaps think that I am a long time answering your letter and this reply will be a long time before it reaches you. Thanks very much for the photograph and I think it a very good one. We had a good reception at Wellington and for once the Rainy 19th had good weather. You will think that there is little news in my letters but we are not permitted to give any information concerning our whereabouts or at what ports we may call and our letters are censored. Today we called at a port, I am not permitted to give the name of it but I think you could have a good guess. I had leave to go on shore this morning and I was glad to stretch my legs a bit on land again. This afternoon I am on guard; supposed to be looking after the officers’ quarters and to see that no one ‘rooks’ anything, but I am taking the opportunity to write this letter. The sailor’s life suits me and seasickness does not worry me. We are learning semaphore signalling. I will not receive any mail for a long while and I suppose it will be all in a bunch and there will be some news to tell. We get good food and much better than in camp. We have been vaccinated and I wonder what the next thing will be. We were inoculated twice in camp and had a swab of wadding jammed down our necks to see if there was any cero spinal meningitis germs in our throats, besides having to gargle every day. We have had no rough weather to speak of. Well I hope I will have more news in my next letter, so I will now ring off, with best wishes for a happy Xmas.
Your sincere friend Bert.
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Letter 12
Fragment: Two single sided pages. There is no first page to show who it was addressed to or when it was written. But from the tone, it is likely to be a letter to Frank.
To: Unknown, but probably Frank.
Date: Undated. I have positioned it as being written at sea because thematically it fits here, talking about the voyage, but it could well have been written during his first day at Sling when he spent time sending a scree of letters back home, often recounting events at sea and giving details such as the ports called at which he had been so careful to avoid while actually during the trip. In his letter to mother (letter 13) he talks about dodging submarines, which matches references in this letter, and tells her he has included more information in a letter to Frank. This could be that letter to Frank. The paper the letter is written on also matches the early letters sent from Sling – though, as I have said, trying to match the letters by the physical paper is fraught.
Note: The letter includes a little sketch at the bottom which could be the periscope of a submarine, or a Morse code machine.
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...it is the periscope they would aim for, as a submarine is useless when that is gone. Crossing the line was great sport and we kept up the custom of the Father Neptune business, an article about which is in the Kia Tupato, so I will not describe it. The victims who were introduced to the barber and the hose were all the officers, as they did not have time to deal with the privates, so the men began to look after some similar idea of amusement so they hit upon the idea of ducking everyone in the bath. Sergeants, sergeant majors and everyone they could lay their hands on were heaved into a bath of salt water, clothes and all. Our cabin (No.40) put up a fight and you will see a reference to it in the Kia Tupato. That n..... chap of the sewer ducking fame, late of the Daisy Field, with whom you are acquainted, would have been amongst his element if he had been here. The great card game here is five hundred and the mania now on is the game of draughts and someone is always arranging draught and chess tournaments. I am ‘some kid’ at semaphore signalling and we are learning the Morse code, this dot dash business …./--. Well I must now hang up the receiver as I must switch on to another number.
Ring!! Ring
Bert.
Letters from Sling
New Zealand soldiers writing letters in a hut at Sling
Letter 13
Full letter: Three single side pages.
To: Mother
Date: 30 January 1917
Note: Uncle Alf is Alf Cashmore, husband of Ada-Louie Gadd the sister of Bert’s father, Herbert senior. Alf is also brother to Bert’s mum Annie (nee Cashmore). David is Bert’s youngest brother, aged 14 at the time. David did not end up going to High School as there was no real way to get to a high school from Pokeno and he did eventually earn his living from hard graft, first at the family grocery store in Hamilton and then, after his own war service in WWII, labouring in the fields at Ruakura.
Dear Mother and All,
We arrived at Devonport on the 29th of January, after about 11 weeks on the water. This is the first day we have spent here, and I have not had time to look around, as we have had a busy day getting medically examined, receiving our packs, rifles etc. We called at Albany and then called at Capetown, where we were delayed on account of the submarines. Our next stop was at the Island of St Helena, but we did not go ashore, as it possesses no harbour or wharves, and only has a small population. Our next call was at Freetown, the capital of Sierra Leon, but we did not go ashore. But we have now managed to reach our destination without harm, after dodging around and manoeuvring to avoid submarines. We took train from Devonport and had a 8 hours journey, passing through Exeter. We arrived at Sling Camp about 9 o’clock, and we carried our kitbags for about a mile till we reached our quarters. The Salisbury Plains stretch for miles with camps dotted here and there. It surprised me to see such a wide expanse of open country in England and there is more elbow room here than in NZ camps. The weather is very cold, but there is not any snow, but there is a very sharp frost, and there are lumps of ice to be seen everywhere, the water taps being frozen hard. I have only seen New Zealanders here yet. This is supposed to be a record cold snap, but I do not seem to feel the cold any more than in NZ. Well I have a lot of letters to write before the next mail goes. We had our mail today, and I received 7 letters, one from yourself with Uncle Alf’s letter, one from Frank, another from Laura, and one from Amy. It is kind of his invitation, but he can leave the “dainties” out, as I am not a kid. It was mean of Nelly not writing. Were my letters from Cape Town censored? Goodness knows where I will be by the time you receive this letter. I think it would be best to send David to the High School as he has the brains, and he would not be able to make his living by hard work. For further news, see Frank’s letter. Well I must now close hoping you are all well at home.
Your loving son Bert.
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Letter 14
Fragment: Two single sided pages. No first page so we cannot definitely say who it was sent to or when. Interestingly the second page is on different paper. He evidently comes to the end of his pad used for the last few letters and switches to the next available paper, supplied by the YMCA. It also begins in pencil, then ink, then reverts to pencil again.
To: Unknown.
Date: Undated, but within his first few days at Sling, because he says that within a week of enduring the training here, they will be machines with a number.
...shaved, merits 3 days CB. Our heads have all had a jail crop, and will be clipped fortnightly, and I think Convict 31988 fits better than Prvte So-and So. We only wear our uniforms, denims having been given in. We are to be taught the noble art of bayoneting Germans and the still more gentler art of throwing bombs, how to crawl through barb wire entanglements. We will also be drilled with gas helmets, and we will have to pass through a room filled with gas twice as strong as the Huns use. They soon make soldiers of us here, and when an order is given it must be done, and smartly. They are going to rub it in, and in a week’s time we will just be machines with a number. A chap has to smarten up here, and NZ camps are home sweet homes to these. Every man must always be dressed neat and tidy with buttons polished etc. A chap has scarcely a minute to himself, and we have lectures three nights a week. E Coy is now a thing of the past, as we have all been broken up and drafted into different companies. In future my address is the same as it was
Frank Gadd circa 1917.
before, although I am in the 4th Platoon First Auckland Company. Well I must now finish,
In Haste, Bert.
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Letter 15
Fragment: Three single sided pages, but the letter ends mid-sentence so there are further pages that are missing.
To: Frank.
Date: 11 February 1917, at Sling Camp
Note: Elsie is Alice Kew’s daughter. Jessie is a younger sister of Bert. When describing bayonet training Bert has included a drawing of himself advancing on a trench where a German is hidden with a spiked helmet poking over the top.
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Dear Frank,
Just a scrape of the pencil to let you know that I have not yet been frozen to death, although very near it. Snow has been on the ground a week and it seems like snowing today. The training is altogether different to that in NZ. The kai is better here but the climate is not. Nothing is wasted here and they make use of all the scraps of bread and bones. The chap who is winning this war, or will win it, is not the flash mounteds or the artillery signallers or tunnellers, but the infantryman. We are obliged to know all the tricks of the trade, including the use of machine guns, Lewis guns etc, semaphore and Morse signalling, throwing bombs, digging trenches, putting up barbed wire entanglements at a moment’s notice, and everything about gas attacks and helmets. These hand grenades are great things; they weigh about a lb and are charged with a very powerful explosive. On releasing a safety pin a spring flies back and hits a detonator which ignites a fuse and five seconds after the pin is pulled out the bomb explodes and causes a lot of damage, so they must be thrown directly they are set off. They are delicate things to handle and must be carried ‘this side up’ with care. The New Zealanders use a different way of advancing in a bayonet attack. They advance to the enemy’s trenches firing with the rifle at the hip, so as to keep the enemies heads down in the trench thus preventing them firing at us. Does Jessie still read Elsie books? I wish you would post me Sat. NZ Herald with the supplement now and then. I see by the papers that the USA is still sending notes. A chap has scarcely a minute to himself here and we have to attend lectures nearly every night. Ask Pop does he know a chap named Jim Bassett who worked at Mercer mill. He has got a permanent job here as orderly in the dentists. I have just received ....
Frank Gadd
Letter 16
Fragment: Two double-sided pages. The letter ends mid-sentence so further pages are missing.
To: Father, Herbert Senior
Date: Undated but can be dated from his diary as 24 February 1917.
Note: Bert is recounting a visit back to the family home of Blackheath in Birmingham, meeting a host of his many relatives still living there. He moved to NZ in 1902, aged seven, so his memories of Blackheath are of 15 years ago. To make sense of the myriad of names, refer to the family tree and a further note on family connections at the end of the letter.
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Dear Father,
I am writing this in Waterloo, while waiting for the train back to camp. We only had 3 day’s leave, but I made the most of it. We left the Salisbury Plains on Wed morning about 10 o’clock, and the troop train took us to Waterloo where I had to take the tube railway to Euston to get the B’ham train. I did not get the train that day, because it was too late, and I would never have found the way there with all the streets in darkness. So, I caught the 5 o’clock train the next morning and reached New Street station at 8 o’clock. I had to walk to Snow Hill Station to catch the train to Rowley. I stayed at Uncle Alf’s and he made me very welcome. You would hardly know Blackheath now, as ever so many new buildings have been put up and many large munition works. Uncle Alf seems to be doing well in the grocery business. I did not know that Grandfather was dead till they told me, and I had even sent him a letter from camp, and I wondered why there was no reply. Uncle Charley has been in the Army but he broke down in camp, and was discharged. He could not stand the training and his nerves gave way and they sent him to a hospital. He is not sorry to be out of it, and you can’t blame him. As he was doing nothing he showed me round. We visited Aunt Mary Ann, and she was pleased to see me, and wanted to know how you were all getting on. They are still in the same old house, and Willy Willets, and his wife live next door. We saw Aunt Clara, and Aunt Laura, and I visited Grandmother. Miriam Whyle is working on munitions, and her husband has just been called up for the Army. Herbert Whyle is a very decent chap, and he wants to be remembered to you. I made a mistake when I said Miriam’s husband had been called up; it was Phoebe’s husband I mean. They all seem to be doing well, as they are all getting good money. I saw Rowley Church and it is in a bad state since the fire. The tower had to be taken down as it was not safe with the mine shafts underneath them. I met a chap named Cross, who said he knew you and Wright the butcher, who is still in the same place next to your old shop. I met a funny old chap named William Bird, who deals in rabbits, fish etc, who wanted to know all about you. William Smith, whom you told me to look up, is dead. I went in your shop in High Street, and a woman name Willets, keeps a bootshop there, and she said that you were a cousin of hers. I went through Blackheath Church, and Haleshowen Church. They are about sick of the war here, and food is going up in price....
Further notes about the family mentioned in the letter. The family Bert mentions can be divided into Cashmores and Gadds.
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Cashmores:
Grandfather is Bert’s maternal grandfather Issac Cashmore, who died in January 1917. (Bert’s paternal grandfather Job Gadd died in 1907)
Grandmother is Hannah Cashmore
Uncle Charley is Charles Cashmore, brother of Alf and Bert’s mum Annie.
Aunt Laura is Laura Green nee Cashmore, sister of Alf and Annie.
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Gadds: (A Gadd family tree is with Letter 65)
Aunt Mary-Ann is Mary-Ann Willets, the oldest sister of Bert’s dad Herbert Gadd senior.
Willy Willets - Aunt Mary-Ann is married to Joe Willets, so Willy may be a family relation as well as a neighbour. Also, Hannah Cashmore, Bert’s maternal grandmother had the maiden name Willets. However, equally Willets is a very common name in this region and this person may not be a relative at all.
Aunt Clara is Clara Whyle, another sister of Herbert senior.
Miriam Whyle is the daughter of Clara and Ben Whyle.
Phoebe could be Phoebe Pattison, another sister of Herbert senior. But more probably Bert is talking about Miriam’s sister Phoebe, daughter of Clara and Ben. Regarding the different spelling of Whyle - research of the family tree shows it spelt two ways. It is suspected the spelling was altered sometime during the 1890s or early 1900s.
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Letter 17
Full Letter: Three single side pages.
To: Frank
Date: Undated, but it can be dated from his diary with the visit of Bill Massey and Jo Ward to 27 February at Sling. Bert addresses it “Iceland This Day.”
Dear Frank,
Just a few lines to let you know that this may be the last letter I will be able to send without it being read by the censor. No letters coming from the front ever describe how rotten they are being treated or any complaints, simply because the censor burns such letters, hence the letters from the boys in the trenches describe how well they are being treated. I thought I might tell you this interesting fact, before I go over there. We are expected to get orders to pack up to depart any minute. Everything a soldier wants including his household furniture, on active service, he carries on his back, hence the necessity for carrying as little as possible. In this country you can tell there is a war on. We are on a reduced ration. Butter I have not seen for ages; margarine takes its place. Bill Massey, and Joe Ward were up here to officially open a YMCA place yesterday but I did not have time to have a yarn with them. Our instructors are mostly chaps who have seen active service and one or two Tommies are amongst them. Our bayonette instructor’s language during bayonet practice, runs something like this. “Just look at that man going up to stick a German. Look at the stealthy movements. Anybody would swear he was going to rob a fowl-house. Write home and tell your mother you’re not coming back”. One of the Sunday afternoons, I visited the old-fashioned village of Figheldean with its straw thatched cottages and ye olde inn that ye village yokels quaffed ye olde English ale in. There is an old smithy’s shop with a large spreading chestnut tree sheltering it which Tennyson or Longfellow (I don’t know which) was supposed to have composed the “Village Blacksmith” about. I saw the old chapel that the blacksmith went on Sunday to, and siteth amongst his boys and heard his daughters vows. Even on leave we are not free from restraint; when I went to stay for a night at a YMCA hostel, they demanded to see my pass, took my name, number etc. and a military police may bowl up any minute and want to see your pass. Reveille is even blown in the morning at the soldiers’ hostels. I had a good time in Blackheath, despite the fact that there was a crowd of kids following me. I am posting you my meat ticket, otherwise known in military terms as an identification disc, as we are being issued with ones made of compressed paper. The metal discs are liable to cause some damage should a bullet strike it. Don’t lose it; put it in a glass case and put it in the drawing room. Sunday is not respected here; last Sunday we spent the day doing bayonet drill and the 20ths have not a day to themselves. The 19ths put up a record in musketry. We have thrown live bombs and gone through the gas chamber. Will you post me a Weekly News occasionally? Well I must now ring off, as lights out goes shortly.
Bert.
Give my respects to the human pull-thru’
[Bert then write a series in Morse code dots and dashes]
[He has then drawn a series of Xs with lines between and says:]
These are not kisses, but a plan and elevation of barbed wire entanglements.
Bert also included in the letter the following drawings:
Letters from France and Belgium
Letter 18
Full letter: Two single-sided sheets.
To: Frank.
Date: Undated, but most likely to be March 1917 at Etaples, the base camp where Bert arrived in France, before he first went to the front lines. He has addressed it as ‘Northern Hemisphere’ a play on the censorship forbidding soldiers revealing where they are based.
Dear Frank,
I am writing this letter for want of something to do this evening, as there is very little amusements in this place. I think the censor will permit me to say that I am at a base camp somewhere in France, where we are kept in training till we are wanted. It is terribly cold here, and we have plenty of snow and wind. We are all under canvas and it is no joke to sleep on cold hard boards of the tents these nights. They also give us plenty to do, and we do not move an inch without carrying our packs, which feel liketh unto a ton of bricks after I have been carrying it for an hour. I will just give you an idea what our kit consists of. I don’t mean my kit bag, as I have said goodbye to that long ago. It runs thus, 1 blanket, oilsheet, overcoat, change of under-clothing, towels, hold-all, housewife, cholera belt, which we have absolutely no use for except to show at kit inspection, socks, field dressing and the pack consists of, water bottle, entrenching tool, bayonet and scabbard, cartridge pouches, valise and haversack which hold all clothing etc, and mess-tin, which does the duties of a frying pan, drinking mug, plate etc. On top of this comes a steel helmet, 1 pair of goggles for tear shells and 2 gas helmets, besides a rifle. I have forgotten what butter tastes like, and bread and jam are luxuries; so thank your lucky stars you are in NZ, which is one of the luckiest countries under the sun. I was disgusted yesterday when the NZ mail came in, and not a paltry one for myself, while some of the others received as much as a dozen each. This may be the last letter I will be writing home, as it is not worth while writing if I do not receive any answers. Well I must now close.
Bert.
P.S. I am enclosing a French note 50 centimes which looks a lot but is only worth 5 pence in English money. Keep it as a curio as I will be sending some things.
Letter 19
Full letter: One single-side page.
To: Mother
Date: 7 March 1917 from Etaples.
Dear Mom,
Just a line to let you know how things are going. I cannot tell you much news, except the fact that I am in a base camp somewhere in France, where we are kept till we are needed. Thank heaven you are in NZ. They talk about the price of food in NZ, but it is nothing to what the prices are in England. There is no pampering up in this camp. A man has to sleep on the hard boards in the tents, but we do not mind being without paillasses, as we are now used to it. The cold is intense, and if it is not snowing, a cold biting wind is blowing. Our food consists mostly of army rations, (bully beef and biscuits), butter and margarine we get occasionally, once a blue moon, and we consider ourselves fortunate if bread is on the table. The army biscuits are as hard as iron, and one must have good teeth to crack them. There are all tents in this base. I have given up all hope of seeing any more mail. The weight of the pack is no trifle, and a chap does not want much personal property to carry about. Well I must now close hoping you are all well at home,
Your Loving Son Bert.
Reply to/ Name. No. 19th Ref. 1st Auckland Coy. France Care of GPO Well.
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Letter 20
Full letter: One single-sided page.
To: Mother
Date: 21 March 1917, while in Segregation Camp
Dear Mother,
Just when our draft was about to leave camp for the trenches, a chap took ill with the mumps in our tent and the result is that all the chaps in the same tent including myself have been sent to a segregation camp where we will have to stay for 3 weeks. The idea of this is, the men who have come in contact with a person who has the mumps, may be carrying the germs about with him and they send him to an isolation camp to prevent the mumps spreading and to see if he develops it too, and if he is alright at the end of the 3 weeks he is allowed to go out of the camp. I have no fear of getting the mumps myself but it means that I will not see any actual fighting for another month and I am disappointed at missing my draft. I am enclosing a silk affair which I believe is a handkerchief. It is all handwork. Well I suppose the war will be over by the time you get this.
Bert
Annie Gadd
Letter 21
Full letter: Two single-sided pages.
To: Nellie
Date: Undated, but addressed Somewhere in France, Segregation Camp so must be between 19 March and 13 April 1917, probably on 8 April since he says he is leaving Segregation Camp in five days. He was in segregation after a soldier in his tent developed mumps.
Note: Fred is Bert’s cousin Fred Cashmore, serving with the Dinks. Tauherenikau is in Featherstone, so the soldier with appendicitis was operated on in NZ before Bert left for France.
Dear Nelly,
I thought you were never going to write, but was very pleased to receive your letter. I have only 5 more days to put in here, and then I will be “up the line” in the middle of it. I hope I have the same luck in escaping bullets, as I have had in dodging mumps, measles, sera-spinal etc, and I have a feeling that I will be back in NZ. We have had some terrible weather, but the weather has now changed for the better. This is where the mumps, measles etc contacts are kept, including Ozzies (Australians), Jocks (kilties), and Tommies. The Tommies have not much time for the Colonials, and vice versa. You can’t wonder at it, as the poor Tommy gets paid about 6D a day pocket allowance, most of which he spends on tucker, while the New Zealanders receive 2 bob and the Ozzies more. Personally, I think that the Colonials are much better fighters, and the New Zealanders have a good name here. Harold Sutcliffe was operated on for appendicitis in Tauherenikau, and I believe is discharged, but the Government may call him up when they think fit, hence his working at Mercer. It costs us half a franc a day each man to buy extra bread etc. While we are in this camp, I have the job as tent orderly, whose duties are to look after the tent and to keep it clean, and to look after the meals, but he does not drill with the rest. Once a day I draw rations for the tent; tinned beans, bully beef army biscuits etc, and the only way we have of getting a hot meal is to steal the boxes and use them for firewood as no fuel is supplied. I see some great dishes being cooked; a piece of fat bacon, (pinched from the cookhouse) being fried in a mess-tin, another chap boiling tea in a jam tin, and some trying to fry onions without grease. Sugar I can’t buy, but butter can be obtained at the modest price 4 francs 20 centimes, about 3 bob a lb. I wish you would post a weekly now and then, and if you ever send a parcel don’t forget to put some sugar in it, as we are obliged to drink the tea or cocoa we make without sugar. I received a letter from Fred, wishing me every success while I am in France etc, and I see by the tone of the letter and the words he used, that he evidently puts on airs. We are allowed to write only two pages, so this is the end of the penny section,
Bert
Letter 22
Fragment: One single-sided page, a middle page, we are missing the first page telling us who this was sent to and the last page.
To: Unknown:
Date: Unknown. This is one of the harder letters to date. Bert talks of a restaurant meal in a town and tells us the cost in English money so this implies it is prior to going to France or in March during his visit to the UK. But it could also be him translating French prices back into English money for family to understand the expense. There are two contextual clues. He talks of a hospital ship which implies this is a coastal or river area. Etaples in early 1917 is the main place near a coast where he spent time. Though this could be at Calais in March 1918 while waiting to cross the channel – on March 3 his diary records that he visited Calais that night. It could also be London during March 1918, with a hospital ship in the Thames. The second clue is his reference to a ‘route march’ in the morning, with the afternoon off - the type of activity which occupied soldiers before seeing front line duty, but seldom once they had become hardened front-line vets. So that brings us back to Etaples and introduces Sling as a potential. However, Bulford and the villages around Sling wouldn’t really rate as towns nor are they coastal. Nothing in his diary directly assists, though there is an entry for April 6: “Route march morning. Afternoon march to Paris-Plage” – Paris-Plage being a resort town at the Etaples coast. Therefore, the letter is placed here in April 1917 as a best guess and it matches other comments made around this time about the price of food and an April 14 diary entry where he gives the cost of local food.
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... after waiting something like half an hour they condescended to serve me. The first thing they brought me was a roll of bread like a scone, without butter, and the first course, was a dark fluid, which I took to be soup. Fish came next, but I had some trouble locating it, but finally found it hiding behind a small bit of potato. Steak pudding came next, and that was built on the same scale as the fish, and the chap next to me had a piece of meat, which looked like a crack in the plate. We ordered pudding, but they had run out of it, no doubt through having given such large quantities to the customers, but they brought a small slice of jam roll on a plate, with a silver knife and fork to eat it with. A small cup of tea, one of these ladies afternoon tea sorts, brought up the rear. This food sampling cost me one shilling six pence and I was just beginning to feel hungry when it was over. We had a route march this morning and this afternoon we were free. All the hotels are closed and it is a good job too. The New Zealanders have got a bad name here, through one of the reinforcements a few months ago kicking up a row and they are not as hospitable as they might be on account of it. It is we that have to suffer through their misconduct. A few yards out of the town and we are in the country. There is a hospital ship here from ...
Letter 23
Fragment: One single-sided page, this is the last page, the first page is missing.
To: Unknown
Date: Undated, but shortly after 20 April 1917 when Bert joined 3rd Company and maybe written the same day as letter 24 on 30 April.
...receive a weekly issue. If I want to see a bit of sport I have just got to look over my head and watch the aeroplanes dodging shrapnel. White puffs of smoke like pieces of cotton wool flying around the machines, show where the shells burst. I have been drafted into the 3rd Auckland Coy, the 1st A.I.B., and you may address the letters so. I know no one in the 3rd Auck as we are all split up, and are mostly chaps who have seen a good deal of active service. I meet a terrible lot of old acquaintances. Do you know that Mr Quelch who lived next to Pt. Chevalier Hall? He is in the same coy as myself. I saw Willie Shaw at Sling, and he looked a very big and clumsy chap, and seemed to be half-asleep all the time. I have never seen him speak a word to anyone. This reminds me about Oratia, when Mrs Shaw remarked that, if I went to a territorial camp they would liven me up. This was at the time when her Willie and I had to join the cadets. Well I will close, hoping you are all well and happy at home.
Bert
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Laura, Amy and Nellie Gadd – Bert’s eldest sisters.
Letter 24
Full letter: Two single-sided pages.
To: Nellie
Date: 30 April 1917
Dear Nellie,
Many thanks for the weeklies, which I received all together. We came out of the trenches a day or two ago, and we are on our way to some other place, but meanwhile we are billeted in a large chateau, which has been damaged by the Huns’ artillery. Farmhouses, churches and houses are in ruins about here. Life in the front line is more lively than at Pokeno; much too lively at times. Fritz sends over a lot of shells but do no damage. While I was in the front line, I was on night duty, and I had to look over the parapet to watch any movement of the enemy. One has to detect the slightest movement or sounds, as it may be Fritz coming over for a raid, or his patrol scouting out to find information. Now and then up go flares and shows no mans’ land, and sometimes a party of the Bosches mending their wire entanglements which our shells have destroyed, and then the machine guns rattle. I have been drafted into the 3rd Auckland Coy the 1st AIB. I meet many old acquaintances, but have not seen Fred yet, although his battalion relieved us in the trenches, and I saw them as we were about to go out. For all I know he may have passed within a few yards of me, but the fact that he is a signaller, I do not think he would be in the trenches, but at headquarters. I bumped against Percy Sowerby late of Mangatangi, the other day, and he has lost his stripes, and is only a private now. There are two Pt Chevites in our company, Mr Quelch and one of the McIvors. I also met a young chap named Mills late of Northcote. To get to the front line one must walk through a mile or two of saps or trenches, and it is no joke with a pack of 80lbs, including 120 rounds of ammunition, 2 blankets, 1 tin hat, 2 gas helmets etc. The French people do not impress me very favourably, but one thing, they do not lack politeness. They have no system of sanitation, or public schools. Every second house in the street is a estaminet or cafe this or cafe that. The war cannot last much longer, and the allies have really got the Huns beat now. To say that the Germans are cowards and no fighters is an insult to the British troops, if you can see what I mean, but they will fight as long as they have ammunition left in their rifle, but as soon as they are confronted with the bayonet, they have the cheek to put up their hands with “Mercy! Kamarad!” Well I will have to finish as I am at the end of my tether, besides at the bottom of the page.
Bert
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Letter 25
Fragment: Two single-sided sheets but missing the final page.
To: Mother
Date: 21 May 1917
Dear Mom,
Just a line or two to let you know that I am still alive, and in the best of health. I have not received any letters from you a while, I suppose on account of my new address. As you see this letter is enclosed in a special envelope, which is a privilege to get, and it is on our honour to mention no names or what we are going to do as this letter is not censored. Don’t believe all the rot that is printed in the papers how well the British solider is fed and treated. Our daily ration consists of one third of a 10 ounce two pound loaf a man to a one pound tin of jam and two ounces of cheese, so you can see there is no chance of a chap making a glutton of himself on that, and it works out at one slice of bread each meal, which is less than an ordinary child eats. We get the usual army stew every evening without change. I hear some people in New Zealand [two words obscured by torn bottom of page] …. about the price of food; they don’t know their good fortune. We cannot buy bread in France for love of money. I have billeted in numberless stables and barns during the time I have been at the front and I can’t remember all the names of the villages we have stopped at. I received the first gift – a pair of socks, the other day, the first since I joined the army, and it came in a ‘buckshee’ parcel together with a packet of soup powder and goodness knows what we are expected to do with it, as it is no easy thing to get fresh water besides wood to boil it with. Then there is cholera belts we have been issued with, which no one has any use for except for rag to clean our rifles with. I expect most of the socks that the women of NZ are slaving to make for the soldiers, find their way into the canteen and sold to us, as I hear that it’s once in a lifetime that anyone receives a gift of a pair of socks. If you send a parcel don’t forget a pair, as we can’t have too many, considering the heavy marching we do. Your parcel has not turned up yet. I expect it is …
Letter 26
Fragment: Two single-sided pages. The first page and last page, but at least one middle page is missing. It seems likely the first and last page are the same letter because they are the same paper (and yes, I know I have laboured the point that you can’t trust the paper to help link pages) and more significantly both pages are written in the same purple ink, which is not used in any other letter. The biggest issue with this letter is the comment on the last page about the threaded beans. The beans are written about three times in three different letters by Bert. Grouping them altogether would put them in September, but the first page of this letter definitely dates to May. So if we go with the beans evidence, that would mean the last page of this letter is from a completely different letter – yet the similarity of the paper and ink make that seem very unlikely. So I have kept these two fragments together, but acknowledge it is very unsatisfactory
To: Nellie
Date: 22 May 1917. Bert is in the Zone 3 rest camp area training for the attack on Messines. He became a Lewis Machine Gunner specialist, which he references in the first page of this letter, on 14 May.
Note: The letter also has a scribbled out rough drawing of a farm house.
Dear Nelly,
Just a line to say that I still exist. I am now in the LMG’s which means Lewis Machine Gunners. Perhaps you know? All the infantry are divided up into riflemen, bomb-throwers, rifle grenadiers, machine gunners etc. Well, they wanted one man to make up the LMG’s and the machine gun took my fancy, so I joined. Since writing my last letter to you, I have found there were more old acquaintances in our company. It is like old times; three Point Chevites, Mr Quelch (otherwise known here as Jack Qealich), a McIvor and that chap named Hosking you know the one that used to court the elder Miss Hill. Then comes an old Northcote-ite named Mills. By the way, I met the boy Humphries but the corporals or sergeants stripes that his father said he had got, lacking. If Pop was to walk along the road in kakhis I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. I see that Fred has been kidding his people at home with yarns. First I …
[The next page(s) are missing but the final page remains] ...when I get back home I am going to start farming and introduce some French methods into it. It was a silly trick of Pop’s to buy a horse he had not seen. There are only a few of the 19ths at the front, and I am one of the few. The majority at the base somewhere in France. It seems queer that the great hulking chaps get knocked up first, and the weeds like myself, stand it. Did you say that the children couldn’t thread those beans? Try soaking them in water for a while, not too long or they will sprout. Well the magazine has run out so I will have to cease fire.
Votre Frere Bert
Letter 27
Full letter: Two single-sided pages.
To: Mother
Date: 3 July 1917. He has just come out of the front-line trenches where he carried out his first raid on enemy lines. He is now in the Zone 2 reserve camps near Vieux Bergiun.
Note: Bert says Mick Kew is in a new Brigade - this is the 4th Brigade formed in March 1917.
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Dear Mom,
I was glad to receive your welcome letters, which came in a bundle together with other letters, which evidently have been chasing me around France for some time. You can’t believe how pleased I am to hear news from home. I wish those vermin shirts you mentioned some time ago that you were sending would turn up, as the fleas are as big as rabbits over here and are a great pest. Keatings Powder does not kill them; in fact they seem to thrive on it. Mick Kew is over here somewhere, but he is in the new brigade that has been formed, but we have not met yet, neither have I seen Fred yet. Is Charley in the old country? It is now the middle of summer and the crops of grain and potatoes seem to grow well here. Every inch of soil is under cultivation. I am going to introduce some of the French methods into farming when I get back to old NZ. Well as there is not much to say I will finish, hoping you are all well, and with love to the children.
Bert.
P.S. I see by the papers that a big mail steamer carrying a lot of mail from soldiers has been sunk, so that may be the reason, if you haven’t had any letters from me lately.
Letter 28
Full letter: Three single-sided pages.
To: Frank
Date: Undated, but sometime after 23 June 1917 because he discusses the raid of 23 June, his first time ‘over the top.’
Dear Frank,
Just a few lines from the land of frogs and war to let you know that the war is still going on. The fleas have started a most violent offensive, and have been making many night attacks. We were in a newly dug and unmade trench for 6 days without a wash or a hot meal, and we were working at nights digging trenches in the front line often under shell fire. My first experience of going over the top, was on a raid at night, high explosives, shrapnel, whiz-bangs, and machine gun fire made things pretty lively, and it was liketh unto a thousand 5th of Novembers rolled into one, and flames were going up like roman candles. What struck me most was the hundred of shells and bullets flying around that hit nobody. One of the square heads captured was only a boy of about 15, and he was crying like a kid. Working under shell fire is another pleasant experience, and you ought to see me work, I never worked so hard in my life and you would not have seen me for dust and smoke, as the deeper one gets the more cover there is. Fritz strafed us one night as we were returning from the trenches, with gas shells and it was no joke to be staggering along a dark road blocked with transport wagons heavily loaded, and hampered with a gas helmet and with shells bursting every few yards. I managed to reach our dug-outs alright, but I slept with my gas mask on that night. Some of our chaps were gassed, while others were made very ill. I have still got the rotten taste of the gas in my mouth when I think of that night. After this, I think I will apply for a job at the gas works when I get back. German steel helmets, overcoats, waterbottles, rifles, bayonets, hand bombs of every description were plentiful, but they are too heavy to carry around as souvenirs, as we have a big enough load to carry. Well, I must now bring this MSS to a happy ending,
Au Revoir, Bon Soir, Kia Ora, Herr Bert.
[On the back of the last page is a drawing entitled ‘The Pokeno Battalion.’ Does this show Sratchyus, the officer mentioned in the letter to Frank of 12 August 1916.]
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Letter 29
Fragment: One single-sided page. It is the last page, we have no first page.
To: Unknown but could be Nellie
Date: Undated But it appears to discuss the same June 23 raid as letter 28 to Frank and could therefore be Bert’s letter on the same topic to Nellie. It also appears to be written on the same YMCA paper and with the same pen as letter 28.
... up and scattered, many have been wounded while some have been killed. I wonder how Lewis misses the ballot. Melba the famous bullet charmer, otherwise the black cat seems to have brought me luck. I have worked under shell fire, and have come back from a raid over no man’s land with shells lobbing every few yards and not received a scratch, and a bullet just glanced off my steel helmet. Did I tell you that I saw the chap Webster of Pokeno? Don’t be disappointed if my letters do not come as often as usual, as I can only write when I get the opportunity. I find it hard now to settle down to write now. Well I must now close hoping this finds you well.
Bert
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Letter 30
Full letter: One single-sided page.
To: David.
Date: Unknown, but placed here in July 1917 based on two issues – a similar discussion about farming as in letter to mother, plus his description of the countryside sounds like mid-summer. However, once again the threading beads arise to cause doubt. Should it be re-dated to September. The pad looks the same as other letters around this time, a small YMCA pad, but YMCAs were prolific, so were the pads, so not too much inference can be made on the paper.
Dear David,
I was very pleased to receive your letter. Have you managed to thread those beads yet? Everything is in full bloom here, and the pomme de terres grow well here. This is the French name for spuds, but it really means “apples of the earth”. Farms are not fenced off in this country, that is the farms that grow crops, and one can walk through the roads through the fields with wheat or oats on both sides. They use very old-fashioned methods in some parts of this country, and there are plenty of windmills still in use. Well as the pen won’t write too well I will have to finis.
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Letter 31
Full letter: One double-sided page
To: Uncle Alf Cashmore, in Birmingham – presumably he sent this on to his sister Annie, Bert’s mother, at some stage.
Date: 8 July 1917. He remains in the Zone 2 reserve camps, practising at the rifle range, doing night manouvres and drill.
Dear Uncle,
I received your letter dated July 1st. You say that you have not received any letters from Fred either, well there is a reason why we have not been writing of late. I have just received a big mail from home, and they are all well in NZ. I do not know whether the parcels you send reach me or not, but the parcels sent from NZ do not reach me. By the way, I was looking in an old NZ paper at the list of men called up in the ballot for the 31st reinforcements to go into camp, and I saw an E F Gadd, Grocer, New Plymouth amongst the list. I do not think it could be Uncle Frank, as he is, I believe, too old, so it may be one of his sons. It is doubtful whether the 31st reinforcement will leave NZ, but if they do, he should arrive in England in January, the same time almost as I landed, only in 1918, that is, if he passes the doctor. Well I must now close, hoping this finds you well,
Your sincere nephew Bert
Alf Cashmore, far right.
Letter 32
Fragment: One single-sided page, this is the first page which ends midsentence. No other pages survive. Although written the same day as Letter 31, it is on completely different paper.
To: Nellie
Date: 8 July 1917
​
Dear Nellie,
Just a line or two to acknowledge the receipt of your welcome letter written in May. It seems that the parcels you sent have not all reached me. To give you an idea what I have received; 3 parcels I have had since I left NZ, including one from Philip, which leaves two parcels from home. One contained a pair of socks, handkerchiefs and tobacco, while the other consisted of a pot of Vaseline, a tin of coffee, Keatings Powder, and a tin of cigarettes. It is summer now, or to be correct, it is supposed to be, but it has rained fairly heavily the last fortnight. You say it could not be worse weather here in winter than you are having in NZ now. You can’t imagine what a winter is like on this side of the globe, and I dread to think of putting next winter in on active service. An hour’s rain is enough to turn everything into a sea of mud. The mud we get in this country is different to that in NZ; this mud seems to be a composition of secotine and plasticine, and it sticketh closer than a brother. I have not met Fred yet, and as he happens to be in a different brigade, we are never anywhere near each other. I met a Mercer chap today, and I heard that Paddy Cronin has been sent back to NZ physically unfit, while Alf Walden has got no further …
​
Letter 33
Full letter: Two single sided pages.
To: Nellie
Date: 22 July 1917. He is in the front-line support trenches involved in carrying parties, carting supplies to the front-line troops. In his diary he notes: “Great aerial activity, several planes brought down.”
​
Dear Nelly,
Just a line or two to say I received your welcome letters and I have just finished reading them. I was just thinking that I would like to answer your letters while I had the chance but I had no paper, until I discovered this writing paper in your letter. It was a good idea putting the writing material in the letter. It is Sunday morning and a fine day. I am writing this in my ‘bivvee’ in the trenches, while several planes are circling overhead dodging shrapnel. I am sorry I cannot discuss the war as it is against regulations; not that it would give any information to the enemy, but it might influence the people at home, otherwise I could make an interesting letter. The New Zealanders have got a good name from the work they have done over here, and the slouch hat gets a good hearing in Blighty. Folks in England have queer notions about NZ; many do not know of its existence, while others have an idea that it is part of Australia. One or two people I met in the old country, asked me, had I ever met a chap named Brown or something, a cousin of theirs, who went out to NZ about 14 years ago. Fred and I seem to elude each other. There will be a day of rejoicing when peace is declared, and none will be more happier than the chaps in the trenches. Of course it would be some time before all the overseas troops will be able to return home. I don’t think I could sleep on a soft bed now, and a chap will be able to rough it and stand any weather after this life. It will make him appreciate civvy life more after this, and I am looking forward to the time when I will sit down to a table and be able to enjoy a good meal and a good cup of tea. They talk about the New Zealanders being an undisciplined lot, but they do not lack discipline in the firing line. This country is different to NZ, as it is as flat as a pancake. I am going to be a peace advocate after this business, and the more I see of the war, the more I think what a stupid and unnecessary thing it is. It makes a man think [illegible word due to a hole in the paper] this life. Well as there is little to say I will now close, hoping this finds you happy and in the best of health.
Au Revoir
Votre Frere Bert.
​
Letter 34
Full letter: Two single-sided pages.
To: Mother
Date: 24 July 1917. He remains in the support trenches, carrying rations at night to the front lines.
​
Dear Mom,
Just a line or two to let you know that I am quite well and to say that I have just received the parcel containing the writing paper, tobacco, soap etc. They came in very useful and I am very pleased to receive them. The Weeklies reach me alright. It is hard to say when the war will be over, but don’t believe all the rot the papers print about it being over shortly. It is all rot about the German soldier being so poorly fed and as for the silly cartoons that one sees in the papers, they give the public the wrong impression about the war, and do not help to finish the war. I have changed my opinion about the Belgians since I have been here, and they are no more starving than you are. So the Mercer Mill is not doing much work now? Well I would not go to work there again, as I am going to try a place with better wages. I can foresee that work will be scarce for a while when the men all return home. I could not go to work in a town again after this life in the open air, and I will be able to rough it after this life. Well, as there is not much to say I will now close, with love to all the kids, hoping you are all well at home.
Your loving son Bert
Letter 35
Fragment: Two single-sided pages. Missing the last page.
To: Laura.
Date: 7th August 1917. He is in Romarin, under canvas, in the Zone 2 reserve camps. Note reference to the ‘boy Pope’ (he was actually 25 and older than Bert). Bert will later write that he caught up with Pope a few times through the months, and then Pope suddenly vanishes and Bert is never officially told what happened. It is an example of the dislocating effect the war could have. One day you are chatting with a mate. The next he is gone.
​
Dear Laura,
Just a line or two in reply to your welcome letters and to say that I am quite well and in the best of spirits. It is now late summer, but to look at the weather, one would think that it was winter, as it has been raining steadily for the last week, and the ground is in an awful state. The trenches are little better than ditches filled with water and everything is a sea of mud. The 24ths have just joined us up and I met a chap named Ramsey from Pokeno. He tells me that the boy Pope from Maungatawhiri is here. I will be sending you a fancy handkerchief for Xmas if I can see my way clear to posting it to you. By the way, did you receive the souvenir number of the “kia tupato” which I posted to you. Don’t be surprised if my addresses are sometimes different as they all mean the same and all find me. 3rd Coy. 1st Auckland Battalion, 1st Infantry Brigade, NZ Division France, will find me just as well as 3rd Auckland Coy. 1st AIB, which means 1st Auckland Infantry Battalion. Our OC of E Coy., you know that officer you saw on Mercer Station on final leave, is badly wounded and I think it means the finish of the war for him. Our reinforcement had a bad spin and there is not...
Letter 36
Full letter: Unusually this ‘letter’ is actually written on what is termed a Post Card, just 8cm deep, a blank piece of light card provided by the YMCA.
To: Frank.
Date: Undated but placed here because of the references to the soldiers Ramsey and Pope from the 24th reinforcements which have just arrived. These references tie in with Letter 35 to Laura.
Note: Bert uses a bit of Maori in this letter. Helen Hair, great niece of Bert, says he uses Waikato dialect Te Reo and wonders when he came to learn written Maori.
​
Mon Cher Frank,
Peawhea ana koe. You will be surprised at my putting two letters to you in one envelope but I forgot something I wanted to say, so I slipped this korero e puka-puka after I had put in the postcard. Bill Ramsay and the chap Pope, both of whom hail from Pokeno have just joined our brigade here with the 24ths. Ask mon pere if he remembers a chap named Stewart, late of Whangarata; well I was surprised to find him in the same battalion (1st Auck. Bat.) as myself and he came with the 7th or 8th reinforcements and he wishes to be remembered to Pop. You will need a dictionary to translate this letter.
Kia Ora
Bon Nuit
Ka nui toku aroha kei to e koe.
Bert
Letter 37
Full letter: One double-sided page.
To: Nellie.
Date: 31 August 1917. Bert mentions he is now platoon signaller, a position he was appointed to on 13 August. He is now back in the Rest Camps of Zone 3 and has just learnt they are training for a big advance – the Ypres Campaign has begun.
Note: The Main Body were the first volunteers who shipped to Gallipoli who obviously have little regard for the soldiers now arriving under conscription laws - Bert was a volunteer.
​
Dear Nellie,
Just a scrape o’ the pen to let you know how pleased I was to hear from you. There seems to be great doings in Pokeno. I have been appointed platoon signaller now, this is my latest stunt. We are obliged to be able to send messages in semaphore and also in Morse on the buzzer, telephone instrument, flags, flapper, heliograph and what not. Do you remember those messages you used to send over the phone in Pt. Chev? Well we sometimes send them in that style. Code time. F.F.pm. This is the time I am writing this letter. There is a terrible lot to learn with codes etc, and I fill in a lot of my spare time practicing the Morse. The main body chaps have a great [obscured words] the reinforcements that are joining us [obscured word] now, the 24ths and 25ths whom they call conscripts and goodness knows what sort of a hearing the 31sts etc. will get when they join us up. I am afraid very few of the parcels you send reach me, so do not think I am ungrateful if I do not acknowledge them. Uncle Alf sent me a parcel bought with the money you sent. Thanks ever so much for it but I do not altogether approve of the idea, as food is not abundant in Blighty as in NZ. The YMCA has done some good work over here, and there is always a YMCA tent behind the lines in almost any village where we can buy a welcome cup of tea, and write a letter. I have seen YMCA’s even in dugouts behind the trenches well within range of the Huns’ guns. Well, as there is absolutely nothing to relate, I will have to close the shop and put up the shutters. Hoping this finds you well and in the best of luck.
Bert.
[He follows it with his name in Morse code dots and dashes]
Letter 38
Fragment: One double-sided page, but the letter is ripped in half so all that remains is what is written on the front and back on the top half of the page.
To: Mother.
Date: 31 August 1917
Dear Mom,
Just a line or two to say that I am quite well and in the best of health. I was very pleased to receive your letters. You could not be having worse weather over in NZ than we are having; it never rains in this country, but it simply pours; night and day it rains, such is the kind of weather we get for Autumn in this country. The Weeklies reach me regular, but they would get to me earlier if you gave the … [page ripped] The Huns are not having things all their own way now, as you can see by the papers, and they will be soon be squealing for peace when the trials of next winter try their patience. Well I have not much to say so I will now “finis” with love to the children hoping this finds you all well at home.
Your loving son Bert.
Letter 39
Full letter: On YMCA letterhead.
To: Frank.
Date: 31 August 1917
​
Mon Cher Frank
Just a line from the land of mud, war, rain and frogs to say that I still exist. There is still a war on, and I believe that Iceland and Greenland have severed relations with Germany and are expected to declare war any minute. Anyhow, Iceland and Greenland have issued passports to the German ambassadors and consulates and are mobilising the navy and their army. This is the only war news I can give you for the present, except that the Swiss navy was suddenly fired on by a squadron of German battle ships. I am beginning to understand a little French; just enough to make myself understood if I want anything. Bread and unknown things such as sugar etc. cannot be bought as the Froggies are rationed. They put the price on over here and I could buy French goods such as chocolate, pipes etc over in NZ much cheaper than here where they are manufactured. If you grumble about the price, they blame it on to the war and say “C’est la guerre”. We have a drill movement over here that would puzzle Lieutenant Tayler, the military man of Pokeno. It is “form threes” and is used on account of the narrow roads and by-ways of France whereas marching in fours would leave no room for the traffic to pass. There have been an epidemic of Weekly News’s and the last mail or two, there has been nothing but weeklies. What was the rumour about an earthquake in Wellington? The French people have some very antique methods of farming and most of the work now is done by old men and women as most of the men are fighting. The landscape is dotted with windmills, which are still used, and the farmers grow their own tobacco and hang it all round the house to let the sun dry it. The Froggies know how to brew a good cup of “cafe”, which is their national drink (next to wine and “bierre”) and tea seems to be an unknown article. Well as there is absolutely nothing to narrate, I will have to bring this epistle to a happy ending.
Bert.
P.S. I hear that Banjee is claiming exemption on the grounds that if he gave up his trade of sparrow starving to go to fight, there would be a plague of sparrows, which would thereby seriously affect the crops. Bert. Compree?
​
Letter 40
Fragment: One single-side page, the final page to a letter.
To: Unknown.
Date: Undated but placed in August because of the reference to “switch off the current” which sounds like Bert is now a signaller – he switched to signalling in August. Also the school master’s note he quotes says ‘now you have made a move,’ which must refer to some notable New Zealand advance – which could be Messines in July. Bert refers to a Buckshee, and we know from Letter 25 in May, a diary entry in October and Letter 60 in February 1918, he has received other Buckshee parcels, so this could be a separate Buckshee.
Note: He includes a drawing of the Pokeno farm and the reference to French farming methods in the ‘caption’ is similar to comments in Letter 39.
​
… e.g. viz :- for example, i.e. :- I received a “buckshee” parcel from Aotearoa, which we receive once in a blue moon, and in it was a note from a school master telling us “Now you have made a move, keep on pushing”. I wish he’d come and help to shove, and see if he likes it. Well I will have to switch off the current, hoping this leaves you as well as it finds me.
Votre Cher Frere Bert.
To be continued next week.
[He includes a detailed drawing of a farm, possibly the Gadd farm at Pokeno, which he calls Estaminet de Rowley Regis. He says Estaminet means ‘pub’. The picture shows the introduction of some French methods of farming. Note the cart pulled by a dog – this is relevant for Letter 41. His drawing is headed:]
After the war. A few French methods introduced.
​
Letter 41
Full letter: On YMCA letterhead.
To: Rose.
Date: Unknown, but it mentions dogs drawing carts, which links it to the drawing by Bert from Letter 40, so is placed here.
Dear Rose,
How are you getting on with your crochets, quavers and semi-quavers? I was very pleased to receive your card. Ways are different here than in N.Z., and there are no public schools in this country. All the churches I have seen were Catholic churches. It is common to see kids of about 5 or six smoking cigarettes and even pipes. It is not uncommon to see a big fat Froggy riding a small cart drawn along by a dog. The bread here is a coarse brown, and the loaves are about a yard long. As there is nothing to say, and as this pen is about finished, and as it is getting too dark to see, I will have to finish.
Kia Ora
Bon Nuit
Bert
Letter 42
Fragment: One single-sided page. We are missing the first page, this is the last page.
To: Unknown.
Date: This again is a difficult letter to date. It is placed in September because Gordon Coates was transferred to command of 3rd Company on 5 September so it cannot date before then. Bert conveys the best wishes from “your host of relatives on this side of the world” which may indicate it is written on his visit ‘home’ to Blackheath in March 1918. However by then the 4th Brigade had been disbanded - in February 1918, which Bert knew because he wrote about it in March 1918 in a letter to Nellie. Therefore the letter is placed here around the time when it could earliest have been written after Coates’ appointment as commander.
​
…battalion is composed of 4 companies. 3rd Auckland, 6th Hauraki’s, 15th North Auckland and the 16th Waikato’s and it is the same in the 2nd battalion and the 4th Brigade. The rifle brigade or the Dinks as they are called, is a separate brigade from us and that is the reason Fred and I seldom meet. Captain Coates who came over in our reinforcement is OC of our company and he is the MP for the Kaipara district. Well there is absolutely nothing to say, so I will now close hoping this finds you well and with love from your host of relatives on this side of the world.
Bert
[He includes a series of Xs with lines connecting them and writes:]
These are not kisses, but a plan and elevation of a barbed wire entanglement.
Letter 43
Full letter: A double-sided single page. One side has a letter to David, the other side is a letter to Jessie.
To: David.
Date: 1st September. Bert is now in the Rest Camp Zone 3 area, billeted in farm sheds in Quesques, training for a big advance.
Dear David,
Just a line in reply to your welcome letter. You will be beginning to be proud of yourself now you are earning money. By the way, do you remember telling me about one of the Lee’s of Mercer being wounded? Well, I was having a talk with him a few days ago and he has just come back from Blighty where he has been in a hospital. His christian name is Tom, not the other chap, his brother John who came in the same reinforcement as myself. He is a sniper, on account of his being such a good shot. I dread the coming winter, if it is anything like the last, and NZ winter is like summer in comparison. It is 7’ o’clock now in the evening, and at the time I am writing this, it will be about 5 or 6 on Sunday morning. I can almost hear Pop singing out to you to get out of bed and light the fire to get him a cup a’. Well as I have a good lot of letters to answer I will have to cease fire.
Bert
​
Letter 44
Full letter: The back of the double-sided single page of Letter 43. One side has a letter to David, this side has a letter to Jessie.
To: Jessie.
Date: 1st September 1917
Note: Bert’s birthday is June 4.
Dear Jessie,
Just a bit of scrawl in reply to your most welcome letters. Did you say you were going to knit a scarf? Well, I have had two sent to me and have never used them once, not that it was not cold, but if I start to wear them, I will catch cold when I am not using them, but I would like a balaclava, which is invaluable, and the other is worn-out now although I have had a lot of use out of it. Does Elsie Kew still make her home over at our place? Did you try soaking those beans to soften them in order to thread them? When I come back I will bring you and all the kids some good bracelets and beads that the Frenchies use. You say did I receive many presents for my birthday and did I enjoy it. Well, I never gave it a thought till on looking up the date I discovered that my birthday had passed without my knowing. Well as it is growing too dark to write I will have to close, hoping you are happy and getting plenty of Elsie books.
Bert
​
Letter 45
Full letter: Two single-sided pages.
To: Frank
Date: 11 Sept 1917. He is still billeted at Quesques and still training for the Ypres offensive.
​​
Dear Frank,
Just a line or so in retaliation to your letters. Pokeno must be a muddy place, but it is a Sahara desert in comparison to the trenches in France and Belgique. Here is the recipe for giving yourself an idea of what muddy France is like: viz: Take a stock yard after 6 weeks of rain, then multiply it 9 times and add plenty of water, then roll in it taking care to let the mud get into your ears and mouth, then stand up in it knee deep and have your meals, after giving your rations a good dip in the mud. Pop has some quaint ideas of the duties of a Lewis gunner; they do not occupy a pozzy well back from the front line, but just the reverse, generally in an outpost in front of the front-line trench. By the time the war is finished I will have travelled every by-way and road off France and I am writing a book entitled “Through Slush and Mud” or “Travels on the Continong.” (5 shilling net) In it will be a description of Berlin and Potsdam, but that is yet to come. At present we are billeted in a village which evidently was designed by the same architect who mapped out Pokeno. The folks who dwell therein are a better class of people than those who inhabit the villages and towns behind the line and are a hard working class, but poor. I would be very pleased to receive some of your photos as most of mine got wet and consequently had to be destroyed. As for the war; well I never talk “shop” after working hours, so I will not bore you with war talk, as you can see everything in the papers. If Mrs Kew were to see me at the present time smoking a big pipe, she would be shocked, nay disgusted. The lice have started a great offensive and make their attacks at night in mass formation; Keatings they thrive on while other insect powders seem to give them a bigger appetite and makes them frisky. Well I will have to bring this epistle to a appy ending as I have a feeling similar to shell shock coming on as brain work is apt to give me brain fever. Hoping this finds you as well as it leaves me,
Your “furrin” brother, Bert.
[Bert also includes a little drawing of himself in Lemon Squeezer hat.]
​​​​​​​​​​​​​
Letter 46
Fragment: One single-sided page, the last page of a letter whose other pages are missing.
To: Mother
Date: Undated: But the 32 reinforcements sailed in Nov 1917 and the ballot would have been within a couple of months prior to sailing. So Sept, Oct seems reasonable.
​
... the photo out and I am keeping it in my pocket book. I see one of my bosses, a Mr Taylor, manager of Mercer, in the 32 reinforcement ballot, and it will be a pleasant sight for me to see one of my late bosses on the same level as myself. Well I will have to close now with love to the children hoping you are all well at home.
Your loving son Bert.
Letter 47
Fragment: Four single-sided sheets.
To: Frank
Date: Undated but undoubtedly talking about the Gravenstafel assault on 4 October 1917, with reference to gaining their objective and digging in. The explosion in the trench was October 5.
... could not see us. They could not be seen. I shouted to them to come out but they took no notice and I fired a shot into the ground alongside of them to draw their attention, but still no response so I gave one of them a prod with a bayonet and out he came holding up his hands and jabbering something in German, which of course I could not compree. I pointed to his mate and he turned him over, but I could see he was mortally wounded so I let him alone and I beckoned to him to come out of the hole, but he began gesticulating and I could see that he thought I would bayonet him, as evidently they are told that we take no prisoners, and he was scared out of his wits by our shell-fire like a rabbit. He was little more than a boy. I made him drop his equipment and I pointed in the direction of our lines where two big Square-heads were going for their lives with their hands up and I said “Allay tout de suite” and off he went with his hands above his head. Shells were lobbing everywhere and bullets cracking, but no one took any notice of them and the chaps were sniping at the retreating Huns as coolly as they were shooting rabbits. Away in the distance, Huns could be seen going for their lives. However, we reached our objective and dug in, in less than no time. The Germans tried many counter-attacks but were smashed by our artillery before they reached us. If they had reached our trench, they would have got a warm reception as we were well prepared to meet them. I had my rifle in position with a stack of ammunition by my side and a few bombs ready to greet Hans and Fritz. All was going great the next day and Fritz was pounding away at what he thought was our trench not having spotted our position as I thought, when all of a sudden “Bang! Bang!! Bang!!!” and into our trench came some of the Hun’s shells, and missed me by a miracle but blew my haversack 5 yards and riddled it and its contents with holes. My biscuits was made into flour and my bully beef into mincemeat. It was raining most of the time, and everything was mud and water, and the cold nights without overcoats or any warm clothing was very cold. Well I will have to discontinue my narrative as the light is growing dim. Hoping this finds you in the best of luck, health and circumstances.
I remain Votre Cher Frere, Bert.
Letter 48
Fragment: Two single-sided pages.
To: Frank
Date: Undated but late October seems reasonable given the discussion of mud in the trenches.
Dear Frank,
Methinks whilst I have the time, I mit answer your letter. I am sitting in my bivvy, scribbling this, whilst Fritz’s artillery and ours are pelting lumps of metal at each other, but as long as none of the shells land near me, things are ka nui te pai. Of course stray pieces of shell and shrapnel find there way in this direction, and one piece missed me by inches. Fritz always makes things uncomfortable just at inconvenient times when we are trying to go to sleep, or carrying water, or something. Presence of mind may be a great thing, but I prefer absence of body when shrapnel is bursting around me. The weather is pai rawa atu, as Shakespeare would say, and just behind the trenches, one would not know there was a war on if it was not for the sound of guns, as everything is green, and the birds are warbling their etc. If you want to see what trench warfare is like, go and see a war film acted by stay at homes, and that is just the ...[Page missing] .........ulance wagons go past, and in the streets one sees represented all the nations under the sun, with the exception of the non-combatants (some word). French, Belgium parly vooing, Canadians and Irish, Tommies and Highlanders, and Ozzies (Australians) and New Zealanders, besides French, Belgium and Portuguese soldiers. I’ll be sorry to leave the service of Bill Massey, when the war is over (I don’t think) perhaps he will give me a job on his ostrich farm, pulling feathers out of the ostriches’ tails. If you ever send any tobacco, aromatic havelock is my favourite breed. I am sorry we are not allowed to post anything, as I would send you one or two souvenirs. “Blighty” and “Pack all your troubles in your old kit bag” is the Tommy’s marching song now. Well I will now close hoping that the noise and traffic of Pokeno is not killing you.
Bert
Letter 49
Fragment: Six single-sided pages.
To: Frank.
Date: 5 November 1917. Bert has only recently been pulled out of the Ypres sector having endured the miseries of the campaign and is in a Rest Camp at Coulomby in the Zone 3 area.
Dear Frank,
Just a line or so to let you know that I am still living and have still got a kick left in me yet. I met a Grovenor St. neighbour of ours over this way, and he wishes to be remembered to the family, a chap of the name of Douglas, whom I believe went to school with you. I am feeling like an old soldier now, and the 29ths have joined us up. It is Guy Fawkes’ day (tonight), and they are celebrating it in grand style up this way, but I am sick of fireworks now. Some people seem to think the war will be over shortly, I do not say that it won’t but I have a ten year contract with Bill Massey. I do not say it won’t be over shortly, but I advise you when you go into camp to enlist in the mounteds. I met Jim Graham a fortnight ago, and he was so fat in the face that I could hardly recognize his dial. I caught a glimpse of Morris Roose of Mercer, and he has just joined up. There is no word in the English dictionary to describe the mud of Flanders except in slang which is (censored). For Heaven’s sake don’t address my letters L.M.G., as I am not in them, and it is not a separate unit. When I get home ‘apres la guerre’ it will take me a long time to get out of the habit of replying ‘Oui Oui’ for yes, and ‘Merci Beauchamp’ pronounced ‘mercy boko’, for ‘thanks very much’. ‘Oui’ is pronounced ‘wee’ and ‘Tres bon’ (very good) ‘tray bong’.
[Bert pauses writing and starts again on 10 November.]
If you send a parcel put in a couple of pieces of kauri gum and some ti-tree pods; don’t think that I am barmy as I am dying for a smell of the ti-tree blossom again. It is Sunday morning, and I am writing this in a loft of a French farm where we are billeted; the rain is pouring outside (it never does anything but rain in this country). I worked it out that while I am writing this it is 9 o’clock on Sunday night in N.Z., and I can just imagine what is taking place at home, at the present time. Pop or Nell have just come back from church and are thumping on the piano at the same old hymns, Jessie is reading “Great Great Grandmother Elsie”, Philip Hitchen should be there as usual sitting on the couch. Laura and Amy are giggling and chatting to each other as per usual, and Pop yelling at David to chase the horse off the garden or to hurry up and get the kettle boiling, to get a cuppa. It is interesting to watch life in the French villages. Each village has it’s church, which is always a Catholic one adorned inside with candlesticks and crucifixes, several estaminets or ‘pubs’, an epicirie or grocer’s store which sells hardly anything, no public hall or any place where the people have any entertainment. The farm houses are generally made of mud walls whitewashed over, with straw thatched or tiled roofs; a manure heap is always in the middle of the yard, with pigs and fowls rooting about it. Every farm house is built the same, and all have the same method of farming. They have no originality at all; working from morn till night with the same old-fashioned methods; the farms never change hands but go from one generation to the next. The only form of amusement is going to church; they are a very devout people, and go regularly to hear the priest babble away in Latin at Litany, or in the evening to hear mass. If a chap was to come in a thousand years’ time, he would find things exactly the same; they have no desire to alter things but still going on in the same old groove. They never indulge in amusements such as dances, concerts, and such a thing as a piano or any musical instrument. I have never seen in a French home. I am afraid this sort of sleepy existence would not suit the go-ahead folks of N.Z. I am in the company sigs (having been promoted to them since the stunt, being only a platoon signaller before). One branch of the signal service is the carrier pigeon service which is much used in this war. Unfortunately pigeons can only be used to send messages written on paper but experiments are being tried to cross the birds with parrots so that verbal messages may be sent. I am getting on pai raua atu me te korero de la Frong say (Francais). You have to pronounce it exactly the opposite to what it is spelt. By the way the chaps have found a use for those pillows; they blow them up and place them in their valise to make it look as if they had a full pack; that is whenever we get the order to go on a heavy route march with full pack. Do you ever take any photos on that old camera of mine; I wish you would send me one or two. I took some good ones, and I wish now that I had kept some. Here are a few tips how to use it. For instantaneous snapshots, use the larger holes according to the sunlight. For taking views, it is best to take time photos up to 5 seconds, and always use the small aperture, and have a perfectly steady rest for it. Take time in developing, using weak developer, which brings out all the half tones. You must have a perfectly dark room. If you work it properly, you can get some good results out of that camera.
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Letter 50
Fragment: Two single-sided pages.
To: Mother.
Date: 14th December. Bert doesn’t say what year. It is assigned here to 1917 however there is a slim chance it could be 1916. If it is 1917 he is back in the Ypres sector, on work parties digging drains and repairing roads.
Dear Mom,
Just a line or two to say that I am still going strong and to let you know how pleased I was to receive your letters which I received in a bunch. As you see by the date Xmas is drawing near; the cold weather has set in but we are supplied with warm clothes including leather waist coats which are just the thing for this job. Pop seems to have a lot of trouble with horses, as I see by your letters, but I am glad to hear you are getting more stock on the farm. Aren’t things in a muddle in Europe now? I can’t make head or tail of this war now.…[Pages missing] ...fighters but they use them too much on that account. Puzzle: What becomes of all the socks the women in NZ knit? I have never received a pair yet. Well I had better conclude my letter, hoping this finds you all well at home.
Your loving son Bert.
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Letter 51
Full letter: One double-sided page.
To: David.
Date: Undated. It is placed here because it mentions a leather waistcoat which Bert talks about in Letter 50.
Dear David,
Just a line or two to say that I was pleased to receive a letter from you. I will not talk about the war, as I never talk shop after working hours. Does Pop still say “Just pop down to the store and buy me a stick of tobacco or three-pen’orth of blackballs”? It is a good job he is not over here with me, as he would be telling me to “Just pop over to the house and tell mom to make me a cup a tea and bring it in a jug”. You ever try catching rabbits by getting behind a hedge and making a noise like a turnip? I do not feel the cold so much as I have got climatised and we have plenty of warm clothing including a leather waistcoat, which is worn over the tunic and is just the thing for working in. Well, as there is nothing to relate I will shut up, hoping this finds you OK.
Your foreign brother Bert.
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Letter 52
Full letter:
To: Frank.
Date: A composite letter. He starts it on 23 December and writes again on 25 December. And posts it on 29 Dec 1917. He is at battalion school at Morbecque learning signalling at this time. Despite the upbeat tone, in his diary he notes he is feeling unwell and is miserably cold.
Dear Frank,
Just a scrape o’ the pen to let you know that I am still alive, but not kicking. I am writing this not in ze trenches, but upstairs in a chateau, sitting on “bed” with a beautiful wire-netting mattress, which is absolutely lice proof. Perhaps you wonder what I am doin’ a rummaging around these French chateaux instead of bein’ int ther trenches fightin’. Well I am back at school, not the sort ‘Arry Warton goes to but a signalling school where they teach a chap everything in the dot-dash business, and everything from elementary electricity to fixing telegraph lines.
25th Dec.
As you see by the date it is now Xmas day, but it feels more like Sunday than anything else. For breakfast we had cold bacon and Anzac wafers, or in other words hard army biscuits, not a very nice thing to put on the menu for a Christmas meal, but the dinner (which we paid for out of our own pocket) was not so bad. It reminded me of that poem entitled “Xmas Day in the Workhouse”. However I am lucky not being up the line for this Yuletide. It is very cold now, and instead of a wash we have to shampoo with a chunk of ice. I like the spirit of the people safe and sound at home saying bravely, “We will fight this war to the last man”, and attend meetings and vote for the continuance of the war to a bitter end. I could do the same myself if I were at home. If they themselves were to be up the line, I am afraid they would lose all their enthusiasm of wanting to get at the foe. Well I had better finish my narrative hoping this finds you happy and well.
Votre Cher Frere Bert.
P.S. How is the leaning tower of Pisa getting on.
[The PS note points to a drawing of a shed, obviously at the farm at home, with a lean-to. He also includes a second drawing of himself dressed in his gas helmet, rifle in hand dangling socks from the far end. A shell is flying overhead.]
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Letter 53
Full letter: Two single-sided pages. He gives the send address as Finland.
To: Nellie
Date: Undated, but placed here because of the reference to the Corps Signalling school which Bert attended in December/January 1917/18.
​
Dear Nelly.
Just a line or two to say how pleased I was to receive your letters. I can’t write very well, as my hands are numb with the cold. I am now at a Corps Signalling school, which consists of Tommies, Aussies and NZs. Thanks very much for the parcel containing handkerchief, socks and box of chocolates, which I was very pleased to receive, especially the sox. I hear from a chap here, who is in Fred’s section, that he has the military medal and an extra stripe. The address on the top of the letter is to deceive the wily Hun. When we went over at (I mustn’t let you know as it is against the rules to betray ‘such valuable information’), the Huns we took prisoners were greatly surprised to learn that we were NZs, as they had been told that all NZ and Australian troops had been withdrawn from the firing line and had been sent home to quell the revolutions in NZ and Australia. Keep a look out for a book entitled “NZ in France” or something, which I am sending by way of Cassel London. Take care of it, as I have not read it yet. I meant to post it for Xmas but it will do for the next. I may go in for wireless after this outfit as I am having a good experience in Morse signalling. Well, as there is nothing to relate I will conclude my narrative hoping this finds you happy and well.
​
Bert.
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Love from your multitudinous relatives.
Letters from 1918
Letter 54
Full letter: Five single-sided pages. Bert numbers each of them in French - un, deux, trois etc
To: Nellie
Date: 20 January 1918. He is back with his company, living in huts near Dickebush.
Note: The reference to ‘some time ago’ is 22 October during the Passchendaele offensive. Regarding Pope: It seems he was indeed a casualty. Edward Pope, who worked on his family dairy farm in Maungatawhiri, started by his Grandfather and which he was intended to inherit and run after the war, was 25 when he enlisted in 1917 and arrived in France as part of the 24th reinforcements. He was killed on Oct 4 in the Gravenstafel attack. He is listed on the Pokeno Cenotaph seven names below Bert. Pope’s mother Aloe Reed was Pokeno Valley’s first teacher. The school was on the corner of Lyons and Paparimu roads – the Gadd children would ride horses (normally troublesome nags bought on the cheap by Herbert Senior) to the school.
​
Dear Nelly,
Just a scrape o’ the pen to say how pleased I was to receive your welcome letters. I have received no Xmas mail or parcels yet, but I expect them any day. I have returned from the sig school, and I find a few changes in the company, and a few new faces. I see the boy Green late of the fish & chip shop in the company, but I have not spoken to him yet. He evidently has been in the company some time before, and has been wounded, and has now returned to the company. I think I heard you mention about him being wounded. This army is a queer thing for meeting old acquaintances in. Some time ago, I was in a trench, and there was a few new chaps amongst us, there happened to be a “strafe” on at that time, and it was not a very pleasant situation. Well it ended up in a shell lobbing in the trench, which by the way was an outpost, and resulted in about eight chaps being killed and 3 wounded. The concussion of the shell knocked me silly for a few minutes and when I came to my senses, I happened to see a chap jump out of the trench and go for his life, and he was soon a blur on the landscape. Well after a war council, amongst the few of us that was left, we decided to leave everything behind, which was half buried, and take the wounded down to the dressing station. We tied our field dressings around our arms to signify that we were stretcher bearers and carried the wounded to the dressing station after scrambling over shell holes and swamps. Fritz could have wiped us out, but he respected the stretcher bearers, because we do not fire on his. Well this is the sequel to this yarn: today the chap who has his “pozzy” next to mine, said to me “How did you get on after I left you in that outpost”. I discovered that he was the chap, who had done the overland country sprint, and he had received a slight wound, and made his way to the dressing station while his luck was good. I said to him, “I have seen your dial somewhere before. Where do you come from?” Well he turned out to be one of the Carter boys from Oratia, of Carters road, and relatives to the Shaws. He tells me that one of the “top” Shaws is a prisoner of war in Germany and the Con Brair is wounded. Did you say that the boy Pope is missing? Well if he has not been reported since as wounded, I am afraid he is as good as dead. Since the So & So stunt I have been wondering what had become of him, as he was in our battalion, and I saw a good deal of him. On that occasion, in which I took part it was impossible for the Huns to take prisoners, as they were going for their lives. I do not like the way Philip has gone about his joining the army. A young chap like him without any ties (not the kind you wear in your collar), should come away willingly. Well the light growth dim, so I will have to hang up the receiver, hoping this finds you happy & well.
Your loving brother Bert.
Kia Ora
O Ree-vwour (Au Revior)
(To be continued)
Letter 55
Full letter: One double-sided page.
To: Mother.
Date: 20 January 1918
Dear Mom,
Just a scribble or so, from the land of sorrow & war, to say how pleased I was to receive your letters. I always look forward to mail day, and you can’t imagine how cheering it is to hear from home. I can’t understand the attitude of Philip towards joining the army. Some families have given every son to the army, while he has the nerve to appeal for time, a young chap without any dependents. In his letter to me, he says “When I read your letters how I long to be over there with you!” It does not seem so by his actions. The world has gone mad the last three years, but I hope it will come to its senses before long. I have been pretty lucky – nine months of active service without a scratch. The war will collapse as quickly as it started, and it is only a war of patience between the people of England & Germany. Neither side will gain anything. It is rather hard on the boy Pope’s parents but “C’est la guerre”, as the French say. Well as it is getting too dark to see, I will have to close, hoping this finds you all well at home, and with love to the kids,
Your Loving Son Bert.
Letter 56
Full letter: Three double-sided pages.
To: Frank.
Date: 21 January 1918. He has handwritten his address as Le Chateau de Quelquerchose, which means Chateau Where? Obviously, he is having fun with the usual ambiguous ‘Somewhere in France’ that the letters are normally officially headed up with, due to the censorship rules. It also shows his confidence in handling French. In fact he is not at a chateau, but in a hutment camp near Dickebush in Zone 2 in Belgium just behind the lines, spending his days on working parties and parade drill.
Mon Cher Frank,
Comment allez vous? In other words Peawhea ana Koe? Which translated into German means “How r you poppin’ up”. La guerre still continues, the mud is still predominate, and we still get stew for dinner. That is all the news. We learn a good many things in the army. Here is a recipe for finding your direction in the dark, which would come in very handy for finding your way in the wilds of Pokeno. Supposing you were in a forest, on a pitch black night how would you find your way? First take a watch (not your own), and swing it by the chain round your head three times, and let go, carefully noting the direction it takes, well you can bet your life that the watch has “gone west”, and of course you can get your direction from that. How to make oneself comfortable under adverse circumstances has become a fine art here, but it does not do to have too many scruples about conscience in the army. With the aid of a tin of bully, and a few biscuits, we can make anything from an omelet to a pork pie, and it is just a matter of a few minutes to convert a few sand bags, a sheet of iron, and a few pieces of timber into a palatial residence. In our bivvie (not in the trenches but just at the back of the line), we have a lovely little stove, which we “borrowed” from an officer’s hut, (I believe he is looking for it) and the sack mattress I sleep on once belonged to a sergeant major, but I found it necessary to confiscate it. The boots I wear I salvaged a couple of days ago, in an army padre’s hut, that he had left. There was also a couple of empty whiskey bottles under the chaplain’s bunk, but that is another matter. Rats are as bold as brass here, and they will pinch your dinner under your eyes, and the other night I discovered one trying my overcoat on. I think you will be sorry to lose St. Taylor, the military genius of Pokeno, as there will be no excitement left in that city. It will be a great day when we march up Queen Street, with a discharge in our pockets, and one of Bill Massey’s thirty bob suits on. I will be setting up a telephone arrangement at Rowley farm when I get back. My next letter will be from Blighty as I am expecting to go on leave any minute now. I will spend a day or two in the big village, otherwise London, the land of the big smoke, and then I will journey north to the place of my birth, where I will renew acquaintance with my numberless kinsmen, and listen to this “Isn’t he like his father etc”, and I will repeat for the hundredth time in reply to “How are the family getting on in N.Z.”, that when I left them they were getting on fine. Uncle Alf’s poetical aspirations will help to relieve the monotone of things. Did I tell you that Marsden Winsor was killed in action? One of the Carter boys late of Oratia is in our coy. Well I will have to bring this to a ‘appy ending, as the battery is running out, hoping this catches you in the best of health & happiness,
Votre Cher Frere
Herr von Bert.
P.S. Have just received Xmas cards etc. Also cake which I am sorry to say was moldy. It was a pity I don’t think it could have been soldered properly. B.
PTO
[Over the page he has included a drawing of himself in uniform with rifle and the dreaded pack, walking home to the farm. He has entitled it: ‘Apres la guerre the wanderer’s return.’]
​
Letter 57
Full letter: Two single-sided pages
To Nellie
Date: Undated. I have placed it here because he has headed the address Le Chateau de Quelkerchose, which matches the address given in Letter 56 to Frank. He also talks about working on road repairs which matches his diary for this date.
Dear Nelly,
Just a line or so from the land of mud, muck and strife in reply to your welcome letters to say that I still exist. The war is still going on; that is as much as I know as we seldom see a paper, and the only news we get is by rumours, which are generally incorrect. Although we are not actually in the trenches as the present we are ‘up the line’ on working parties repairing roads damaged by shell fire. Fred C is a Sergeant now I believe. By the way I met one of the Fairweather boys late of Pt Chev. What do you think of the ship carrying the first batch of men to return to NZ on draft leave, being sunk and 300 lives. That was stiff luck after going through what they had to put up with and then to lose their lives just at the eleventh hour. Did I tell you that Willie Shaw was in our Battalion? Flanders is a desolate country now and it is a pity to see large cities and cathedrals all in ruins. I am thinking of sending the deaf man an ear trumpet for a wedding present also a pack of cards. Well as I am at a loss for an inspiration I will conclude my narrative hoping this finds you happy and well.
Yours muddily
Bert
To be continued next week
[He includes a drawing of himself on a bike headed:]
“The rattley old bike”
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Letter 58
Full letter: One double-sided page.
To: Mother
Date: 2 February 1918. Bert is now at Battalion HQ acting as a Battalion signaller. He heads the letter ‘Iceland.’
​
Dear Mom,
Just a line in reply to your welcome letter to say that I am still going strong & in the best of health. There is nothing to say, except that the war still goes on. I passed my first class examination in signalling, which is a very handy thing to have. I am at present at Brigade transport lines attending a phone receiving and sending messages; it is a good job but I expect it is only temporary. I like what you said in your letter “Don’t stuff yourself with too much with cake & pudding that folks send you.” I did not get the chance to last Xmas. I did not receive any cakes & puddings. True at Xmas for dinner, we were issued with a piece of pudding, the size of which would not allow a mouse to make a glutton of himself. The papers take care to advertise the fact the soldiers are allowed a good Xmas dinner, and how well he is overburdened with puddings & cakes, but they omit to state the fact that the soldier pays for his Xmas meal out of his own pocket. It was a pity that the cake you sent me was moldy. I don’t think peace is so very far off. Pop does not seem to understand farming too well. My leave is due any moment now, but I am not too anxious to go for two reasons. First, food is very scarce over there and I do not like the idea of imposing myself on them for about 12 days and I am waiting till the weather gets a little warmer. Jessie had better keep the scarf till next winter; it will be about finished then. I have never used a scarf since I have been in the army. Well I had better slow down hoping this finds you all well at home, and with love to the kids.
Your loving Son Bert.
Letter 59
Full letter: One double-sided page.
To: Nellie
Date: 3 February.
Note: He writes ‘Time EHPM’ which is signalling code for a specific time. Lewis Thompson is the Cashmore cousin who emigrated to NZ with Fred in 1911.
Dear Nelly,
Just a line or two from the land of muck & mud in reply to your ever welcome letters. There is nothing to write about, but I am taking the opportunity while I have the time to answer my letters. You say I am wrong when I said that the chap Walden who came over with the 22nds did not see active service. He went to France and was boarded PB which means permanent base, and he was in the salvaging corps, which is practically a safe job. There is a chap here who used to drive the creamery wagon from Maungatawhiri, and I met him at Tuakau when I was examined by the doctor for the territorials. The chap Bates and himself were passed by the quack at the same time for enlistment. He tells me that the chap Walden, the one who has his discharge from the army, saw no active service on Gallipoli. I can’t help thinking of the phone at Pt. Chevalier, as I am attending a phone here. We sometimes use the post office method of sending verbal messages through, e.g. “C for Charley N for Nelly” etc. Do you remember how we used to wonder why people used to thump the telephone when speaking? I have discovered the reason; it is to shake up the chemicals in the cells, thus increasing the electric current, so allowing better speaking. I am much flattered by Mr Legg’s solicitations as to my welfare. I am keeping a look out for Lewis Thompson, in the forty-umpth reinforcements. The fact of his being a railway employee is probably the reason why he has not been called up yet. Well as there is absolutely nothing to relate I will “finis,” hoping this catches you in the best of health & spirits.
Your furrin brother Bert.
Letter 60
Full letter: One double-sided page.
To: Frank.
Date: 5h February 1918. He has addressed this “The land of the big fight.” Bert is still at Battalion HQ at this time.
Note: The old bike is the same as referred to in the earlier letter to Nellie - either she or Frank must have mentioned the bike in one of their letters to him.
Mon Cher Frank,
Comment ca va? Just a line or so from the cock-pit of Europe, to say that I am still alive and kicking, and am still engaged in the arduous task of annihilating the wily Hun. The papers say it is not the German people we are fighting. Then who is it we have been scrapping the last 3 years? Sir Dug. Haig has decided that the winter of France will be too cold for the N.Z.ers, so they are being sent to Belgium. As I gaze on the sea of mud, that represents Flanders, I am almost inclined to agree with the Maori, whom I heard say, “By Korry! I think it serve the German right, if he win this war!” He meant that the Hun if he won this war, would be obliged to take possession of this desert of mud, bricks & shell-holes, with all the rotten weather chucked in. Whilst I write this, I am smoking (don’t look shocked) a buckshee cigarette (the ones we get issued) trying to put up a smoke barrage, in opposition to the coal brazier ‘en the bivvie. Oh for a bang on the old accordion, to play that favourite hurdy-gurdy tune of yours again, and for a spin on the rattley old bike, or a shot at Brer Rabbit, or Eh Pukeko. By the way did you say that Bill Massey was going to start an ostrich farm on the old battlefields in France after the war. There are enough bullets, shrapnel balls, pieces of shells, barbed wire to fatten a million ostriches, besides bones and other tit bits. Well I hear that telephone ringing again, so I will cease fire tout de suite,
Votre Amorous Frere Bert.
Letter 61
Full Letter: A picture postcard showing the Tower of London
To: Frank
Date: Undated, but is probably 4 March 1918.
Dear Frank,
Just a line to say that I am in the land of the big smoke. Yes London is some village and it knocks Pokeno into a cocked hat. I was four days at Calais at the rest camp unable to cross the channel on account of the rough weather. The boat was doing all sorts of antics but managed to land at Dover alright. There was an air raid last night here and it was a busman’s holiday for me. The photo I sent was taken while we were training for the Messines stunt 11 months ago.
Bert.
Letter 62
Full Letter: A picture postcard showing London from the Monument.
To: Mother
Date: Undated, but is probably 4 March 1918.
Dear Mom,
Just a line from Blighty to say that I have got my leave at last. I am stopping at the NZ Soldiers Club before going to Brum. I have one or two things to fix up with regard to pay etc before I can go to Birmingham. I could have had my leave before now, but a chap has to have 10 pounds credit in his pay book, which takes a long time to get, before he can go on leave. Well I had better finish.
Bert
Letter 63
Full letter: Three single-sided pages
To: Nellie
Date: 12 March 1918, from Blackheath.
Dear Nelly,
Just a line or two from the above address to let you know how I am getting on. I have been here a few days, and I am making the most of it. That photo group that I sent to you was taken 9 months ago whilst we were training for the Messines Stunt. I did not go through the actual Messines advance, as I was on the reserve Lewis machine gunners, but I took part in the raid just right of Messines called Warneton and also was holding the new line when they had dug in at Messines. I was in the trenches at Warneton, Plugge Street, Messines. Neuve Eglise, etc, but afterwards we left that sector and went to Ypres way, and went over on the 4th of October at Passchendaele. The historic town of Ypres is in ruins with not a sound building in it. When the Rifle Brigade went over on about the 13th, they got a very bad cutting up hence the big casualty list. The 4th brigade has been broken up and drafted into the others on account of the reinforcements, which are not enough to keep the 4 brigades as a fighting unit. Yes, I knew those fellows you mention are in that photo. Coming to England on leave is a tedious business. First, I reported at Batt HQRS, and then to the reinforcement camp, where we go through a lot of inspections and then to a rest camp at Poperinge, where we caught the train for Calais where we were held for some unknown reason 4 days. Before embarking on the boat we go through a lot of tedious parades etc inspecting lice tickets (I had to make my own out) sugar tickets, passes etc, and search a few here and there to see that they carry no souvenirs over to England. After the boat (when we did finally board it) had finished doing all sorts of antics coming across the Channel, as it was a very rough sea, we finally landed at Dover, where we took train to Victoria Stn London and then by omnibus to the soldiers club Russell Square where we managed to get a clean change of clothing bath etc. London is not in darkness, the streets are all lighted up, and altogether different from Birmingham which is in total darkness. Food is dear, and it costs half-a-crown to wink in these restaurants. The war is good for another 12 months yet is my opinion. We hear all sorts of rumours, one time we are going to Italy, and the next day it is a sure thing that we are to be sent to Mesopotamia, and then the next day’s chaps are making bets that we are off to do garrison duty in India, while some fellow has heard from his uncle’s brother-in-law who has a job in the War Office that he heard it straight from the horse’s mouth that the New Zealanders are to be sent to Egypt or Palestine. There is one thing certain that at the rate they are sending reinforcements, they will not be able to keep the NZ forces as a fighting unit. I have had lovely weather so far for my leave, not cold at all, but today it is wet. There are more relatives than I thought, and I have not seen them all yet. Well I must close now with best wishes from
Bert
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This is the photo referred to in Bert’s letter to Nellie and postcard to Frank. He is fourth from left. It is the only known surviving photo we have of Bert sent back from France.
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Letter 64
Full letter: Two single-sided sheets.
To: Mother.
Date: Undated, but the bike ride mentioned dates it to 16 March 1918 while on leave from France in Blackheath.
Note: The bike ride may have been inspired by his talk with Frank and Nellie in earlier letters of an old bike back home in Pokeno. Uncle Percy is the beloved Percy Cashmore, brother of Bert’s mother who had emigrated to New Zealand.
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Dear Mother,
Just a line from home to let you know how things are going. The folks in Blackheath seem to be doing well out of this war. Uncle Alf seems to be making money out of it, and he is lucky to be a grocer at this time as they never need be short of butter, sugar, tea etc, for which other people have to wait in queues. Aunt Jane next door (Uncle Charley’s wife) has a son a few days old. Grandmother seems to be looking very well and wanted to know all about the family. Gordon, Lewis’s brother, was called up for the army and she (grandmother) has Maud Thompson living with her in his place. Uncle Joe and Aunt Mary-Ann were here Sunday. My cousin Pheobe does not seem to be looking very strong. I am to go around this afternoon to Aunt Clara’s to stay for tea. They all wish to be remembered to you. Fred was not at all well the last time he was here; it seems that his nerves are gone. Uncle Alf has not a bad sized family. Last Sunday I went for a spin on a bike and I was surprised (it was only a few minutes into the country) out Clent (I think that’s the name) way, along past Halesown Church and along a long lane, up some fairly steep hills. It is spring early this year and things were looking very green. Grandmother can’t understand why Uncle Percy never writes to her. Now Uncle Alf is talking about coming out to NZ but I am giving him no encouragement as he has a good business here where it takes some working up and it would be foolish to throw up a good business like that. I think he would have gone before if it was not for Aunt Louie. I think Pop would save money if he did not speculate so much in horses; he is always having trouble with them. You never know they may be calling Frank up yet for the army. Gordon Thompson is the same age as Frank and they have got him although he will not be sent to France till he is nineteen. They say he is a bad lad and was hiding at his mother’s for 3 months when they were looking for him for the army. I managed to see Uncle Ben last night, for once he was not working and he wishes to be remembered to Pop and you and he says he would like to come over for a visit. Well I will write another letter later on. Hoping this finds you all well at home and with love to the kids.
Your loving son Bert.
Letter 65
Fragment: Three single-sided pages, but page 3 is on markedly different sized paper.
To: Amy. The references to ‘my’ relatives and ‘your’ relatives are probably a touch of sarcasm because Amy has not written for a long time, reminding her that he is visiting the family as much for her as him, as part of a family duty.
Date: 20 March 1918. Bert is back in France. This is the last letter the family has from Bert. Seven days later he was dead.
Note: Sam Timmins is related to Bert’s paternal grandmother Ann Gadd (nee Timmins.) He is possibly her brother. There is a photograph of Job and Ann taken at Sam’s studio. However Timmins is a common name in the region. There is some family confusion about Ann’s name. Later generations thought her name was Hannah. This error arose because her marriage certificate incorrectly had her name as Hannah probably due to a clerical error - not uncommon at the time. Some also thought she was known as Pamela, but that is not the case. It was one of those family myths that took on a life of its own. Research of the family tree has corrected that.
Dear Amy,
Just a line to shake you up for not writing. What’s up? I have not heard from you for months. Remember for everyone you write, I have to answer a dozen, besides all the trouble I have trading rum issues for green envelopes. I am just back from Blighty leave and it is hard going back to sleeping on the hard floor again after being between quilts the last fortnight, and it is no joke going back to the army rations. I enjoyed my leave and had good weather over there. After a lot of trouble I arrived at Calais where we were delayed 4 days and after landing at Dover we took train to Victoria Square and thence by bus to Russell Sqr (sounds flash doesn’t it) where I put up at the Soldier’s Club. Then I walked to Euston Stn where I took train to New St Station B’ham, from where I walked to Snow Hill where I boarded train for Rowley Regis, from whence I walked to Blk’eath. Uncle Alf invited me to stay at his place. They seem to be coining money out of this war, and the rest of my relatives are making good money out of it. I think I visited all my relatives this time but this does not include second cousins, grand aunts etc which number in thousands. Black’eath is rather a dingy looking place and I would not like to spend the rest of my life there. Mind you they made me very welcome, did the relatives of mine. Uncle Alf amuses me, every night they indulge in a bit of ‘music’ the latest music hall songs: Uncle Alf thumps on the piano, while the boy plays a drum (they have at least half a dozen drums) and a cymbal and between the two they make plenty of noise if it’s not melodious. I visited the Whyles and saw your Uncle Ben; he happened to be not working for once. He seems a very simple man, can neither read nor write, and turns up every cent of his wages except tobacco money, and is a glutton for work, and works day and night. I believe in his spare time, he digs graves. Your Aunt Clara is built on the lines of Uncle David, short and fat. Your Cousin Miriam seems to be always on the sick list and both she and her husband go out to work. Herbert Whyle is not a bad chap, but is a little simple minded and has been (I have been told) courting several girls for years. Then I visited your Grandmother who seems to be looking well and has Maud Thompson living with her. She seems mad on wanting to follow Lewis’ footsteps by going out to NZ. The famous Gordon, Lewis’ brother, has been called up for the Army and is now in camp. He evaded the military authorities by hiding for 3 months at his mother’s place, and everybody thought he was in camp, till finally he got caught. He is evidently a shirker like his NZ brother. Stella Cashmore is not a bad girl, and is working at an office at a munition works. I visited Aunt Laura’s, Phoebe Whyles who is married, and other relatives I have forgotten. I spent a day with your Uncle Sam Timmins at Dudley, and he took me around the castle etc, and as he is a photographer, he would have me pose for my photo. He also runs a small shop and a hairdressing saloon. The most interesting day was the one I spent with ...
Letters to the family after Bert's death
Letter A1
Telegram:
Date: 18 April 1918.
Note: Bert’s death was recorded in the Roll of Honour in the New Zealand Herald on 18 April 1918. That day Uncle David Gadd and his daughter Edith and son-in-law Alex Taylor in Christchurch sent a telegram to Pokeno.
“Deepest sympathy from all. Gadd and Taylor.”
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Note: The Gadd family put an advertisement in a paper circulated to NZ troops asking for any information on Bert’s death. Two NCOs who served with Bert in 2 Platoon in 3rd Company responded. There is an unusual element to their letters; they both call Bert “Harry.” It isn’t known if he was ever called that by the family. Certainly he called himself Bert in all letters home. Perhaps there was already a Bert in 3rd Company when Bert joined and he was given the name Harry to distinguish the two.
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Letter A2
Fragment: We no longer have the actual original letter. All that was available at the time of converting to digital format was a typed sheet recording what was already just a fragment when that transcription took place. Unfortunately the later pages which would have provided interesting detail of Bert’s last moments are missing.
Date: 9 November 1918, sent from Codford, England.
Note: This is a letter sent to the family by sergeant Erick Jordan of 2 Platoon, 3rd Company, army number 14272, an older, more experienced soldier than Bert. Jordan, married and a father of three, was 27 at the time of Bert’s death and had been in France about six months longer than Bert, having come over as part of the 14th reinforcements. He had just been promoted to sergeant a few days before, on March 17, replacing a sergeant who had been killed. In the hard days that followed the fight to close the gap at the Somme, Jordan won a Distinguished Conduct Medal for leading his section of 2 Platoon in a charge against an enemy machine gun position, taking it out in early April. His army records confirm that he was convalescing in hospital in Codford, England at the time this letter was written. Showing what a small world New Zealand was at the time, it turns our Jordan had an earlier connection with the Gadds. When the family first arrived in New Zealand they settled in Gladstone Rd, Northcote. Herbert Senior worked for the Chelsea Sugar Works. The five older children gradually enrolled at Northcote College as they reached the right age. Bert enrolled on 2 March 1903 at age seven. All five children left the College in September 1905 when the family moved to Kingsland. Erick Jordan’s family lived in Northcote, his father, also called Erick, was a carrier, and his two sons Erick and George, five years’ younger, also went to Northcote College. Erick would have been 12 when Bert joined the school aged seven.
To Mrs H Gadd,
I was reading today in the NZ Chronicle paper where you were enquiring into the death of your son Harry. Well I knew Harry well when you lived in Northcote and I suppose you will remember me. I am the son of E Jordan the carrier. I was platoon sergeant of No. 2 Platoon which Harry was in. At about seven o’clock in the morning of March 27th we were counter-attacked ...
Letter A3
Fragment: Two pages – one small single-sided page, and part of a larger double-sided page. Unfortunately once more, as with Jordan’s letter, the later pages which would have provided interesting detail of Bert’s last moments are missing.
Date: Also 9 November 1918, sent from Codford, England.
Note: When he wrote this letter Arthur Burnside, 29, was a Lance Corporal having been promoted in July 1918, but he was a private when he was standing alongside Bert in March. Burnside was again an older man than Bert with about six months’ more experience, having enlisted in February 1916, leaving behind his job as a farmer. He came out with the 13th reinforcements and went through Sling and then joined 1st Auckland Battalion in March 1917. Burnside, like Bert, was a signaller with 3rd Company, and, as he says, knew Bert well having worked alongside him. He too had been at Brigade signals school during 1917. And again, showing how small New Zealand is, there is once more a family connection with the Burnsides, though this time in far later years. The Burnsides were from Ardmore near Papakura in Auckland where they were a prominent part of Ardmore School, with one of the School ‘Houses’ named after the family. Bert’s great-great nieces Imogen and Zoe Gadd both attended Ardmore and met Arthur’s son who still attended school prize giving’s in his retirement.
... I saw in the Chronicle a couple of days ago that you were enquiring for anyone who knew anything about Harry’s last hours. Well I knew him fairly well and am very glad to be able to say that he did not suffer. He was killed instantaneously. I was only a couple of yards from him. A sniper got him on the morning of the 27th of March. We buried him that night along with six others who got caught the same morning. He lies about a mile in front of the village of Mailly-Maillet and a very decent cross marks his resting place. He was a game boy and had done some good work. I can sympathise with you. I lost a brother last October twelve months and my mother was pretty badly cut up I believe. But we have to try and bear all that comes our way. I could not say what became of any of his personal belongings. We had a very strenuous day then and things were not looking ...
[Rest of the letter is missing]
I am yours sincerely
AD Burnside L/Cpe
23963
3rd Coy
1st AIB
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Letter A4
Full letter: From Gordon Coates, a hand-written letter on House of Representatives letterhead.
Date: August 1918.
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London
My Dear Mrs Gadd,
Only a little note to you concerning 39188 Private H Gadd. He was a signaler in my company and was killed on 27th of March last, during heavy fighting on the Somme. It was early morning and the Bosche were attacking our position. We were all fighting for all we were worth, and my little friend Gadd, not satisfied with watching joined in the fray. He was quite close to me shooting away, when an enemy bullet got him. He was moved and was quite dead when I went to him. We had been together for a long time, and he was a pet of mine, more because he was such a very plucky boy and always doing his job. He did a very brave thing in the battle of Ypres in October 1917. A whole platoon was killed with the exception of two, he stuck to his post and kept his telephone going and got assistance and reinforcements up. Thanks to his pluck and bravery we held our ground and beat the enemy badly on that occasion. My little friend has gone but the boys often talk of him and we miss him dreadfully. It is men like him who set such a fine example, quiet, solid thinking chaps always cool and deliberate. Well he is not with us in body but his memory is always here as a fine soldier and one who has helped untold to make our little army what it is. Goodbye Mrs Gadd and my best wishes and deepest thoughts go out to you in this hour of sore trial.
Yours Very Sincerely
Gordon Coates
Captain o/c 3rd Auckland Coy.
1st Batt. Auck. Reg.
France
Letter A5
Full letter:
To: Nellie.
Date: 3 November 1918 – just eight days before the end of the war. Addressed ‘France.’
Dear Nellie,
Very many thanks for a letter to hand from you a matter of two weeks ago. You must forgive me for not replying before as I have just been over to England for a short holiday and your letter was handed to me just as I was leaving France. I can assure you I did not get much time for letter writing over there. As you will notice by my address I am once more in France but not with the coy. I do not expect to join my unit for two or three days yet, and I do not want to either, as they are in a pretty hot spot. I do not want a repetition of what happened to Bert especially now peace is so near. I see by this morning’s paper that both Austria and Turkey have surrendered and now we have only Germany to fight. I feel confident we can soon finish things. The sooner it is over the better for there are more going under out here nowadays than there ever has been before. The fighting is very desperate and terrible, and it makes a fellow so anxious as no one wants to be knocked out at this stage of the game. Well, Nellie everyone seems to be going on well in England except Phoebe Whyle and she is very, very ill. She is going exactly the same as Katie went and I am afraid she will never be much good. Her husband is very worried about her and so is everyone else for she was very nice and is loved by all her relatives. I suppose you know Doris Carter was married. Her husband is in an English hospital now suffering from pneumonia. I believe he very nearly died. He is getting better again now. I spent a very quiet time in England, just sat at home by the fire most of the time. Somehow I did not feel like going out and mother and father thought I was terribly miserable but such was not the case. I spent the first and last day in London and had as much life during those two days as the average man crams into a leave so you know why I wanted to be quiet. Dad wants me to stay at home after the war but I do not think I shall as I love NZ better than I love England. Don’t be alarmed, I am not going to bring back an English girl as a wife, married life will not suit me. I am too much of a wanderer and am far too fond of doing what I please. It will have to be an exceptionally good girl who entices me into marriage. Besides I do not want to make the same mistake as Lewis made. Well this is about all I have to say Nell, so will close. Do not forget that news from you is always welcome. Wishing you a Merry Xmas and a happy New Year. I remain your affectionate cousin,
Fred
Miscellaneous
The Kew Family:
Included among the memorabilia the family has is a surviving letter to Annie Gadd from Bert’s friend and neighbour Mick Kew. Mick, real name Milo, had worked as a sawmill hand alongside Bert in the Mercer timber yard. He survived the war and died at the age of 71 in 1968. He is buried at the Mangere Lawn Cemetery.
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Postcard:
To: Annie Gadd, Bert’s mum.
Date: 3 April 1917. This is out of chronological order but is placed here because it is an isolated card. Addressed ‘Sling Camp.’
Dear Mrs Gadd,
Just a line to let you know I am quite well and have had a good trip over. I expect Bert is in France now and I will look him up when I get over. The weather is very cold here as we are having a late winter, but things are not so bad as I expected them to be. Excuse me not writing a letter but I am a poor hand at writing. Yours respectfully,
Mick
David Gadd, Bert’s younger brother, in later life wrote reminiscences about the early days of the Gadd family, including their time in Pokeno. He included the following piece about the Kews, who kept in touch with Annie Gadd through the years.
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Manfred Kew of Pokeno. The bearded, shaggy haired old man lived with his wife, “Nurse Kew,” and his unmarried daughter Alice and her little girl Elsie, right opposite us on top of our steep hill. Old Kew was a thick-set man and blind. Over 70 years old, he was fit, active, silent and a tiger for work. His farm, about 20 acres or so, was all gorse, as high as any decent hedge or any good horse. The paddocks, such as they were, had good fences. Old Manfred, blind as he was, kept a cleared track about a yard wide, absolutely clear of gorse alongside all the good, tight, barbed wire fences. The road-side fence too was always kept clean and clear of gorse, while away from the fence – all gorse, nothing else. Many a time we could hear his loud gar-ouch as he wielded his heavy grubber, hacking out the elderly gorse roots, an endless job for young gorse would keep springing up alongside the many fences. We always knew just where old Manfred was, even if he was working away at the far end of his farm by his endless cries of gar-ouch! Up would go his grubber, and gar-ouch, as it came down. There was a fairish sized pine tree in a dip beside his road fence. Manfred Kew must have been annoyed by its presence for he decided to cut it down. It was holiday time and we often stood on the road and watched his progress. It took him a long time to remove it, but remove it he did. He gar-ouched away for hours and we expected him to be squashed flat when the tree fell. We were a bit disappointed when the deed was accomplished and the man was still hale and hearty. He had plenty of time to saw up the branches, he cut them all into nice neat chunks all the same length, gar-ouching away as he handled the saw. He also grew vegetables by the back door of his house, mostly potatoes – all very tidy in neat rows, such tiny ones. His soil must have been very poor and he didn’t use fertiliser. Once or twice a week, clad in an old oil-skin overcoat he tapped his way into town. He held his great stick in his left hand as a sort of guiding wand, brushing the gorse bushes alongside the road with it from time to time to keep himself as close to its edge as possible. It was a sight well worth seeing if he met up with a mob of cattle. As the beasts surged and milled around him he would stand firm and wave his stick in all directions with cries of “Away there, away there!” We kids all expected to see him any day impaled on the horns of a hefty steer, but no such luck came our way, he always won through. And Manfred Kew had a son named Mick, who returned alive and well from the war, one of the few who did not get killed. And Mick bought himself a motor-bike, the first we’d ever seen – an Indian. It was a great treat to watch Mick showing it to all the adoring Pokenites and the young men, of course, had to have a try at riding it – the spills they had on those hard stony roads, and the gorse and blackberry bushes on the roadside were not the best of landing places for inexperienced riders. “I’d sooner ride our good Tommy,” said our Jessie. “We would too,” said our coddy-so, “we would too.” Tommy was our school pony.
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The Hitchen Family:
Alongside the letter to Philip and the references to Philip in Bert’s letters, the family also has a photograph of Mrs Hitchens, presumably Philip’s mother. Written on the back is Christmas and New Year Greetings from E Hitchen. Taken Feb 1949. There is also a Hitchens Rd in Pokeno which presumably commemorates the family.