Part 6

In 1916, I, like many more young women, felt the call of my country, and I gave up a position I held in an office in Leicester and offered my services at the Glen Parva Barracks, Wigston. I was accepted as a clerk, but, when it was found that I was a typist too, I was sent into an office to release a young soldier for foreign service. He took it very well and showed me my new work very willingly. There were also two soldier clerks and two civilians, but I was the only female in the block of buildings. He was very friendly with all the clerks and often came into the depot to see us whilst he was training. He eventually went to France, and I thought no more about him, until one night I was awakened out of my sleep by hearing someone move in my bedroom. In the dim light I could see this soldier standing by the chest of drawers and feverishly turning over the contents of the top left hand drawer. My mother used to call it my “chaos” drawer, because it was always in such a chaotic state—filled with all my odds and ends. My blood ran cold and I could not speak. I sat and watched him raking about in that drawer until, after what seemed an eternity to me, I managed to gasp “Tyers, what do you want?” Never shall I forget his face as he turned from the drawer and looked at me. It was truly poor old Tyers, but his face was all drawn with pain, and ghastly. In a moment, he vanished, and it was a long time before I dared look at my watch to see what time it was. It was ten minutes past two, and I did not fall asleep again until it was almost time to get up. I missed my train next morning and was very late. In the usual rush I did not get a chance to tell the other clerks until quite late in the morning. They all listened anxiously and hardly had the words left my lips when we heard footsteps coming quickly up the wooden staircase outside. The next minute, the Lance-Cpl. who was on duty in the guard room rushed in and said: “Have you heard about poor old Tyers? He’s dead. His father has just telephoned to tell me that he died in the early hours of this morning at a hospital in England.”

Why he appeared to me as he did I do not know, nor do I know what he was looking for in the drawer, but I have always chided myself that I took his place, for I feel somehow that I was partly responsible for his untimely end.

The Sinking of the “Aboukir”

ON the night of September 22nd, 1914, I was sleeping with my daughter, whose husband was serving on H.M.S. “Aboukir.”

During the night we heard a noise such as would be caused by the dragging of heavy chains. I sat up with a start and my daughter gasped. “Oh, mother! what is it?” I got out of bed and called the only man in the house. He searched all over the house and the yard outside, from whence the sound appeared to come. But all was silent. We all went back to bed and, within a few minutes of our return, we heard again the dreadful clanking—weird and unmistakable. Again a vain search was made.

The following morning the papers announced the sinking of the “Aboukir” and my son-in-law went down with it.

“On Leave”

I was engaged to a soldier, during the War, and received notice that he was coming home “on leave.” The day before he was expected I was “spring-cleaning” a bedroom, with a friend, when she suddenly exclaimed: “Look, there is ——— on his bicycle,” and pointed out of the window. As I was busy at work (and not too clean) knowing that I should see him within an hour, I drew back, that I might not draw his attention to me, and told her to do the same, until I had dressed properly. I was not surprised he was a day early. We watched him from the window, and saw him speak to the gardener, who was sweeping, and then we hurried up. Having dressed, I went to the gate, but saw no sign of him, so I asked the gardener which direction he took. The man said he enquired if I still worked at this house, but he did not notice which way he went. Thinking he had probably gone to my home (ten minutes distant), but wondering he had not called for me, I went home. No one, excepting my friend, myself and the gardener had seen him.

Next day I learnt that on the day, at the actual time I saw him, and the gardener spoke to him, he was killed in France.

The Three Figures

IT was during the Great War, March, 1918, my only brother was in France; he had just returned after fourteen days’ leave.

I was awakened one night by three figures entering the bedroom—one in white between two soldiers in khaki. I drew my husband’s attention to it, but he could not see anything, and said: “Now, it’s just fancy; try to get off to sleep.” I was going over when they entered a second time. I shall never forget it, for I knew there must be something coming concerning my much-loved brother. Three weeks later, I had a letter from his officer saying my brother had been killed in action on the night of my vision.

To-day (Armistice Day) recalls sad memories.

“Good-Bye”

A FEW years ago I was spending a holiday with a friend who lives in a quiet village in the Lake District. We were returning home one evening from a neighbouring village, and our path led us across an old stone bridge spanning a swiftly-flowing stream. Here I could not hear the voice of my friend because of the deafening roar of the waterfall which was only a short distance from the bridge. By the side of the waterfall was a powder mill, where most of the inhabitants of the village earned their livelihood.

After we had passed through the avenue leading from the bridge, my friend related to me a very strange experience she had whilst passing over the same bridge one evening during the Great War.

Looking towards the waterfall, she saw, to her amazement and fear, the figure of her husband, dressed in white, and waving his hand to her as if in farewell. Almost at the same time her husband's father, who was then at work in the powder mill, saw the same figure of his son at his old place, but waving his hand to him in a similar manner.

The following week my friend received the sad news that her husband had fallen in action, and, on making inquiries, discovered that he had been killed on the same day and at the same hour that she had seen him standing on the waterfall bidding her “Good-bye.”

“Hello, Daddy!”

THIS is a most curious incident I now relate, unexplained, and I think that nobody will ever be able to explain it. I can vouch for the truth of every word of it.

During the morning of a day in the early part of July, 1915, I was busily engaged hanging out the clothes to dry in my back garden, when, suddenly, I heard footsteps coming up the passage. I thought that they sounded familiar, so I turned round and watched the gate. You can realise my astonishment when I saw the gate open, my late husband walk in, shut the gate after him, open the kitchen door and enter the house. I immediately set down my washing basket and ran down the back garden to the house, being so excited at seeing him back, as I thought, from Egypt, where he was serving in the Great War. I entered the house and, seeing nobody about in the kitchen, I looked behind the kitchen door, expecting that I should find him there, as he often used to hide there when he came home, and then jump out so as to give me a surprise. Seeing that he was not there, I thought that he must be in the living-room, so I went in there, exclaiming as I entered, “Hello, Daddy.” Imagine my surprise when I found the room empty, and also that no one had entered the room at all.

What did I see and hear? I can swear that I heard my late husband's footsteps, and that I saw him in his khaki uniform, complete with everything that a soldier has when he comes home on leave. I also saw and heard the gate open and close, as also I did the kitchen door.

A few days later, I received from my husband a letter stating that he had just arrived at Netley Hospital, Southampton, having been wounded and, therefore, drafted home. Therefore, at the time of my experience he must have been on his way to England from Egypt.

The Robin's Warning

WHEN each of my four brothers was killed in the War a robin came and hopped through the house. The last time this happened mother went to bed in a worried state as, having three previous visits from the robin, she knew what to expect and dreaded the morning post.

Waking up at midnight she saw Will leaning over the bed-rail in his uniform, with his head in bandages. She called him by name and he came towards her but, when she put her hand out to touch him, he vanished. News soon came that Will died on that same midnight from head wounds. Mother has never really recovered from this vision and the visits of the innocent robin.

A Remarkable Story

IT was at a base hospital in France, January, 1916. My brother, who had previously been partly buried by a shell bursting near him, was now dying from pneumonia.