Uncle Alf's Autograph Book

Back when I was taking English A Level at school, one of the books we studied was Robert Graves' autobiography 'Goodbye to All That'.  It was a memorable book and one which I still have to this day.  It is particularly relevant to me because, had it not been for this book (which among other things, spoke with some bitterness about Graves' time as an Officer in the British Army during the First World War)  I may never have been given Uncle Alf's autograph book.

Uncle Alf was not my real uncle.  He was married to my great aunt 'Mog', who I did at least know. He died three years before I was born, so I never met him and have, therefore, only my siblings' accounts to go by.  The general consensus seems to be that he was 'scary', although my eldest brother talks fondly of the fishing trips they used to go on.  I do know that Uncle Alf's mother was Jewish, and that he certainly seems to have inherited her looks.  I also know that he enlisted in the British Army at the age of 17.  He was born in 1899,  so this would have been in or around 1916, with the First World War War in full swing, so to speak.   I also now know, thanks to the photograph album just given to me by my mother, that he was a Freemason - so presumably, he also went on to become reasonably successful in business. 

Of course, with today being Armistice Day, it isn't so much the post-war 'Alf' that I am interested in.  Instead, I am using the occasion to revisit the autograph book that I last looked at as an 18 year-old.  By the age of 18, Alf had already completed his first year's service in the army.  I am not sure exactly how his relatively short-lived army career began but by 1918,  he was a drummer in the 'Bedfordshires', a regiment which, according to one website, 'was engaged on the Western Front, Italy, Gallipoli, Egypt and Palestine'.  I am also not sure where Alf served, but if it was as far-flung as Egypt, Gallipoli or Palestine, I would probably know about it.  All I really know is that he was temporarily blinded by mustard gas and was, therefore, 'lucky' enough to find at least a few month's respite in hospital at some point in 1918.  

Alf must have carried his autograph book with him wherever he went.  On the inside cover he has written his name, 'Alfred Venn', and the date,  'May 12th, 1913'.  So he would have been around 12 at the time.   Most of the entries are dated (I can't help thinking that people were more conscientious back then) and the earliest I can see is from July 1913; a god-fearing two lines from someone by the name of Geoff (or possibly Leo) Reed:

In all ways acknowledge Him
and He will direct thy paths

I can only guess, given the sanctimoniousness, that 'Geoff' or 'Leo' was a school teacher. Thankfully, the final entry in the book, written on October  12th 1922,  is much lighter:

Adam was a good man
He had children seven
He hired a donkey cart
To take them all to heaven
The way was rough and stoney
He knew the way not well
The donkey turned the wrong way
And took them all to 
(and this bit is written upside down) Well I never

This particular contribution comes from a 'J Randall'.  My guess is that this is the work of James Randall, who may or may not be one of my great grandfather's relatives, and who has made more than one entry in this book.  However, it would be nice to think that, in this case the 'J' stands for Jane, Alf's sister in law and my maternal grandmother.

Anyway, back to the point.  The first concrete evidence of Alf's whereabouts and condition during his hospital stay, comes from the following: 

Kindest thoughts and best wishes for a speedy recovery from one who knew you at the V.A.D Hospital.

Newton Abbot, S. Devon
J.White R.F.A.
June 7th 1918

Alf in hospital 'blues': first right, back row (cap covering his face to protect his eyes).

I have had to look up the acronyms in this entry.  V.A.D stands for the Voluntary Aid Detachment - a voluntary organisation, providing field hospital services and eventually hospitals, which started in 1909 and grew in number, strength, training and discipline throughout the First World War.  The second acronym stands for the Royal Fleet Auxilliary, a civilian-manned fleet, initially set up in 1905 to provide coaling ships for the Navy.  I don't know how J. White ended up in the Newton Abbot V.A.D. hospital and I probably never will.  Interestingly, though, this is one of very few entries written in the words of the author.   Most are verses, short poems or sayings of unknown origin.  Or at least, unknown to me.  One, written on June 18th, 1918 by Major V. Graeme, is attributed to Rudyard Kipling, however:

No easy hopes or lies
Shall bring us to our goal
But is on sacrifice
Of body, will and soul.
There is but one task for all - 
For each one life to give.
Who stands if Freedom fall?
Who dies if England live?


I was struck by this entry, mainly because it makes no bones about the loss of life suffered and the sacrifices of war.  It is, of course,  also typical of its era and befitting of a member of the officer classes.  By contrast, and also typical of its era I fear, is a particularly racist entry - a four line poem which I can't repeat - all I can say is shame on you Private Tombs of 6th Worcester Regiment.

Some of the best entries in this book contain few words.  For instance, there are the painstaking reproductions of military badges and, of these, the Welsh contributions stand out.  The examples below both date from June 1918 - the first is by Robert W. Ellis, Corporal in the Royal Welsh Fusiliers (incidentally, the same regiment in which Robert Graves served as an officer) and the second is by Private J. Joseph, presumably of the same regiment:

Given the evidence above, the 'Royal Welsh Fusiliers' were a particularly proud regiment.   Pride of a different kind is shown here by one of the Scots.

The writing to the left of this picture reads as follows:

Sargeant Stand at ease
Pte How can I stand at ease when I got a bee buzzing underneath ma kilt

The entry is signed off with the words 'I wish I'd joined a trouser company - Sincerely yours, Renel, 16th October 1918'.

There are some intriguing additions to this book, which are also worth a mention.    The very first entry comes from an Irene Ryland, on 3rd October, 1918.  I always imagined Uncle Alf as the sort of person who would organise things meticulously, but if that is the case, then it doesn't apply here, as most of the dates are all over the place.  I can only assume then that the significance of Irene's verse being the first in the book is purely coincidental:

Remembrance is all that I ask
But if remembrance is a Task
Then forget me.

At first, I assumed that Irene was one of the nurses.  However, she has signed it off with the acronym 'N.A.C.B' and the name 'Crownhill'.   A few pages on, there is another entry by an Ethel Blunt, written on the same date and signed off in the same way.  I couldn't see the connection with the V.A.D Hospital.  There were few clues on the internet, until I came across a 1917 copy of 'The Stage Yearbook'.  In this, I found an article which talked about how the Army Council under the 'Navy and Army Canteen Board' established theatres and theatre companies in the UK, in order to boost flagging moral.  My best guess is that Irene and Ethel were members of of the 'Crownhill' theatre company.  There is a 'Crownhill' in Plymouth it turns out.  Or maybe they just worked in the canteen.

Another intriguing entry is made so by what is missing.  On 27th March, 1918, Lance Corporal HJ Justice, pinned something in the book and wrote underneath 'The eye that never sheds a tear'.   This must have been towards the beginning of Alf's stay in hospital.  It is certainly the earliest entry from that year that I can see.  Whatever he pinned there has long gone.  I can only imagine it was some kind of regimental badge.  It is not only intriguing, of course, but quite moving.    Alf entered the hospital blinded by mustard gas.  He recovered his sight, but many didn't and his own recovery at that point must have been far from certain.

One entry aroused my curiousity more than the others, though.  It is written by Rowland A George, this time on the 14th March, 1916, which must have been around the same time that Alf joined up.

We sacrifice no worthy friendship by refusing to do wrong.
There is courage greater than the fear of public opinion.

Was Rowland a conscientious objector perhaps?  It seems a pity that I will almost certainly never know.  I quite liked the fact that he wrote this on my birth date, though.

There is one particularly long addition, which I am unable to leave out.   It is called 'The Hour Before' and has been written in tiny, neat writing by 'D.M.N' from 'Warrington Park'  There is, on this occasion, no date but it appears towards the back of the book.  I haven't found the origin of this verse either but whoever D.M.N is, he felt moved to include it:

When the dawn, from out of the east, comes slowly stealing
Cold and stern, the herald of the day.
And a pallid moon, afar, seems farewell bidding
To the things it sees, before it hastens away.

And the men now in the glory of their manhood
Who soon, perhaps, Death's bitter draught must drink,
Stand grimly at their posts, and quietly waiting
'Tis then, in that last hour, that you - think.

Think of the things of bygone years,
With your lips tight - set at the unhid tears
Of these other times - in another place
Of what happened once - and a woman's face
Of the things that are - and the the things that might
Of what perhaps will, in the coming fight.

And your soul stands bare, and stripped of all its cloaking
You are the truth of all, the wrong and the right,
Your stand judged by yourself, perhaps found wanting
In that last hour before a coming fight.

Many of the comments in Alf's book err on the side of glib or trite.  This one seems to aim straight at the reality of their situation.  It is difficult to read, and not just because of the writing.

There is so much to include, that it is impossible to do the entire book justice here.   If I have to sum up, the principal message that seems to flow off the pages, is that of comradery and stoicism.  However, I would like to round things off with this entry from the man himself.  It is dated 31/3/16 and reads as follows:

The tissues of the life to be
We weave in colours all our own
And in the field of destiny
We reap as we have sown

As I've already said, Alf was one of lucky ones.  He got to weave his life in colours all his own and appeared to do it quite well.  I don't know how his wartime experiences went on to affect him in later life.  My Aunt Mog and Uncle Alf remained childless, lavishing attention, it seems, on their own siblings' children.   There is some evidence that infertility can be a lasting effect of mustard gas.  Whether this applies here, I obviously can't say.  All I can say is that he appears to have found some peace in his work and married life.  He died at the age of 69.  Not a long innings by today's standards but pretty good considering.  As I turned over the last page of his waxy old autograph book, a piece of 'lucky heather' fell out.  It seems unlikely he did reap as he sowed when so many lost their lives and futures - maybe luck was just on his side.  In any case, I can't help but feel I know him a bit better now.