STRATHBLANE FIRST WORLD WAR PROJECT: 7 WILLIAM GEORGE EDMONSTONE, LIEUTENANT COLDSTREAM GUARDS, AGED 19.
“It will be a great day, as of the four battalions of the Guards Division in the front line, three of them are Coldstream and we are in the centre, so we all know, if it can be done, it will…We go up tonight at 8pm to Ginchy and the men are going to get tea and rum which ought to warm them up…I’ll write again as soon as possible.”
Willie Edmonstone’s last letter to his father, September 14 1916.
At more than 6ft 3ins, William Edmonstone must have been the tallest man on Strathblane War Memorial. And, a month short of his 20th birthday, he is also the second youngest. His is one of the families that retains a close association with the local community. He was the eldest son of Sir Archibald Edmonstone, 15th of Duntreath, 5th Baronet (1867- 1954) and the uncle of the current Sir Archibald, 17th of Duntreath, 7th Baronet (b. 1934).
Thanks to the scores of letters William wrote to his parents from the Western Front, all lovingly preserved in chronological order by his family, this 19-year old’s voice echoes clearly down to us through the ten intervening decades. Whether they are hastily scribbled notes or long thoughtful epistles, they offer a rare insight into the trials and occasional compensations of life as a First World War infantry officer.
His parents had married in London in November 1895 and William was born in Edinburgh the following October. A frothy baby photograph with his mother, Lady Ida, is in the online collection of the National Portrait Gallery. The boy’s middle name is George, after his godfather, the future George V. William’s family had owned Duntreath since it was gifted to them by King James I of Scotland in 1434, though there was also a house in London. The 1901 Census finds the family there at 17 Lowndes Square by which time four-year old William had been joined by two-year old Archibald Charles. A third son, Edward St John, followed later that year.
William was sent to St Peter’s Court School in Broadstairs, then on to Eton College. The Eton School Register records that when he arrived in September 1909 “he was a tall, frail-looking boy, and for a time he seemed hardly strong enough for life at Eton. Yet he soon grew and gained in vigour and became something of an athlete.” Indeed, a photograph album from this period is full of school team photographs in which William often towers above his teammates.
The oil painting of him in uniform that hangs in Duntreath shows a solemn young man in half profile with a distant look in his eyes.
He enlisted straight from school. The London Gazette of May 4 1915 describes him as a 2nd Lieutenant (on probation) in the Coldstream Guards and an ex-cadet from the Officer Training Corps. After around five months at Windsor Barracks, he left for France.
On October 18, he wrote the first of many letters home. He is in high spirits after linking up with a friend from Eton, Oliver Leese: “As you will see I have got into Ollie’s Battalion which is delightful.” Presumably for security reasons, he never names his location, though we know from his battalion’s official war diary that he is billeted at Sailly La Bourse, within the sound of artillery. (Later he would mention standing with “one foot in France and the other in Belgium”.)
Young Edmonstone has little time for the French: “The natives are too callous for words, old women and children carrying on their market day with hens, ducks, rabbits etc just as if they were 1000 miles into Utopia. I dislike the French people on the whole, especially the male population.”
Amid the chaos behind the front line, help comes from a surprising source: “Organisation is so perfect (I don’t think). We have nobody to tell us where to go or anything and no means of getting where we imagine we ought to go until we at last got an ASC motor lorry to take us up…Saw Prince of Wales who showed us where to go.” (On another occasion he reports meeting the Prince – the future Edward VIII – on a bicycle returning from bathing in a nearby river.)
Over the following months William’s letters demonstrate the sharp contrast between the grim realities of war and the lighter side of an officer’s life. Like some of the other young officers depicted in this project, he sometimes sounds as if he is having a bit of a lark. On October 31, he tells his mother that his life is “perfect bliss at present” with long rides each day and yet on December 17 he is reduced to using his revolver to shoot at rats in his trench. There are games of cricket, tennis and football against the Grenadier Guards. Yet on another occasion he mentions a polo match in the very same sentence as the death of “great friend Basil Hallam” (a famous actor), killed when an observation balloon broke loose and his parachute failed to open.
One moment, he is thanking his father for the “ripping cigars” and waxing lyrical about a partridge that “flew over from the Huns and settled very near my dug out”. Shortly afterwards he lets slip that a fellow officer has been killed and three more wounded.
William is enthusiastic about the entertainment laid on for the troops, describing one as “outstanding clever and well done just like a London review”, adding “There is a man made up as a woman and she is so good it really is almost impossible to see through her disguise.”
By contrast, there is little enjoyment to be had from life in the trenches in winter: “Dug outs are holes in the back of the trenches where we sleep and live in when not actually on duty; some of them are quite comfortable and you can stand up in them but others are bad. The Germans ones are much the best, deep and warm with sometimes a bed and an armchair in them but it has never been my luck to get one of them.”
In early September 1916, he reported to his father: “We’ve all been smitten with a very weak kind of dysentery, but I am all right now. They put it down to the flies, which seems quite possible, as they are the limit!”
William had been promoted to full lieutenant in late July 1916, which he describes as “rather nice” in a letter to his mother. Though he must have been younger than his men, he takes an almost fatherly interest in them. In August he begs her: “Could you please send some more socks for the men?” At another point he requests 40 or 50 packets of Woodbine “for my platoon”, adding that he believes they cost around 4d a pack.
By comparison, he is contemptuous of “the infernal staff who swagger about in Rolls Royces and mess up everything they attempt and yet get all the medals when they haven’t done a single day’s duty in the trenches.” In February near La Gorgue, the Brigade forms up to be inspected by Lord Kitchener: “Two days ago we stood in the rain waiting for Kitchy to inspect, soaked to the skin and when he did come, he walked round three sides of a field and never looked at a single man. Disgraceful I thought!”
One of the biggest surprises to a modern reader is the speed and efficiency of the postal service between all parts of Britain and men at the Front, as well as the sheer quantity of home comforts being sent by friends, relatives and communities. Judging from William’s letters, a letter or parcel often arrived within two or three days. In November 1915, for instance, he asks for some Devon cream and there are several references to receiving delicious cakes from Rumpelmayer’s, a fashionable London tea house. In April 1916 there is an Easter egg (“a beauty”).
Early that year he had confessed to being heartily sick of tinned apricots and pears, requesting instead “blackcurrants, raspberries, cherries and peaches and also to send peas, mushrooms, herrings and kippers plus soup instead of butter.”
The following month he writes to his mother: “Please tell him [Joseph Smith, the family butler] it is no good to send two snipe and one woodcock when we are out of the trenches and they won’t go round and that he ought to put in a chicken as well.” In August he enthuses about the “perfectly excellent” grouse: “They sent me three brace and not a speck of flesh was left on the bone afterwards!”
There is booze too. In one letter he acknowledges receipt of a bottle of sherry but requests cider. Toiletries also appear on his shopping list. In May he admonishes: “You have never sent that toilet paper and tell Smith I want a couple more tubes of shaving cream.”
Like many serving soldiers in 1916, William would like to believe that an Allied victory was in sight. In May he wrote: “I think the Huns are beginning to feel the strain of the war and I believe the opinion is that it will be over this year. I only hope so.” And he took an interest in politics at home, including the execution for treason of Roger Casement, the Irish nationalist who sought German support for an Irish uprising against the British: “I am very glad to see that they seem to be settling the revolutionists pretty well but I hear that the city are betting against Roger Casement being shot which is a scandal if true.”
However, most touching are the personal letters. In November 1915 he answers his mother’s request for a lock of hair “which I have done my best to provide for you because I didn’t have any scissors and had to saw it with a very blunt knife!” His spirits are highest when home leave is imminent and in one case the prospect of a day’s shooting at Duntreath.
The Battalion spent 1916 moving up and down the Western Front, including a lot of time in what was known as the Ypres Salient. By September they were back on the Somme and the tone of William’s letters changes. On the 12th he tells his mother: “There is no news at all so don’t be surprised if you only get field postcards….Winter is coming on very quickly now. It is very noticeable in the life that we lead.”
William’s last letter warrants reproducing in full. It was sent on September 14, the eve of his death: “Dearest Father, Things have at last developed so that we, ie the British, are going to have their final go this year; we, including all the staff, really hope to get right through. The cavalry have all come up, ready to go through the gap. The Guards Division and six of the best divisions in the army have been reserved for this. It will be a great day as of the four battalions of the Guards Division in the front line, three of them are Coldstream and we are in the centre, so we all know if it can be done it will. We are leaving one company commander out and mine, Verelst, drew the lot. He has been out since the first day so jolly well deserves, and it leaves me in the proud position of commanding the company. It is a great chance, in fact the chance of a lifetime so I’m feeling very bucked and very confident, so I hope to come through alright.
“We are going to use the very latest implements of war, ie a kind of traction engine armoured with four machine guns and two small field guns in it. They are going over with us and everybody has great expectations. Anyhow they’ll make everybody laugh like anything and they ought to frighten the Boche when he sees them coming, as he’ll think it’s the very devil himself in force!!
“We go up tonight at 8pm to Ginchy and the men are going to get tea and rum which ought to warm them up as it is very cold now. Olly is in great form and sends his love. I’ll write again as soon as possible. Best love. Ever your loving Willie.”
The official war diary of the 2nd Coldstream Guards records what happened the following day: “On emerging from Ginchy Wood the line came under very heavy machine gun and rifle fire and despite our artillery damage, casualties were heavy. Two lines of trenches were captured and left and the original objective – 1000 to 2000 yards away – was taken without great opposition at 7.15am. About 11am the line again advanced and despite a heavy hostile artillery barrage took the 2nd line. Lt Edmonstone and Lt Laing, the only two officers left, went out 400 – 500 yards in front with men of No 1 Company and remained there till dusk, when ordered to retire. Lt Edmonstone was killed during the withdrawal.”
His family was informed of his death in the customary blunt War Office telegram saying he had been “killed in action”. It was sent to an address in Lancaster Gate Terrace, overlooking Hyde Park on September 21.
Eye witness accounts suggest that a shell landed between Willie and Sergeant Samuel Brimicombe, killing them both instantly. The two were buried under a simple wooden cross bearing both names. The cross was brought home to the Edmonstone family crypt in Strathblane after the war, when the two bodies were reburied side by side at the Guards Cemetery at Lesboeufs (Ref.V.N.1). For his bravery in the face of the enemy, William Edmonstone was reported in the London Gazette as being “Mentioned in Despatches”.
Despite the introduction of tanks on September 15 – see Willie’s reference to armoured traction engines – the Somme did not prove to be the decisive breakthrough hoped for by British high command and human cost on both sides was atrocious, with combined casualties in excess of a million.
In a letter of condolence to William’s parents, his commanding officer, Reginald Crawford, described him as “one of the most popular officers in the Battalion and a magnificent leader of men”, adding “I don’t think I have ever met a boy with greater personal charm, nor have I seen so young an officer with such complete control over his men or one so beloved by them”. A second letter of October 5 says he was “the most loveable and straightforward boy I ever met” and that, had he lived, he would have been recommended for a Distinguished Service Order. (Willie’s chum Oliver Leese, who was wounded in the same action, did receive the DSO and went on to a distinguished military career.) Colonel J Drummond Hay of the Coldstream Guards described Willie as “an example of cheery keenness to the whole company”.
The death was widely reported in British newspapers. The Daily Record recorded: “A gloom has been cast over the Blane Valley by receipt of the news.” The Daily Sketch described him as the “tallest officer of his years in the army” and a “month short of his 20th birthday”. The Belfast News Letter’s report was bluntly headlined: “Heir to 10,000 acres killed”.
Relatives, friends and members of the community packed Strathblane Parish Church for his remembrance service on September 28, conducted by the Reverend William Moyes, who would lose his own son two years later.
An inscribed silver cross at Duntreath, bearing Willie’s photograph, the name Helena and a prayer begging “that Thou wilt bid this restless longing cease” has been explained as a gift from a young admirer. In fact, it was probably given to the boy’s heartbroken mother by either Helena, a daughter of Queen Victoria, or Helena’s middle-aged spinster daughter, also Helena. Lady Ida was one of the former’s ladies in waiting, which is why some of Willie’s letters are addressed to his mother at Windsor. Helena had married a minor German prince many years before. (The close links between the British and German royal families – George V and the Kaiser were cousins – would be a continuing cause of difficulties, even after the family name was changed from Saxe-Coburg and Gotha to plain Windsor in 1917. At the same time, Helena’s title, Princess Christian of Schleswig-Holstein, shed its now problematic territorial reference.)
In Willie’s Grenadiers’ wallet, the portrait of much-loved cousin, Enid Dudley Ward (signed “Enid 1916”), was discovered recently.
William Edmonstone is remembered on both Strathblane and Killearn war memorials, as well as plaques in Strathblane Church and the quadrangle of Eton College. As an early entrant into the war, this 19-year old also qualified for the 1914/15 Medal. The rolls of honour in the parish and UF churches also record the service of his brothers: Charles was a Captain in the Lancers and Edward a Lieutenant in the Royal Navy. Both survived the war and Charlie took Willie’s place as heir to Duntreath.
The First World War is often described as a great leveller, marking the beginning of the end of forelock-tugging deference and the rigid class divisions that had kept the aristocracy as a race apart. Willie’s tragic story is a reminder of a simpler, starker truth: that in this conflict no sector of society was immune from the inconsolable grief of bereaved parents. Death remains the greatest leveller. As his father remarked at the time: “Nothing will ever be the same.”