WILLIAM H JEFFCOTT

This photo is likely to be very near the Bois du Biez where William was deployed during the fall of 1915.

Near Neuve Chapelle

An aerial photo of a "quiet" part of the line near Neuve Chapelle where William was deployed in 1915.

William H Jeffcott was deployed in the trenches near the Bois du Biez (the wood of Biez), just east of Neuve Chapelle. He is buried just 4 miles south of Armentieres, at Y-Farm Cemetary, Bois-Grenier, France.

"The Road to La Bassée"

The Road to La Bassée - Bernard Newman and Harold Arpthorp

I went across to France again, and walked about the line,
The trenches have been all filled in - the country's looking fine.
The folks gave me a welcome, and lots to eat and drink,
Saying, 'Allo, Tommee, back again? 'Ow do you do? In ze pink?'
And then I walked about again, and mooched about the line;
You'd never think there'd been a war, the country's looking fine.
But the one thing that amazed me most shocked me, I should say
- There's buses running now from Bethune to La Bassée!

I sat at Shrapnel Corner and I tried to take it in,
It all seemed much too quiet, I missed the war-time din.
I felt inclined to bob down quick - Jerry sniper in that trench!
A minnie coming over! God, what a hellish stench!
Then I pulled myself together, and walked on to La Folette -
And the cows were calmly grazing on the front line parapet.
And the kids were playing marbles by the old Estaminet -
Fancy kiddies playing marbles on the road to La Bassée!

You'd never think there'd been a war, the country's looking fine -
I had a job in places picking out the old front line.
You'd never think there'd been a war - ah, yet you would, I know,
You can't forget those rows of headstones every mile or so.
But down by Tunnel Trench I saw a sight that made me start,
For there, at Tourbieres crossroads - a gaudy ice-cream cart!
It was hot, and I was dusty, but somehow I couldn't stay -
Ices didn't seem quite decent on the road to La Bassée.

Some of the sights seemed more than strange as I kept marching on.
The Somme's a blooming garden, and there are roses in Peronne.
The sight of dear old Arras almost made me give three cheers;
And there's kiddies now in Plugstreet, and mamselles in Armentiers.
But nothing that I saw out there so seemed to beat the band
As those buses running smoothly over what was No Man's Land.
You'd just as soon expect them from the Bank to Mandalay
As to see those buses running from Bethune to La Bassée.

Then I got into a bus myself, and rode for all the way,
Yes, I rode inside a bus from Bethune to La Bassée.
Through Beuvry and through Annequin, and then by Cambrin Tower -
The journey used to take four years, but now it's half an hour.
Four years to half an hour - the best speedup I've met.
Four years? Aye, longer still for some - they haven't got there yet.
Then up came the conductor chap, 'Vos billets s'il vous plait.'
Fancy asking for your tickets on the road to La Bassée.

And I wondered what they'd think of it - those mates of mine who died -
They never got to La Bassée, though God knows how they tried.
I thought back to the moments when their number came around,
And now those buses rattling over sacred, holy ground,
Yes, I wondered what they'd think of it, those mates of mine who died.
Of those buses rattling over the old pave close beside.
'Carry on! That's why we died!' I could almost hear them say,
To keep those buses always running from Bethune to La Bassée!'

"They may all now rest in peace." - Eric A. Murray

My need is to write, as untutored as I am, to write of a man, an ordinary man, who answered a call to bear arms, to fight an aggressor. He answered the call and became a private soldier in the British Army, an enlisted man. This was in the year 1914. A year later on December 23rd, 1915 the Private of the Duke of Cornwall Light Infantry was killed in action.

Now ninety years later his gravesite is visited to fulfill a wish of his sister Henrietta Jeffcott- Murray, my mother and her grandson, my son. The military cemetery is located near the hamlet of Bois-Grenier, a border town between the countries of Belgium and France.

December when we visited this border land of Flanders, we found farmland soil to be of a rich heavy consistency. Today the land grows Sugar Beets, Potatoes, Leeks, Cabbage and what we in the U.S. call “Brussels’ sprouts”. These crops grow well because the soil is rich, it's deep and heavy. The climate is well suited for these vegetables. In December the soil is saturated, along with this the air is damp, cold, and feels raw. The wind chills to the bone. You can only imagine what it was like ninety years ago. The very clothes he had, the boots, sox, underwear. Rations such as bully beef, hard tack (a form of rock hard crackers and corned beef), a ration of rum, a cigarette and the unrelenting wind, cold and raw, were central to the men’s existence. The soldiers lived in trenches, a sort of ditch, hand dug with dirt piled in front to protect you from enemy rifle fire. The enemy was also in trenches, some perhaps only three hundred feet away. Each side kept constant watch and on occasion an attempts was made to capture the other trenches.

All of the farm houses, barns had been destroyed by artillery. The farmland lay pitted with craters, slashed with trenches and barbed wire. The land was rutted by armies as they pushed back and forth time and again. The main transport was horse drawn carts or wagons. The very roads, lanes or dirt tracks were narrow, deeply rutted, and heavy with mud which formed great clumps of dirt on the feet of animals, of men, of wheels, of sleds. Under leaden skies the cold - unrelenting perishing cold, the rain, the wet, soaked clothes, death was found on every side.

The task of getting supplies to the trenches was hazardous. There was no cover from shell or bullet. Material could not just be dropped off, it had to be hand carried into the trenches, stacked, distributed. All the while the enemy could and did take shots, "pot shots". They were successful on this day, as in the past two days and the day after, that is December the 21st, 22nd, 23rd and 24th of 1914. On each day a soldier in the Duke of Cornwall Light Infantry was killed in action and is buried side along side with his comrades.

On the day of Christmas soldiers on both sides called a truce, joined each other in No - Mans - Land, sang carols, swapped gifts of apples, rum, cigarettes and candy, perhaps packages received from home. Staff officers attempted to stop this fraternization with the enemy. The love of Christ, the child born in a manger persisted. Battle torn, weary men, met the enemy and shared a time of common love, then returned to wage war.

I read that Winston Churchill mused, contemplated, thought and wrote "I wonder what would happen if soldiers on both sides decided to call a strike" Which means putting down the tools of death, stop, and demand alternative ways to settle disputes.

William H. Jeffcott, Pvt. Duke of Cornwall Light Infantry. He was killed in Action December 23rd, 1915. He is buried at Y Farm Military Cemetery near Bois Grenier, France. He was the only son of Harriet Parker-Jeffcott, a widow, also brother to Henrietta Mary Jeffcott.

The Great War raged on for three more years, till nations were exhausted, manpower depleted, treasury emptied. Then on 11th day of the 11th month of 1918 an Armistice was signed. Peace finally was reached. This peace lasted 20 years and 10 months. When in September 1939 the same aggressor, Germany, once again invaded her neighbors.

Not until May of 1945 would the aggressor be defeated and an unconditional surrender signed. No armistice, nothing granted but total surrender. So it is that peace has reigned in this part of the world for sixty years.

Man has not changed. Wars upon wars continue. Death, destruction, greed, envy, lust for power all persist. We will never, never, never learn. We hear the words of the Prince of Peace telling the greatest gift is LOVE. We are to love each the other.

The message is clear, it is heard, it just doesn't reach the brain.

All the while in the Fields, called Flanders, a man I never met, a private, the lowest rank in an army lies buried, for these past ninety years. He was beloved by his mother and sister. They may now all rest in peace.

Thank you Andrew.

90th Remeberence of Private William H. Jeffcott DCLI

Dear Mr MURRAY
I send the made photographs to you this day
(23 December 2005 at 12 H 30) of the grave of William H JEFFCOTT. A white rose like the white dove of peace.
Very sincerely
MichelKNOCKAERT
(Merry Christmas and good year)

22-12-2005
Dear Mr. Murray, Thank you for your recent e-mail and also thank you to Andy Jr. for his research......... I have also sent some aerial photos of the frontlines in the vicinity of Armentieres Neuve-Chapelle Fauquissart and of the Fleurbaix house which sheltered the Canadian Headquarters (the house exists to this day and you passed nearby in coming from Fleurbaix). Tomorrow being December 23, 2005, the 90th anniversary of the death of your Great Uncle William on French soil, I will return to the Y Farm Cemetery at Bois Grenier to clean-off his grave and lay a flower in honor of your family name. I have sent this e-mail to my son Julien.
Very Sincerely,
Michel Knockaert