Messines to Carrick Hill:: Writing Home from the Great War

MERCIER PRESS

3B Oak House, Bessboro Rd

Blackrock, Cork, Ireland.

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© Thomas Burke, 2017

ISBN: 978 1 78117 484 5

Epub ISBN: 978 1 78117 485 2

Mobi ISBN: 978 1 78117 486 9

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

All characters and events in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, which may occur inadvertently, is completely unintentional.

Contents

Abbreviations & Acronyms

Preface

1 Innocence

2 Smitten by War

3 ‘Fancy the Royal Irish captured Moore Street’

4 Dear Mother,You Are Not to Worry

5 The Road to Wijtschate

6 Michael’s New Home in Flanders

7 Back to School

8 ‘Shamrock grows nowhere else but Ireland’

9 ‘I stick to my rosary’

10 Life in the Reserve around Loker, Kemmel and Dranouter

11 ‘Curious times’

12 Paddy’s Day at Loker

13 The Swallows Have Arrived

14 Training and Away from the Guns for a While

15 ‘We’ll hold Derry’s Walls’ – Relations between the Irish Divisions in Flanders

16 ‘God grant that I come through … we have let Hell loose’

17 ‘Come on the Royal Irish’

18 One Haversack and Six Religious Medallions

19 Remembrance

20 Michael’s Belated Funeral – a Personal Reflection

Endnotes

Bibliography

About the Author

About the Publisher

Abbreviations & Acronyms

BEF British Expeditionary Force

CBS Christian Brothers School

CF Chaplain to the Forces

CWGC Commonwealth War Graves Commission

DCM Distinguished Conduct Medal

DSO Distinguished Service Order

GHQ General Headquarters

GOC General Officer Commanding

GPO General Post Office

HMT His/Her Majesty’s Transport

IWM Imperial War Museum

LHCMA Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives

NAK National Archives, Kew

NCO Non-commissioned Officer

OR Other Rank

OTC Officers’ Training Corps

RAMC Royal Army Medical Corps

RASC Royal Army Service Corps

RDF Royal Dublin Fusiliers

RDFA Royal Dublin Fusiliers Association

RFA Royal Field Artillery

RFC Royal Flying Corps

RHMS Royal Hibernian Military School

SJ Society of Jesus

SP Strong Point

UCD University College Dublin

UVF Ulster Volunteer Force

VC Victoria Cross

VD Venereal Disease

Preface

On 28 January 1999 Mrs Rosemary Kavanagh of Warner’s Lane, Dublin, wrote me a letter addressed to the Dublin Civic Museum in South William Street.¹ She informed me in the letter that she had recently come into possession of a bundle of documents containing letters, telegrams and some photographs that had once belonged to Michael Wall, a young relative of her husband. She explained that Michael was an Irish officer who served in the Royal Irish Regiment during the First World War. The majority of the letters by Michael were written from the trenches in Flanders to his mother in Carrick Hill near Malahide in north County Dublin. The documents had come into Rosemary’s possession following the death of Michael’s younger brother Bernard, or Barney as he was known to family and friends. Barney never married and safely kept Michael’s papers for many years in his home in Blackrock, County Dublin. He died in August 1998 at the age of ninety. Rosemary graciously offered the documents as a donation to the archive of The Royal Dublin Fusiliers Association (RDFA).

It wasn’t until the middle of March 1999 that I got round to visiting Rosemary, her husband, Andy, and their daughter, Jane. I spent an entire afternoon and evening reading these simple but heart-rending letters. So emotionally moved was I by these letters that I made a promise to myself, to Rosemary and her family, and most of all to Michael that someday I would use his letters to write an account of his time in Flanders.

No matter how Michael’s story was going to be told, it had to be set within the larger story of the First World War and in particular the Battle of Wijtschate and Messines, which took place in early June 1917.² After I received Michael’s letters, I spent several years researching the Irish participation in this battle in great detail. The end product of the research was an unpublished 500-page treatise that essentially told the story of how the 16th (Irish) and 36th (Ulster) Divisions took the village of Wijtschate from the Germans on 7 June 1917.³ Having completed the work, I realised that Michael’s story was lost in this vast script, in which the emphasis was on the battle itself and not on Michael Wall.⁴ Consequently, I decided the best way to tell this young man’s story was to let him tell it himself, by reducing emphasis on the battle and paying greater attention to the content of his letters. To add a sense of place and reality, the letters – all of which are dated – are set against his battalion’s locations and activities in Flanders.⁵ Moreover, to explain the background of the sentiments Michael expressed and the topics to which he referred, the narrative is expanded and contextualised.

I would like to thank some of the people who helped me produce Michael’s story. There are few regrets I have in life, but, sad to say, one I do have is the fact that Rosemary never got to see the fruits of my work. She died peacefully at St Vincent’s University Hospital in Dublin on 23 June 2016. So to Rosemary, Andy, Jane and all the Kavanagh family, I simply say thank you for giving me his letters and the privilege of writing his story. To my dear friends and comrades in the RDFA – Sean Connolly, Brian Moroney, Captain (retired) Seamus Greene, Philip Lecane, Nick Broughall and the late Pat Hogarty – thank you for your friendship, kindness and generosity.

I have always believed that if one is going to write about a battle, one must walk the battlefield – or in my case cycle it. For many years I have cycled round the laneways and roads that once passed through the battlefield on the eastern and western sides of Wijtschate and Messines to see where a camp called the Curragh Camp and hutment lines called Tralee Lines and Shankill Lines once stood full of Irish men. I simply could not have survived in the Heuvelland region of Flanders without the help of Mrs Trees Vanneste, her husband, Marc, and also Mr Johan Vandelanotte, who, sadly, passed away too young on 26 October 2016. I thank them for their kindness and hospitality on my many trips to the region.

I thank, too, my dear friends Erwin and Mia Ureel. Erwin is a Flemish man who for many years, unknown to most people in Ireland, has worked tirelessly to keep alive the memory of the Irish soldiers who fought and died in his country. To mark the 100th anniversary of the Christmas Truce of December 1914, Erwin, Sean Connolly and I camped out on the old front line near Prowse Point Cemetery on Christmas Eve 2014. It was a magical experience.

There were many people who read parts of my script and offered their opinions, which I valued. For their contribution I would like to thank Sean Connolly, Philip Lecane, Dr Tim Bowman of the University of Kent and Dr David Murphy of the National University of Ireland, Maynooth. There are also many people to whom I am very grateful for their advice on the location and sourcing of primary source material: Ellen Murphy and Dr Mary Clarke of the Dublin City Library and Archive; Billy Ervine of The Somme Heritage Centre in Newtownards; Fr Fergus O’Donoghue SJ of the Jesuit Archive in Leeson Street, Dublin; Cliff Walter of the Royal Signals Museum in Dorset; Alan Wakefield of The Photographic Archive in the Imperial War Museum, London; Aoife Lyons, librarian, National Gallery of Ireland; and Brother Tom Connolly, Edmund Rice House, Dublin. Thanks, too, to Martin Steffen for his help on German regiments. Thanks also to Mr George (RIP) and Mrs Mabel Pearson, Hillsborough, County Down, for allowing me access to the papers of Sergeant Andrew Lockhart; the editorial staff of Mercier Press, Wendy Logue, Noel O’Regan and Trish Myers Smith; my brother-in-law Trevor Wayman for his artistic skills; and my friend at Ulster Television, Paul Clark, who was so encouraging to me along the way.

To my mother, Annie, and my father, Ned, long since passed away, thank you for giving me the gift of an education. To my wife, Michele, and children, Carl, Jamie and Rachel, thank you for your support and encouragement during difficult times.

And so, after many a twist and turn to complete it, here is the story of one of Ireland’s lost generation of unfulfilled potential. This is my anthem for their doomed youth.

Tom Burke

June 2017

1

Innocence

Michael Thomas Wall, or ‘Al’ as he was known to family and friends, was born on 21 March 1898 in the fishing village of Howth, north County Dublin.¹ His father, also named Michael, had been born on a farm near the village of Coolrain, County Laois; he worked as a bookkeeper in Howth.² Michael’s mother, Theresa Carr, was born on 24 February 1872 and came from Dunbo Cottages, near Dunbo Terrace, behind the police station in Howth.³ Theresa and Michael Wall senior (who was a widower) met in Howth and were married in the old Catholic church in the village on 21 May 1897.⁴ Within a year of their marriage, Michael junior was born at Glentora, an elegant house situated on the fashionable Balkill Road in Howth. Over the next ten years, Michael senior and Theresa brought three more children into the world: Patrick Joseph, or ‘Joe’, in 1899; Agatha Mary in 1901; and Bernard, or ‘Barney’, on 20 August 1908.

In May 1906, at a little over eight years of age, young Michael enrolled in St Joseph’s Christian Brothers School (CBS) in the north Dublin suburb of Fairview.⁵ Each morning he travelled to school by tram from Howth along the coast road. The full fourteen-and-a-half kilometre journey to Nelson’s Pillar in central Dublin took about forty-five minutes; the fare was five pennies.⁶ Within a month of his being at St Joseph’s, Michael had made an impression on his teacher, Brother M. S. O’Farrell, who wrote to Mrs Wall telling her that ‘Michael is a fine, talented child. He’s bound, if God spares him, to become a fine man.’⁷

The year 1908 was a good one for Michael. In August his mother gave birth to a baby boy she named Barney, and Michael passed his Standard III exam and advanced to Standard IV. Written on Michael’s Standard III certificate was a quotation by the writer John Ruskin (1819–1900), which the brothers used as a kind of motto: ‘Education is the leading of human souls to what is best.’ Brother Reid signed Michael’s certificate.

The following year St Joseph’s – or ‘Joey’s’ as it became known to generations of Dubliners – reached its twenty-first year and metaphorically had come of age (the school had been in operation since 1888). It had three Christian Brothers and three lay teachers teaching under the supervision of Brother Patrick Berchmans Reid (1880–1956), Master of Method in the Christian Brothers’ training school. The school hours were 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. In that year, Joey’s had a state inspection. The inspectors were pleased with the layout of the school, its cleanliness and the provision of blackboards and maps. They noted the presence of a library containing some 600 volumes, mostly books of adventure. They also noted that discipline was very good and that punishment was by means of a strap on the palm of the hand.⁸

Sometime after Barney was born, the Wall family had moved from Howth to 7 Hollybrook Road, Clontarf, a well-established parish about five kilometres north-east of Dublin city and near Fairview.⁹ A terrible tragedy struck this young family in December 1910 when Michael’s father died, aged forty-five, from cancer of the colon. He was buried in St Fintan’s Cemetery, Sutton, County Dublin. Michael was just twelve. The death of her husband left Theresa with a very young family and no regular source of income; the future looked bleak indeed.

Theresa’s sister Margaret, or ‘Margo’ for short, was one year older than her and had married a wealthy landowner, Sir Percy Willan. Their family residence was at Carrick Hill House, a grand country house with thirty-two rooms, near Portmarnock, also in north County Dublin. In an act of kindness, Margo offered Theresa and her young family part of her home in which to stay.Margo had suffered her own share of tragedy. She had married in 1899 and in 1903 gave birth to a boy named Cyril. Four years later, however, her husband ran off with Cyril’s nanny. He also left Margo near-penniless at the time by selling most of the farm’s livestock.¹⁰ Before he had died, Theresa’s husband, Michael, with his farming experience, had helped to restock the farm at Carrick Hill. The exact date on which Michael junior and the rest of his family moved to Carrick Hill is not known, but it may well have been soon after he left Joey’s in January 1911.

The estate around Carrick Hill House consisted of about 263 acres of excellent farming land. It was a very active farm, with the main business coming from cattle, sheep and the growing of Russet eating apples for export.¹¹ The house itself was surrounded by beautiful gardens. It was customary with such large country houses to have live-in maids. Two lived at Carrick Hill: Bridget Marshall, aged thirty-one, who was single and from County Westmeath, and Elizabeth Clynn, seventeen and also single, from County Longford.¹²

Portmarnock was the nearest village to Michael’s new home.¹³ In the early twentieth century, it was a typical small Irish country village with an economy that was based mainly on agriculture. Like many such villages at the time, Portmarnock had its share of local landlords and gentry. The bulk of the land around the village was in the hands of four families, namely the Jamesons (Protestant and associated with the distilling of Irish whiskey), the Plunketts (Roman Catholic), the Trumbulls (Protestant) and the Willans (Protestant). Probably the earliest landowners in the area were the Plunkett family, who were in Portmarnock as far back as 1733. They were also related to St Oliver Plunkett, who had been primate of Ireland in the seventeenth century. The Plunketts ran a brick factory in the village for nearly 200 years and, along with farming, provided the main source of employment in the parish. Out of the twenty-three families who lived in Portmarnock, sixteen lived on lands owned by the Plunkett family.¹⁴

Front (top) and rear views of Carrick Hill House, Carrick Hill, Portmarnock, County Dublin. Courtesy of the Kavanagh family.

Living and working on the Willan estate were six families.¹⁵ Tommy Cunningham, the Land Steward who worked on the estate, lived there all his life. When Sir Percy departed, Margo had known nothing about farming and had relied on Tommy, who, through hard work, brought the farm back from near-bankruptcy. Cunningham was a decent, honest man, respected by those who worked under him. He died, aged eighty-eight, in 1956 and is buried in the Old Cemetery in Portmarnock.¹⁶ Harry Kealy, the local coalman’s brother, was the Willans’ shepherd.¹⁷ John Donnelly was the blacksmith; his forge and thatched family home were on the road leading up to the big house.

Mrs Connie Fowler, née Donnelly, was one of the blacksmith’s daughters. She could recall her father working in his forge when she was a little girl: the only light was ‘daylight which came in through the double door at the front … Among Dad’s regular customers was Cyril Willan, James Kealy, the local coalman, the Jamesons and the locals who had ponies for Sunday mass.’ She had fond memories of life in Portmarnock during the years of the First World War, especially on market day, which began with the collection of cabbages from the Willan estate. In the summer months, when the beach and golf course at Portmarnock attracted visitors, Connie’s mother opened a tea garden in the front garden of the house, with tables set with white linen tablecloths and decorated with flowers from the garden.¹⁸

Martha Reilly was born in Portmarnock in 1894. Her recollections of lazy, peaceful summer evenings present a further image of life around the Willan estate in the early twentieth century:

The Jamesons used to rent the Martello field from Willan for grassing and the cows used to walk from that field across the road and down onto the strand near the rocks at the Martello Tower. They used to paddle in the water and lie on the beach. It was lovely to watch them. At evening they would then move down the strand and across the sandy banks on their way to Jameson’s stables for milking.¹⁹

The Dublin artist Walter Osborne (1859–1903) was a regular summer visitor to Portmarnock. His paintings Cattle in the Sea, Milking Time in St Marnock’s Byre and On the Beach depict the scene Martha talked about.²⁰

There was no Catholic church in the village of Portmarnock for centuries until the first one was dedicated on Sunday 22 July 1934. Consequently, folks had to travel, mainly by horse and cart, on the coast road from Portmarnock and Carrick Hill to the Church of St Peter and Paul in Baldoyle. The parish priest who looked after the spiritual needs of the Roman Catholics of Portmarnock, Carrick Hill and Baldoyle was Fr Robert Carrick (1833–1932). The children of the village went to the Jameson School, so named after the family who were the school’s early patrons from 1868. When the Jamesons visited the school, the children all had to stand up and sing ‘God Save the King’. The school was a national school for the village children between four and twelve years of age, and was in use until 1965.²¹

Apart from Michael, all of Theresa’s children were sent to Mount Sackville boarding school at Chapelizod in Dublin. Their fees were paid for by Margo. The common practice for boys who had completed their junior education at St Joseph’s was to transfer to the senior CBS – O’Connell Boys’ School in North Richmond Street, Dublin, named after Daniel O’Connell – and Michael, like many before him, followed this path. The compliments his teacher at St Joseph’s wrote about him being a ‘fine, talented child’ were quite genuine.²² Michael brought these talents with him into his early adolescence. In 1915 the Scholarship Committee of Dublin County Council offered Michael, who was by then seventeen, a county scholarship to study at University College Dublin (UCD).²³ During the summer of 1915 he completed his matriculation exams for entry into the National University of Ireland. His late application, however, denied him a place in college that year. Judging by the science subjects he studied over his four years at O’Connell CBS, such as elementary physics and magnetism, he no doubt would have pursued a degree in engineering or science.²⁴

Life for Theresa’s young family seemed idyllic. Fresh air and all the pursuits of country living helped to ease the loss of a husband and father. Michael soon took on the mantle of being the man of the family. He settled into his new home and assumed the role of a young country squire. His destiny seemed to lie in a university education and a career in science or engineering. It is incredible to think that effects of the shock wave created by the assassination of an Austrian aristocrat and his wife by a Serbian nationalist on the streets of Sarajevo on 28 June 1914 trickled their way to a little coastal village in north County Dublin, and brought with them disaster and misery for some of its inhabitants.

2

Smitten by War

Michael Wall was only sixteen when the First World War broke out. At such a young and impressionable age, war and boyhood adventure went hand in hand. In early March 1915 he wrote to an acquaintance of the family, Francis Gleeson, who by then was a padre with the Royal Munster Fusiliers serving in France.¹ On 14 March Fr Gleeson replied to Michael’s letter; he thanked Michael for the shamrock he had sent. He found life at the front, ‘desolate and cheerless … a very hard one, but the loneliness is the worst’.²

Like so many young men of his generation, Michael may have been seduced by a vision of war presented to him in what he read in his youth. In the years leading up to the First World War, young boys who could read and afford them bought magazines such as The Boy’s Own, Pluck and The Boy’s Friend, which mythologised war with romantic and chivalric stories. Not only were these fictions a source of exciting escapist adventure, but they also promoted ‘patriotism, manliness and a simplistic imperial world view that emphasised duty and the need for sacrifice if the British Empire was to endure’.³ According to Michael Paris, ‘adventure fictions, generally written for boys and young men aged between 10 and 18 years, were intended to inculcate patriotism, manliness, and a sense of duty to Crown and Empire among readers’.⁴ The library in St Joseph’s CBS in Fairview may not have had many books relating to the glory of the British Empire, but boyhood adventure was a central theme of many of the books.

Young German boys had their choice of pre-war patriotic, martial juvenile literature to read too. According to Sonja Muller:

Historic juvenile literature was the main genre and related to battles and wars of the past. Also popular were books on contemporary history. Titles like Um Freiheit und Vaterland (For Freedom and Fatherland), Die Helden des Burenkrieges (Heroes of the Boer War) or Der Weltkrieg, Deutsche Träume (World War, German Dreams) offered various ranges of militaristic literature.⁵

To add to the martial influences acting on Michael’s juvenile mind, the boys from the Royal Hibernian Military School (RHMS) in Phoenix Park, Dublin, spent their summer camp in the fields round Carrick Hill, where they practised drill and lived the outdoor life under canvas. The RHMS boys were at Carrick Hill in August 1915.⁶ With recruitment posters on display throughout the land, the war had come to Ireland, and recruitment was in full swing by late 1914. By the beginning of February 1915 approximately 50,107 Irishmen had enlisted in the army.⁷

Michael was too young to enlist legally. Recruits for the army at that time had to be between eighteen and thirty-eight years of age. However, despite his age, this war was not going to pass him by. Having an interest in science and engineering, on the advice of his friend R. W. Smyth at the RHMS, Michael applied for work in the engineering department at the Ministry of Munitions, which had an office at 32 Nassau Street in Dublin. On 25 September 1915 Staff Captain R. B. Kelly, who represented the Ministry of Munitions in Ireland, wrote to Michael declining his application but suggested that he should ‘communicate with Messrs Watt Ltd of Bridgefoot Street in Dublin’.⁸ Michael didn’t seem to have much luck in obtaining work with Watt Ltd either, so, keen as ever, he reapplied to the Ministry of Munitions for work.

On 16 November he received another letter, from a Captain Browne, superintendent engineer for Dublin and South of Ireland, who informed Michael, ‘I have forwarded your application to W. H. Morton Esq. Loco Engineer, Midland Great Western Railway, Broadstone, Dublin, who will no doubt write to you in the course of a few posts.’⁹ But Michael’s ambitions to work in munitions never materialised. A week later, Smyth wrote to Michael suggesting he should try to enlist in the army.¹⁰ Two days later, on 25 November 1915, Michael filled out Army Form W.3075, which was to be completed by a ‘Candidate for a Commission in the Regular Army, Special Reserve or Territorial’.

The language used in Smyth’s letter to Michael is interesting to note. By using the words ‘they will all think the more of you for doing so’, Smyth tapped into the Edwardian sense of honour and manly pride, suggesting to Michael that ‘they’ – that is, those who knew him and perhaps his mother – would be proud of him for enlisting. In truth, his mother may have been proud of her son, but as Smyth also suggested, Michael’s enlistment did nothing for her peace of mind. No doubt some difficult words were exchanged between Michael and his mother when he told her that he had applied to join the army.

Michael had applied for a cadetship as an officer and not as an ordinary private soldier. His young country squire self-image and his coming from the ‘big house’ at Carrick Hill, with all the social standing and imagery associated with the big-house class, conditioned his ambition to take part in this war as an officer. It was adventure that drove Michael to enlist. He certainly did not do so out of economic necessity; after all, he came from comfortable surroundings and had a good academic career ahead of him in UCD. He was going to wear the uniform of an officer, a leader, an imagined heroic character from an adventure book and a representative of his assumed class.

Michael’s ambition to join the officer ranks was in contrast to a neighbour of his who also enlisted. Patrick (Pat) Redmond was the son of Plunkett’s chauffeur, James Redmond. Pat was twenty years of age when the war broke out, and he enlisted as a private in the 9th Royal Dublin Fusiliers (RDF).¹¹ He was a general labourer and lived with his father, two sisters and two brothers in their three-room tenant-cottage on the Plunkett estate. His mother was dead.¹² Pat’s and Michael’s different levels of entry into the army were dictated by their social class and were a reflection of the society from which they came. Their motivation for enlisting may also have been different. While Michael’s was adventure, Patrick’s may well have been economic.

Michael was not the only ex-Joey’s CBS boy who enlisted in the British Army. Tom O’Mara from the Howth Road in Clontarf