These words, describing war-torn Flanders, were written in May 1918 by Charles Robinson, Captain and Adjutant of the lst Battalion, West Yorkshire Regiment (Prince of Wales's Own), to his fiancée Amy Dorothea Jessop back home in Scholes. Charles, or Charlie as he was known, was a prolific letter writer: first and foremost they were love letters to his beloved Amy, expressing his tenderness towards her and his hopes for their future together, but they also reveal the man himself and his feelings, experiences and attitudes to the war. Overarching all is a resolute sense of commitment to a just cause. "DUTY FIRST" was his motto. Charlie was born in 1892 in Walsall. The family moved to Scholes some time after 1901 and Charlie attended Leeds Modern School. When he left he became a clerk with the Great Northern Railway Company. On June 21st 1915 he enlisted as a Private in the 17th Battalion, the West Yorkshire Regiment, unofficially known as the 2nd Leeds Pals, or the Leeds Bantams. (A Bantam Battalion was made up of men who had previously been rejected by the army because they were too short even though they were fit in every other way. Charlie was 5ft 3½ ins tall.) Promotion followed swiftly: three days after signing on he was made Corporal and, on the same day, Lance Sergeant. A month later he was appointed Acting Sergeant and on 27th January 1916 was confirmed in that rank. Four days later he sailed with his regiment to France. For almost a year he served as Sergeant but his abilities were recognized and in January 1917 he was discharged to commission and attended an Officer Cadet Training School at B1endecques just outside St. Omer, France. Once commissioned, he was posted to the 12th Battalion, the West Yorkshires, (he joined the 1st Battalion when the 12th was disbanded), where he became Adjutant to the Commanding Officer. He described his life in that capacity when the battle of Arras "was in full swing." "I was hopping up and down trenches, cycling about the town, day and night, dodging large size nasty shells, and generally enjoying myself: salvaging Bosch machine guns and trench mortars, making ration dumps etc and generally having a good prowl round." His ambition, though, was to serve on the front line with the men for whom he had the greatest respect and admiration. "I cannot walk about in nice uniforms in the back areas, my place is in the mud and blood with those dear lads, and that is where I am going. It will rest in God's hands whether I come through or not - I am satisfied with that ... I will, with God's help, try to carry out my high ideals of soldiering," (Charlie's services to 'soldiering' were recognized by his being Mentioned in Despatches.) His sense of comradeship is reinforced by a description of his stay in an hotel: "French hotels are queer places - not exactly up to English standards of comfort, but they are a change from trenches - certainly that fellowship of men does not prevail here as in the line! That is the place to see brotherly love and self-denial, and that's why I want to go back there. Here you see, well, soldiers, but not friends." Charlie did see combat and was not afraid to express his anxieties about it. In one letter he asked Amy if she had seen "that unhealthy locality", Zonnebeke, mentioned. He wrote: "I had six of the most eventful days there last September - days of anxiety, almost terror - but things turned out well, and, well, I was spared to come through it." In another letter he said:“ ' The darkest hour before the dawn.' Yes, it is so. I have stood in those trenches, watch in hand, just before the attack - long dark anxious minutes - waiting for dawn, and it is so dark, doubt and misgivings in one's mind! But the dawn - well it brings its work and its reward! Sad days you say? Yes, but sadder still ifwe neglected our responsibilities. ” Charlie was an observer of the scene and it was not only his fellow soldiers who excited Charlie's admiration. "I'm going to make you jealous" he wrote. "Have seen an awful lot of pretty girls - French, with a maximum of self-assurance and minimum of clothing, moving about in a scent cloud - VADs, real live ones, (Amy was a VAD working at Killingbeck and Lotherton Hall) Sisters and WAACs " all of whom struck him with "their plucky spirit." "But", he reassured her, "there's only one girl for me in the whole world, so don't worry about me getting into the clutches of French Baronesses. This child is coming back to you if he comes back at all." Sadly, he did not. He was a man of ready sympathies. In another passage, written "in an unspeakable train" for which there had been a wait of 10 hours, he described the plight of some refugees he had seen at the station. "It would make your heart bleed to see them - women without hats, children struggling along with baskets of stuff, little babies wrapped up in a blanket or any old thing - that is all that remains of a house! Hour after hour these poor people had to sit on the earth platform, some of them crying softly all the time ... Then Charlie, who usually referred to the enemy as Fritz, Johnny, the Hun or the Boche exploded, "I wish people could see it as we do - do you think we want a peace at any price? My God, - NO - not until this Teutonic plague is stamped out." This powerful outburst is indicative of his unwavering belief in the justice of the cause for which he was fighting. These extracts from his many letters, of which I have only 16 pages, have been chosen in the hope of showing Charlie the man as much as Charlie the soldier. I have not dwelt on the descriptions of the constant noise of bombardment, the gas attacks, the rain and the mud, nor the administrative side of his life - his meetings with "highly placed gilded staff" (He had a bit of a way with words, did Charlie.) His hope of setting up house with Amy, keeping hens and having a piano and violin, a very cosy sofa and being allowed to smoke if he did not knock out pipe ashes on the carpet, was not to be. He was killed on July 15th 1918 and was buried in Nine Elms British Cemetery, Poperinghe, Belgium, 'a corner of a foreign field that is for ever England.' Acknowledgements I thank Mrs. Margaret Banner, once of Scholes, now living in Canada, for sending me the letters. Margaret, or Peggy as she is more familiarly known, is the daughter of Amy Jessop and Doctor Harold Bean whom Amy married several years after Charlie's death. I thank, too, Nigel Marshall for providing background material which has proved so helpful in the preparation of this article. CHRISTINE HUDSON
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