In Memory William James & Arthur Birkett Croman by their Great Niece Janine Harrington
Our story begins in a little place in Denmark close to the sea in 1824 where John Kroman was born. He grew up in his native country learning to speak several different languages, and went on to become a Linguist on ships sailing between Copenhagen and London. In time, he came to meet and court Sarah (seen below), a Londoner, and they went on to marry and to settle in the district of Poplar in London where he became a Dealer in Nautical Instruments.
In 1858 William, their first son was born, and in the following year came their second, Joseph. Joseph, like his father, began to work with ships, and became clerk to a shipping firm. Later, he met and married Mary Ann Carter (seen below), living close to his parents.
Mary and Joseph, (yes, really!) went on to have ten children.
Their first son survived only until eighteen months. But in the year he died, 1881, William James Croman was born. Two further sons followed. In 1888, already there was talk of war. Countries were vying for power. Mary and Joseph wanted a better life for their children, away from what was fast becoming a busy thriving city filled with smog. With young sons William and Henry, they moved to Poulton, Wallasey, Cheshire. And it was here, in 1889, another son died aged 3, and their first daughter, Emily Florence was born (my grandmother, below).
Emily Florence went on to work with her mother in the slums of Wallasey, from where the family adopted six ‘motherless children’ on top of their already eight remaining offspring. She then worked with Christabel and her mother Emmeline Pankhurst as a Suffragette, and became a Speaker in her own right. It was through the Temperance Movement and church in Wallasey that she met her future husband, and at the age of 29, in 1916, she married William Chessall aged 53. They had just six wonderful years together before he died. Until 1977 when she passed on, Emily remained a widow with three children of whom my mother Nina, was eldest.
Meanwhile, William James, Emily’s elder brother, moved back to his roots in Poplar, London where his grandparents remained, and in 1908, at the age of 27, married Eliza with whom he had two children. They lived at Limehouse, in Bow, London. At weekends he trained with the Territorials, the Poplar and Stepney Rifles and went with them on summer camps, so he was ready when the country went to war in 1914, and was immediately sent to the Western Front in Belgium and France.
With the 2/17th Battalion London Regiment he was Lance Corporal Croman and fought in several major battles including the battle for ‘High Wood’. Then in November 1916, he was posted to Salonika via Marseille and Malta where he was amongst those engaged in the Battle of Doiran in 1917. His Division moved on to Egypt and the campaign in Palestine where he was wounded in the head and sent home to convalesce. He returned in 1918 to France to serve with 30th Division and was killed in action on 28th September during the Fourth Battle of Ypres. It was on this day his battalion took part in fighting at Ontario Farm and Kruistraat a few weeks before Armistice and the end of the war. He died aged 37 years old.
Arthur Birkett (meaning: the head of a river) was born in 1891 and Mary and Joseph’s second to youngest son. He and Emily remained very close. He was educated at St John’s in Birkenhead, and went on to become a Printer by trade. The truth was important to him. He loved reading. Studious, he paid attention to detail, and he was always seeking out facts.
He came into the war by joining up with the first PALS Battalion at St George’s Hall in Liverpool. It meant he was with friends in training at Lord Derby’s Knowsley Park. However, months on, they were the laughing stock of the Army given that they had one out-dated rifle for every 100 men, and had ended up basically working Lord Derby’s land with no prospects of going abroad. With no sign of weapons, proper uniforms or equipment, he was one of many who left as a Private in D Company, 21st Reserve Battalion, King’s Liverpool Regiment to transfer to the new 9th Battalion Royal Welch Fusiliers, serving with 19th Western Division in France in 1915.
He married Florence Louise Liggett on 4th January 1916 at St Michael’s Church in Liverpool and together, they lived in Sherlock Lane, Wallasey. Like his brother Will, in July 1916, he too was in the Battle for ‘High Wood’. But was wounded enough to be sent home to convalesce. He later returned to France and was killed in the third Battle of Ypres on 19th July 1917, at the same time his brother Will was wounded.
Ian and I are passionate about our ancestry and dedicated historians, as you might imagine from reading this. In fact, on my father’s side I have traced back to the beginning of the 16th Century. The lessons of the past do have something to teach us today. They were precious moments indeed when I was actually able to represent my family for the first time in 90 years and visit Will and Arthur where they remain today on foreign soil. It is difficult to put into words the emotions I felt then. Seeing the acres of white gravestones echoing the names of literally thousands of men who lost their lives fighting for their country through the First World War, brings home to you just what it means, how many died. It also poses the question: why was there ever another war to follow? Can we never learn?
Arthur was killed by a shell which exploded in the trench. His Officer had visited him just two minutes prior to the explosion which left the six men with him injured. He shared less than three months together with his new wife and they had no children. Will, on the other hand, was trained and older. He left two children. When you actually know someone whose name appears on one of these fields of graves it brings home to you the total futility of war. And when then you begin to find out about the lives they had, the people they came from, those they left behind, it is something you feel compelled to pass on, to share.
The War Graves Commission now tends the graves and they are kept beautifully. We watched men while we were there, gently washing the stone. As the writing fades, they are replaced with new, free of charge. The gardens around them are filled with flowers and colour. ‘In the midst of life …’ We followed the rows up and down, down and up, feeling that every one of these names deserve a visit, to know that someone cares and that they are not forgotten heroes.
William James Croman lies in Danoutre Millitary Cemetery, facing down the hill towards where the enemy came. Behind him the village steepled church strikes the hour. His brother Arthur Birkett Croman lies in a quiet corner of Oosttaverne Wood Cemetery some miles away.
We traveled by coach with a party of 30 people, each making a pilgrimage, seeking to find a relative and stand for a few moments, remembering, letting them know they are not alone. The coach took us to Calais, and the ferry which carried us across the sea to Belgium. The service on the coaches was brilliant. We were well looked after. For the next five days we stayed at the Novotel in Ypres. It was situated in one of the many cobbled streets filled with tempting cake and book shops leading off the main square, and the beautiful architecture which held us spellbound. It was hard to imagine the work which must have gone into reshaping and remoulding it after the war given that Ypres was all but flattened.
We chose to visit every one of the silent cities and support others on the coach who quickly became friends. Our guide, Paul Read, was superb. From the start he made himself available, staying in the same place, and filled with information, quirky stories, and history. He made those silent cities come alive and vibrate with the spirit of love we shared over our time together. He lives in France. He knows the people. He too has a great uncle buried there from the war. Far from being a morbid, doomy-gloomy pilgrimage, there
was so much else to see. Each evening at 8pm we gathered with the many others at the Menin Gate. It is a truly wonderful and moving occasion. Cars are prevented coming through for the time it takes for the buglers to gather to play ‘The Last Post’, the flags raised and lowered, and wreaths laid in memory. It is something which has happened since the end of the First World War. And being there, sharing those moments, each evening we came away with a real sense of peace, often walking on along the river, unwilling to break the spell.
What else did we do apart from look at cemeteries?
We saw the trenches at Sanctuary Wood. The tunnels buried deep beneath the trees, winding their way up and through. It gave us a real sense of what it might be like to be there, particularly at night, with flashes of gunfire, machine guns ‘rat-tat-tattat-tat’ ing, up to your armpits in wet sludgy mud when the weather turned, and the order comes: ‘over the top!’ There would have been little hope for Arthur as he ducked deep down in the trench, when the shell exploded. I thought of the two brothers fighting together, yet apart, each in a separate battalion, under different orders, in 1916 at ‘High Wood’. The wood was a bank of trees which stood on the curvature of a gentle slope, a silhouette on the skyline. It was a prime position and well defended by the enemy. Woods had been taken before it. This was the final one. And they were going to hold onto it at all costs. This was to become the start of the Somme offensive.
But then there were gentler paths to follow.
A hedgehog trying to stay hidden, yet caught on our walk, too young to understand the dangers. Squirrels racing up trees. The waters of the river under which tunnels still exist today.
Belgium and France are beautiful, peaceful places. They are there to be enjoyed. And yet, deep beneath the surface, there is the gentle stirring of the past, the memories, the silent cities and the sentinels, stark reminders of battles that should not have been, and the ceremonies which are still held, like that at the Menin Gate, moving and meaningful, a fitting end to a day spent wandering down yester-year.
We trust you will not mind us sharing our journey with you. And if, in the sharing of it, you feel you would like to visit, we can thoroughly recommend it:
Battlefields of Flanders, Ypres Pilgrimage Tour, Leger Holidays, Sunway House, Canklow Meadows, Rotherham, South Yorkshire S60 2XR. Tel: 1709 839839 www.leger.co.uk
This article is from the Winter 2007 issue of Confound and Destroy
