Here is this week’s round-up of pieces from the Batley News relating to the parish of St Mary’s. The spelling and punctuation matches that of the newspaper.
A parishioner’s case for exemption from military service came before the Batley Tribunal.
BATLEY TRIBUNAL
Exemptions of Men Under 31 to be ReviewedBatley Tribunal sitting this afternoon will review the exemptions given to the following mill employees under 31 years of age….
Co-operative Wholesale Society, Ltd.—
James Munns, Bi, sourer.
Bi was his military service medical fitness classification. ‘B’ meant he was free from serious organic diseases, able to stand on lines of communications in France or undertaking garrison duties in tropics. The ‘i’ meant he was able to march five miles, see, shoot with glasses and hear well.
The following piece is not related to St Mary’s, but it gives a flavour of the struggles facing the mothers, wives and children of men undertaking military service. The examples given are typical of the situations of so many up and down the country, including those families in St Mary’s parish.
A GLIMPSE INTO SOLDIERS’ HOMES.
What War Means to Those Left Behind.
How Lady Visitors are Trying to Comfort the Sufferers.
(Special to the “News.”)It was with some diffidence that I accepted the role of a lady visitor to the soldiers’ wives and mothers in our little mining village, which is attached to the busy centre of Dewsbury. The gracious lady who is the head of the movement told me the highest compliment she had received was when one of the soldiers’ mothers told her “she seemed to be like one of them,” and to be “one of them,” became also my intention.
Now, I felt I was handicapped at the start, as my own boys are too young to join the Colours, and my husband too old, also I remembered that trite saying “Fools rush in where Angels fear to tread.” But at least I was wife, mother and sister, and as such could sympathise.
A Case of Dire Poverty.
For a long time before I became an official visitor, I had been in the habit of calling to see the mother of one of our boys. She has been a hopeless cripple for years with chronic rheumatism, unable to stir hand or foot. The young follow called before leaving for the Dardanelles to ask me if I would “look after his mother a bit.”It is a very sad case, as the father is only a farm labourer, and our of his meagre wages he has to pay a housekeeper. The soldier is their only one, and being a married man his wife draws the Government pay, and also the Patriotic Fund allowance for herself and two children. The son, when at home, used to go every morning to help his father to lift the mother out of bed, as a woman isn’t strong enough. The poor woman has now sometimes to wait for days for help by chance. The District Nurse comes once a fortnight.
I might say that this is the one and only case of dire poverty I have seen. There that mother sits or lies the day through, living in the past, thinking of her boy. He is safe so far, God grant he may win through.
The Third and Last Boy to Go.
I was sent for to another house. There are three boys in the family – one is in France, another in Mesopotamia, and the mother had got the paper calling up her last one, an attested boy of eighteen. She seemed almost beside herself as she said to me “You see he’s the youngest, and has never had to do for himself, and he isn’t as sharp as the other two.”“Why, Mrs. C,” said I, “When the boys come home you’ll be the proudest woman in our village; you will have sent three, you know.”
She dried her eyes, and like the brave woman she really was, began to get ready for his departure.
A Lad Who Has Got Out of Hand.
Just a little further on, and another soldier’s home; the father is in the fighting line, and a wife and five young children are left. Here the burden does not seem to rest so heavily, but I had come to bless and not to criticise, and surely these are the cases which need visiting. The eldest boy (a young rascal, too), is getting too big of a handful for his mother. We talked it over, and I am going to make a friend of that boy. What he needs is a firm hand. I think his faults are rather due to lack of discipline than want of character.Big Burdens for Little Mothers.
Another door between, and again a soldier’s wife – quite a girl, with a little one of two years and a wee baby. The father came on his last leave the night the baby came. The girl mother is making a brave struggle for the little ones, and I made a mental note to come here a little more often.Not ten yards away there is a little white-washed cottage. The father of the family, who has been a long time in the trenches, is now “reported missing”. This mother is left with three young children. Ah me! The burden here seems almost too heavy for her tired shoulders. The wife is only a young woman, and all the children have had measles; the little girl has had to go back to bed as the doctor fears rheumatic fever.
And now another home a little more cheerful – a mother this time. I found her hopping about on one leg with a crutch. She had her leg taken off some years ago. Two splendid fine sons at the Front, the only worry is —“That she doesn’t know where the eldest boy is, and she has to address his letters to London.” He was in India when the war broke out. “Poor lad,” she says, “it would be such a comfort if I only knew where he was,” and a tear steals down her cheery face.
No wonder we have brave soldiers with mothers like these.
From another house across the road three sons have gone out. Next door the husband is away, and a wife and three children are left. These are only just a few homes in our little village. There are lots of others. Scarcely a house but has husband, son, brother, or relative away. I am proud of our village lads.
Yorkshire Pudding Sent to Salisbury Plain.
The letters I have read – such human documents. Now and then there might be a healthy grumble from one of the lads in training. Being Yorkshire lads they miss the Yorkshire pudding and home-made teacakes. I know at least one woman who sends Yorkshire pudding to Salisbury Plain every week, and at the weekly baking there are teacakes put on one side to send to “the boys.” They taste so much nicer sent from home.But from those in the fighting line not a word of complaint. All wanting to show wife and mother the best side. Dangers and inconvenience are passed off as a joke.
One fellow writes —: “My word, mother, but you are a lucky woman to have a letter from me.” The Germans had shelled the water-cart he was taking to the trenches, and it was Tommy’s way of telling it!
A Fight to a Finish.
One and all ask, “When will the war be over?” but no one dreams of giving in; it’s to be a fight to the finish.Now to close. I paid a sad visit to a bereaved mother. A bright brave lad of twenty had been killed. He was the first born, and the flower of the flock. How my heart ached for that mother, as dazed and tearless she bade me “come in.” One felt on holy ground in the presence of such awful grief. It was like “weeping with those whose hearts have bled.” She showed me the letter written by his lieutenant, telling her how the boy met his end, and with kindly words and sympathy. I wonder if those officers who write these letters realise what comfort their words bring to these stricken homes. May this be a revelation to them.
Then came the mother’s greatest treasure, given to me with fear and trembling, as if she could scarcely bear to part with it. It was a letter written by the boy to his mother unposted, but ready for sending, and found on him when he was killed. At last the tears came (for which I was thankful). It seemed to me that human sympathy could do little. I left it to a Higher Power than mine.
As I came away I thought of those words “Rachel weeping for her children and refused to be comforted.” Alas! how many such mothers to-day? Surely “weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning.”
PastToPresentGenealogy 