I PROMISE TO
TELL THEM OF YOUR DEATH
As the British
Expeditionary Force (BEF) marched towards Soignies Belgium, four friends
serving in the Royal Field Artillery, Fred Coxen, Pudgie Taylor, George
Bramwell, and Bobby Glue were discussing their concerns. Their fear was how
their possible deaths would be conveyed to their loved ones back home.
By August 20th
the BEF was only two days away from Soignies when their plan took form. They
promised each other that those that survive the war would find the loved ones
of those that had fallen, and tell them how and where they died.
Little did
they know that by October 9th George Bramwell, whose real first name
was Percy, would be the first to fall. The following entry in Fred Coxen’s
journal describes George’s death:
October 9th
This day was going to be
well-remembered. During the morning things were a little more quiet than usual.
We were sitting around the guns (6 inch Howitzers). I had left my telephone
beneath one of the gun limbers.
We were having a feast of Bully Beef
and potatoes (potatoes did not come our way often), when a battery of German
artillery found us with shrapnel shells.
The first round burst directly over
our number three gun, which was just a short distance from us. Needless to say
we all scattered. Bramwell and I ran towards the gun limber where I left the
field phone. George was on my right when I heard the shell burst and saw him go
down.
I dove under the limber to phone my
chum Collins, while two gunners dragged Bramwell to the shelter of the limber.
It was just seconds after they delivered him when three more shells exploded
and the two gunners went down.
Collins came running, and he and I
did what we could for poor Bramwell but it was useless. Bullets from bursting
shells hailed down on the limber as I held him in my arms. Collins and I
expected to be hit any second but the limber saved us.
After the shelling stopped we removed
poor Bramwell; it was an unpleasant sight to see a chum’s brains by one’s side.
Once Bramwell’s body was removed, I noticed that a shell case was stuck in the
ground just two yards from where I laid. Luckily it didn’t splinter, for
Collins and I would have been killed. Everything seemed to bear marks of that
lively hour excepting for us two.
Less than two
months had passed since the four chums set foot in France and now only three
remain to carry on. Who would be the next to fall?
Exerpt from the novel, “The Great Promise”
written by Frederick L Coxen.
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