A Family in Conflict

Without knowing it when I began researching the history of the Corr family, it was military records that were to prove a constant source of verifiable data. As I was to discover, there is an unbroken thread of army service of which I had previously been unaware, including myself, my father, my grandfather, my great grandfather, second-great grandfather as far back as my third-great grandfather who fought at the Battle of Waterloo. By modern expectations this seems an unlikely thread of service to the Crown given my family’s status as Irish adherents to the Roman Catholic faith. Unlikely or not, it provided the information from which to create a picture of who they were and how world events affected them. However, this comes with some disappointment as the military thread relates largely to the men only, and very little is known of the lives of the women and children.

Accordingly this history, which begins with my third-great grandfather and ends with my grandparents generation, is very much the tale of a family in a series of conflicts.

The Scum of the Earth

Despite British oppression of their beleaguered land, it was not unusual for young sons of Ireland, even those of the especially despised Catholic community, to seek service, clothing, accommodation, and full bellies in the arms of the British Army. Military service offered Irish poor that which they could not obtain at home, if they lived long enough to benefit from it.

By 1803 the designs of Republican France stretched beyond its own borders at the reins of a brilliant commander, Napoleon Bonaparte. The French were no longer a menace only to themselves. The Wars of the Coalition evolved from the first, to second and so forth until the sixth, as varying alliances of neighbouring European monarchic nations sought to bring the French republic to its knees, to restore order and monarchy to the rebel nation, and in doing so quash any aspiration of European peasantry to follow suit.

It required the sixth coalition of European power before Bonaparte’s expansionist agenda was defeated in 1814. He was beaten. French monarchy was restored. The belligerent commander was banished to imprisonment at the Mediterranean island of Elba off the coast of Tuscany. After years of bloodshed and economically crippling warfare the victors withdrew, and the status quo was restored.

It is impossible to know specifically what my third-great grandfathers’ exploits were during a battle that featured over 200,000 combatants. Unlike today there were no means by which the peasant class could contact their loved ones overseas. Lack of literacy was the least of the issue. Much was written, but contemporary accounts focussed almost exclusively on the sons of wealthy landowners and aristocrats that bought commissions as officers.

The closest we can come to appreciating the battle through the eyes of Pte. John Corr is by reference to Historical Records of the 32^nd (Cornwall) Light Infantry (Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, and Kent. London, 1893), compiled by Colonel G.C. Swiney, which, to be fair, makes a surprising number of references to the regiments ORs (other ranks – i.e. those below that of commissioned officer).

Depiction of the Battle of Waterloo, produced by William Sadler II (Irish landscape painter), in June 1815.

Page 115 begins with an extract from a lengthy letter, written by an unnamed officer of the 32^nd dated 25 June – one week after the battle. He begins by explaining that he had just climbed into bed in Brussels on the night of 15 June, when he heard the bugle sounding in every quarter of the town. I put on my clothes and found it was an order for the army to advance. Pte. Corr would have been roused by the same bugle.

By 02:00 hours the army were fit to march and march they did, continuously until 15:00 the next afternoon at which point they encountered the forces of France. Under Wellington’s command the 32^nd took position at the centre of the field as the opposing armies, adopting that peculiarly formal method of warfare, stood upright up in pristine rows, forming blocks of infantry, cavalry, and artillery. Clad in a tight fitting coatee dyed Rose madder red, John Corr would have stood erect, defiant, and no doubt a good deal more apprehensive than his deportment suggested. The Pattern 1800 Baker Rifle he would have readied with a measure of powder, a greased patch of leather or calico and ball forced down the barrel. The flintlock would be primed to fire. He was expected to load and fire two shots per minute, and if he was good he may have managed three. After ten or twelve rounds had been fired it was recommended to wash the barrel with water to prevent sludging of residual powder. Contemporary advice circulated at the time suggested, ‘It may happen that water, at such times, cannot be got; if the man can make urine, and apply it in the same kind of way, it will have the same effect’.

The bearing of the immaculately ordered troops on either side of the gentle incline was soon to alter dramatically. A little before four, the action commenced on the side of the French. We lay down in the cornfield till they came within forty yards of us, when a shout from our right caused us to rise. We fired a volley and charged them down to the ditch (which bisected the facing armies) in getting over which they lost numbers. When we got down the bugle sounded for us to return and form in line upon the colours, which we did. The French were undeterred by the losses of their first wave and pursued the returning 32^nd up the rising terrain. We charged them a second time… the ground was covered with dead and wounded bodies.

Despite their appalling casualty rate, at 21:00 the shattered one-hundred and sixty of the 32^nd were again called up to assist the 28^th in taking a village on the edge of the wood. We were advancing in open column of division when I was hit by a musket ball in the cap of the knee; in falling to the ground, I had a very narrow escape that I did not lose my eye, as a poor fellow who was standing by me received a mortal wound, and in falling back – we both fell together – the point of his bayonet stuck under my right eye.

In 1816 the Waterloo Medal was struck and for the first time it was not issued solely to the officers but also the ordinary soldiers. Private John Corr would have been entitled to a medal. Whether or not he received it and what became of it remains a mystery.

Background information concerning John Corr has been located the UK Regimental Registers of Service 1756-1900.

John attested to the British Army at Belfast on 5 May 1812. Standing 5’ 3 ½” he sported fair hair, grey eyes and possessed a pale oval face. His birthplace has been annotated as Arabo, Tyrone. As no such place as Arabo has been discovered it’s almost certain that his birthplace was Ardboe (‘hill of the cow’), a small village and parish on the banks of Lough Neagh which today has a population of a little over two thousand.

At the time of his attestation John was a 17-year-old weaver. He agreed to service of an unlimited duration. The date of his eventual discharge is unknown. When his son Patrick married in 1858, John was annotated in the marriage certificate as in employment as a slater.

He died at Aghaloo on 9 December 1883 indicating that he was in his 88^th year, a remarkable age for an Irishman of the period, particularly one exposed to the ravages of the most savage fighting of the century.

Our army is composed of the scum of the earth – the mere scum of the earth.

Arthur Wellesley, 1^st Duke of Wellington

The Millars of Camp T

Patrick Corr, son of John, was born in the parish of Aghaloo in County Tyrone in 1839.

For at least part of Patrick’s life, he worked as a plasterer and at other times worked alongside his father as a slater. He married Margaret McGee (or McGhee), daughter of Tyrone labourer James McGee, in Caledon on 11 March 1858 at which time his home address was in Aughnacloy, also in County Tyrone very close to the border with County Monaghan (todays border between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland). Patrick died in Belfast; 19 June 1902 aged 63. Information about Patrick is sparse other than what is included in this paragraph. He and Margaret’s fourth born child was James Corr, my great grandfather.

We shall return to James Corr later, but for now this quest diverts to India where at Kamptee on 9 May 1879 Jane Millar was born to her mother Mary Ann and father Alexander.

Mary and Alexander are my second-great grandparents due to Jane’s subsequent marriage to James Corr. Her background could not have differed more to that of James. Her birthplace and home until the age of 16 was India.

When Margaret McGee was born British administration was still reeling from the bloody Indian rebellion of 1857. In the aftermath the fate of the eastern empire was wrestled from the inglorious yet infamously successful East India Company and firmly placed in the hands of the Crown by the Government of India Act 1858.

Kamptee is today a bustling suburb of Nagpur city in the Indian state of Maharashtra with a population of 87,000 (2001). By 1879 it had been a cantonment of British forces for 58 years and was originally given the perfunctory title Camp T.

Indigenous locals adopted pronunciation of the cantonment into their language, their mapping and geography and it remains pronounced as titled in 1821, sometimes appearing in publications as Camp T, Kampt, or Kamptee. In the wake of Indian partition and independence from Britain in 1947, Kamptee was favoured to remain a bastion of military excellence. Since then the site of the original cantonment has housed the Officer Training Academy for the National Cadets Corps of the Indian armed forces, in addition to several other military bodies.

Arriving at Annesley Bay on 4 December, the troops spent three sickening days stuck on ships at the mercy of the waves due to chaos on shore. Having finally achieved terra firma the troops spent two months advancing across testing terrain to reach their objective, descending 3,900 feet to Bashilo River on the approach to Magdala. As they nearer their objective, one thousand feet above, heavy guns poured fire on the British forces and 3,500 Abyssinian warriors of the Emperors garrison poured out of the gates of the fortress of Magdala. The warriors were armed with little more than spears, but it was the suddenness of the attack that British commander Robert Napier, veteran of the Sikh Wars, the Indian Rebellion and Second Opium War, had not anticipated.

The turn of events compelled Tewodros to release two of the hostages. The offer proved insufficient, Napier insisted that all were released and that Tewodros unconditionally surrendered. The Emperor refused surrender but released all the European hostages in the hope this would assuage the expeditionary commander and see the British forces turnabout and depart. As for the non-Europeans prisoners their fate was horrific – having their hands and feet cleaved from their limbs before being launched over the precipice.

Napier’s response comprised a sustained fusillade of mortars, rockets, guns, and the fire of infantry rifles to cover the advance of Royal Engineers who schemed to blow open the gates. The plan failed when it became apparent that the Engineers had incomprehensibly risked all while omitting to take the powder kegs needed to create the explosion. 

'Likely to become an efficient soldier'

Blue dot tattoos are commonly associated with the serving of prison sentences, although most cases are historically linked to the borstal system established much later in 1902. In any case many pre-1902 references to blue dot tattoos are likewise associated with roguish backgrounds. Whether or not James Corr was a rogue is hard to prove and impossible to judge from the context of our comfortable modern lives because, without a doubt, life for a Catholic youth in 1880’s Ireland would have been anything but easy. 

Reporting at the gate the brothers were escorted to the reception room by a guard bearing side-arms. It was cold and dark when we arrived, and the reception-room was dimly illuminated by two naked gas-jets. The flickering light showed up a floor scrubbed white as the deck of a ship, and along the walls on either side of the length of the room rows of uninviting, black-painted iron beds.

The recruits first impression invoked melancholy – We felt homesick and cold and our gaze shifted on to the occupants of the room; four young men grouped round a low-burning fire. They were sharp-featured and clothed in rags and were all four fine specimens of corner boys. We approached them and exchanged information. Two of them hailed from Dublin and two from Belfast. The Belfast men called it ‘Bilfaust’. We found it difficult to understand any of the four.

Confused and mildly alarmed by the hostility of their welcome the brothers managed to secure an iron bunk each where they slept soundly until woken by bugle at dawn reinforced by the hollering of the older soldier ‘Show a leg!’ After washing under miserably cold running taps, they returned to the reception room to be shown how to stow their beds and linen by the wizened veteran. Coffee like dishwater and a single biscuit was breakfasted before scrubbing the floors with brushes, soft soap and caustic soda that burned into the young men’s hands. Things improved when a substantial second breakfast was served after the scrubbing – tea, porridge, liver, and bacon.

A thickly moustachioed elderly Commanding Officer was next on the agenda to meet the recruits, as a person who finally approved of us and made us real soldiers with army numbers. He handed matters back to the Corporal who hollered some more and marched them to the quartermaster’s stores. Two of most items were loaded into their arms – green, khaki, and white suiting’s, boots, canvas shoes, grey socks, shirts, suspenders, hats, badges, blankets, kitbag, jack-knife, knife fork and spoon, razor, comb, holdall, brushes for teeth, hair, clothes, shaving and boot blacking, towels, buttons, soap and Blanco.

The sense of carelessness emanating from the storeman, who appeared to be rapidly throwing stuff away in all directions, created an atmosphere of abandon about me. I reflected and was caught again asleep from the army point of view. The corporal addressed me rudely. I obeyed him and lifting a bulging blanket full of articles of kit which I had no time to memorise, I staggered away in the wake of the other recruits to a soldier who stamped our kit with the army numbers we had received that day.

The young soldier noted in his memoire - the slum adjective for fornication preceded every noun they uttered. We too acquired the habit of colouring our speech a trifle, just for the sake of being understood.

Six months later Pte. Lucy and his brother had completed their recruit training. By his own confession, the hated physical training and welcome substantial diet had hardened their bodies. He was strong and prepared. His mental attitude had adapted too – being among a group scoffing at the sight of a newly arrived recruit who had been sent out with a brush and can with an order to whitewash the Last Post!

The fascinating reflection of Victorian army life continues with the young soldier being despatched for service both at home and overseas. It can be assumed that Pte. James Corr’s recruitment experience differed little. When his basic training was complete, he was sent to the 2^nd Battalion, Royal Irish Rifles.

The Canal, a vast man-made waterway largely regarded as the border between Africa and Asia, was constructed between 1859-1869. Its purpose, to create an improved shipping route from Asia to Europe was, and remains, phenomenally successful. Its ability to cut the journey from the Arabian Sea to London by 5,500 miles was vital to Britain, who robustly opposed any threat to its continued access through the Canal. So too did it ensure the integrity of its vessels passing through the Mediterranean, leading to the establishment of other strategic military points along the route in Cyprus, Malta, and Gibraltar. The British Empire is recorded by many historians as a reprehensible and greedy organisation that cast doom in many nations of the world – yet it was inarguably the most progressive modern power that exuded an organisational capacity never seen before, and perhaps even since.

The 2^nd Battalion departed Egypt from the port of Alexandria on 21 March 1891, stopped briefly at Cyprus before proceeding to Malta, arriving on the 27^th. Four companies, with headquarters, marched to Pembroke Camp, whilst four companies were sent to the neighbouring island of Gozo. In all, twenty-two officers and 822 of all other ranks came from Egypt. Battalion headquarters were relocated to Isola Gate Barracks on 7 March 1892 and it was here that Corporal James Corr re-joined the battalion on 18 October.

There is nothing to suggest that militarily the posting to India was anything but dull, but for a young man raised in a modest settlement in rural Ireland to have seen and experienced such diverse corners of the world the experience must have been remarkable. Today we can, through the internet, see almost every aspect of any place in the world, but to Sergeant James Corr every corner he turned would have delivered a fresh view of life in all its glories and depravities.

James’s posting to India lasted one year and sixty-six days. He was detached from the battalion who remained in India when he embarked for home on 22 January 1896 for the purpose of transferring to the 1^st Battalion.

In the meantime, Alexander Millar had returned from India to Aldershot with his wife and daughter, retired from the army and remained resident in the garrison town. His daughter Jane, a British subject by birth right, was aged 16 in 1895. Having spent her life in India, her first experience of England would have been in contrast to that which James had been experiencing.

Sergeant Corr arrived in England in March 1896. This coincided with a detachment of 1 RIR mounted infantry being sent to South Africa where the notoriously botched Jameson Raid had flared tensions in the country – a fact that was to impact on James and Corr family history substantially in the coming years. For now, James was on home soil, relatively speaking, and travelled with the battalion by rail to Lydd for the annual course of musketry on 1 May.

In the 1990’s the ranges included a narrow-gauge railway about which trundled two-dimensional cut-outs of Russian armour at which my colleagues and I would attempt to direct the wildly haphazard M72 LAW – a 66mm shoulder launched antitank rocket that had a propensity for unpredictable flight and wild inaccuracy – no wonder that that part of the English Channel is considered a danger area. Such modern innovation, accurate or not, would not have formed the lot of Sergeant Corr’s training, but other than the railway mentioned above, observation of the few photographs taken in the late Victorian era suggest little has changed.

Following the target shooting at Lydd – various exercises were carried out until the 13^th of June, when the headquarters of the battalion marched back to Brighton. The distance marched was twenty-two miles, and the heat was very great. Serjeant Bannister, provost-serjeant of the battalion, died from heat apoplexy on this march. Moving to Aldershot by train on the 25^th September, the battalion took over Ramillies Barracks.

Although James could not have known it at the time, his posting to Aldershot was to be curtailed with a deployment to South Africa in the following April, just seven months later. In that short period his life changed markedly when he met and fell in love with the daughter of retired soldier Alexander Millar. When they met James would have been approaching his 30^th birthday while Jane was only 17, but clearly their relationship blossomed and probably, given James military service and achievements, to the satisfaction of Jane’s father.

The official history of the battalion details the beginning of the next phase in their lives – the Jameson Raid in South Africa took place, and the authorities considered that it was necessary to increase the British Forces in South Africa, as much ill-feeling was naturally engendered between the Transvaal and the British Government by this absurd and most unjustifiable filibustering expedition. The 1^st Battalion was one of those selected to proceed to South Africa…

It is interesting to note that Lieut.-Colonel Brenton Laurie, author of the RIR history, has denounced the operation carried out by Leander Starr Jameson and troops of the British South Africa Company, as filibustering, as it formed a strategic, if poorly conducted, element of British policy in South Africa.

Britain and the Boers had gone to war twenty years before, with the latter victorious, over the fight to pre-eminence in a country rooted in contrary attitudes to the indigenous people. After the first conflict, in 1884, gold was discovered in the Transvaal, a Boer colony, and the stakes were raised even higher. At the time Britain controlled the world’s greatest economy, but world power ultimately rested on gold and as the Transvaalers unearthed an increasing amount of the ore, those with British interests at heart in South Africa, chiefly Cecil Rhodes, predicted that the day would come when the Boers would become the controlling and unstoppable power in the region and possibly beyond.

British policy was to gain control of the gold by controlling South Africa.

The Transvaal gold reefs were so deep that conventional open mining was impractical. Vast bore holes had to be dug and mining conducted underground. Such a technical and widescale operation required more manpower than the Boers could suffice from their own numbers. From around the world, including Britain, those seeking to make their fortune from gold mining arrived in Transvaal. Immigrant workers were welcomed as they were needed to keep the gold flowing out of the mountains and the profits bulging in the Boer banks.

When the Boers realised that the number of immigrants, who they termed Uitlanders, was coming perilously close to their own population, they feared the consequences. Control of immigrants and the power offered to them was prohibited by the enactment of a policy that allowed only immigrants who had resided for 14 years in the Transvaal to vote in elections. This, coupled to other matters deleterious to foreign miners with ambitions beyond gold, was seized upon by the British as cause to open renewed hostilities whilst ensuring the Boers were represented as the agitators.

Those taken prisoner by the Boers were handed over to London for trial and punishment in part of Westminster’s act to appear ignorant to the plan and objectionable to its happening. Jameson, branded a renegade, was imprisoned at Holloway and the British South Africa Company paid $1 million in compensation to the Transvaal government. Newspapers at home used the opportunity to whip up anti-Boer sentiments. Such emotions multiplied when it was discovered that Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany, Queen Victoria’s eldest grandchild, had sent Paul Kruger, President of the Boer South African Republic, a telegram congratulating him on his defeat of the raiders and offering German support.

In 1897 the potency of South African Boers was strengthened further when the Transvaal and Orange Free State formalised their co-dependence by the signing of a military pact. While the Boers prepared for a war they did not want, the British schemed to create sufficient anti-Boer resentment throughout the Empire, espousing opinion as far afield as Australia, to justify military action. It was into this environment that the 1^st Royal Irish Rifles were being deployed.

Sergeant James Corr was to prepare to embark the troopship Dunera at Southampton on 24 April for transportation to South Africa.

Colonel Knox, shortly after his retirement, with the senior non-commissioned officers of the 1^st Royal Irish Rifles photographed in early 1897 before the departure to South Africa. Sgt. James Corr is in this photo but unfortunately I cannot be certain which one he is.

James and Jane arrived in South Africa on 25 May 1897, one month and one day since embarkation.

Many British troops that arrived in country throughout the preceding years disembarked at Cape Town. The Royal Irish party were bound for Ladysmith, Natal, necessitating a 900-mile overland rail journey. Preferentially they were brought ashore at the east coast port of Durban, a comparatively minor 155 miles from Ladysmith, garrisoned so robustly it was colloquially known as the Aldershot of South Africa.

‘Ladysmith, as a position for purposes of defence, is very badly situated’. Wrote Louis Creswicke in his six-volume series South Africa and the Transvaal War (T.C. & E.C. Jack, Edinburgh, 1900).

Creswicke continued – It lies in the cup of hills, and stony eminences command it almost in a circle. Towards the north is Pepworth’s Ridge, a flat-headed hill fringed at the base with mimosa bushes. North-east is Lombard’s Kop, which is flanked by a family of smaller kopjes. South of this hill and east of Ladysmith is a table-headed hill called Umbulwana. South of this eminence runs the railway through the smaller stations of Nelthorpe and Pieters towards Colenso. To the west of Pepworth’s Ridge is Surprise Hill, and other irregular hills which rise from four to five hundred feet on all sides. The place is watered by the Klip River, which enters the valley between the hills on the west, twists gracefully in front of the town, and turns away among the eastern hills before making its way south. The position, commanded as it was on every hand, was not an enviable one…

Prior to the deathly sweep of the fever, James and Jane Corr suffered heartache of their own.

On Sunday 26 June 1898, in tented army quarters at Ladysmith, James and Jane welcomed into the world their newly born daughter Gertrude Elizabeth Corr, their first born. Why or how is not known, but on the following Saturday, just six days old, she died. Her last resting place is most probably within the old cemetery, but searches of cemetery databases has proven fruitless.

Gertrude’s tragically short life is summarily recorded in Army Returns – Births 1896-1900 and Army Returns – Deaths of the same period.

Duty prevailed. Sergeant Corr would have been responsible for ensuring that his riflemen were able to load and fire the recently arrived brand new Maxim guns. The new weapon, originally designed in 1884, is regarded by renowned historian Martin Gilbert as the weapon most associated with imperial conquest. As if firing rifles at natives armed with spears was not sufficient advantage, the Maxim, one of the earliest mass-produced heavy machine guns, mounted either on wheels or tripod, fired body splitting rounds at the rate of 550-600 per minute with a velocity of 744 metres per second. In one horrifically notable action, British Maxim gunners slaughtered 1,600 attacking Matabele tribesmen with the loss of just four personnel. The Maxim gun soon became a weapon of psychological warfare as much as device for the mass butchery of foe.

Given her condition it may have come as a relief to discover that James was among 91 members of the battalion, all of them ORs (other ranks), who were being left behind at Ladysmith. 56 of them were left suffering the enteric, the purpose of leaving the other 35 is unknown, but James was among them.

The 1^st Battalion Leicestershire Regiment had been stationed elsewhere in South Africa for some years when it was decided they were to take over from the Royal Irish Rifles at Ladysmith. Pending their move to the vacating RIR positions the Leicestershire’s moved by rail to set up encampment at Mooi River, some 65 miles from Ladysmith, on 18 March. Seven days later 1 RIR, notwithstanding the 91 left behind, embussed the train and headed for Durban and the ultimate ocean crossing to Calcutta.

As 1 RIR left no commissioned officers behind by default the senior non-commissioned officers were in command – of 56 sick men and a handful of others. As James Corr was a sergeant, not suffering enteric and by then in his fourteenth year of service, it is likely that he had a significant role to play while unofficered, while also tending to the welfare of his wife through her advancing pregnancy.

The 1^st Leicestershire’s spent some time engaged in field manoeuvres around Mooi River before setting off for Ladysmith on foot, covering the 65 miles in a series of three marches, arriving at the end of May. One of their first tasks was to oversee the welfare and command of the men left behind by the Royal Irish Rifles, including Sergeant James Corr, whose rank and experience they willingly attached to their battalion strength.

By October that year conflict with the Boers was imminent. The 2^nd Battalion of the Royal Irish Rifles, having arrived in England from India earlier in the year, were redeployed to South Africa. Despite the arrival of his former battalion, Sergeant Corr remained with the 1^st Leicestershire’s for the next six months, a half-year of personal and historical significance.

Before that, on Tuesday 26 September 1899, in tented quarters at Ladysmith, Jane gave birth to a boy, Robert James Corr.

Robert, or Uncle Bob as I knew him as an elderly man during my childhood, was born within the army on the cusp of war and perhaps this dictated his life as he would spend almost four decades of his adulthood in its service. In late 1899 he was a vulnerable baby in an increasingly perilous setting.

As Jane Corr shuffled awkwardly through the final stages of pregnancy in tented battalion lines, an attempt to reach a negotiated peace between Britain and Boer was rapidly collapsing. Although Britain’s primary objective remained the indiscriminate theft of Boer diamond and gold mines, an air of philanthropy existed regarding the Boers treatment of indigenous blacks. So strong was the feeling that even Roger Casement, an avowed Irish nationalist who later led the Easter Rising against the British in Ireland, felt sufficiently influenced by the humanitarian plight of black South Africans to gather intelligence to the benefit of his fundamental enemy – the British Empire.

What happened at Dundee on 20 October was the opening shots of the war – the Battle of Talana Hill. Soldiers present during the battle were, in the aftermath of the eventual victory almost three years later, entitled to bear the ‘Talana’ clasp on the ribbon of their South African war medal. My Dad’s cousin Jim Corr, who resides in Ireland, advised me that he has James Corr’s original Queens South Africa War Medal – the only clasp it bears is that of ‘Natal’.

For many years, the connection to Ladysmith had driven my research. The collecting and avid reading of almost a dozen first edition publications, all of which describe in detail the siege of the town, some of which were written and published while the war was ongoing, sparked an enthusiasm in me and an awe for those that endured and survived that terrible onslaught – imagining that James, Jane, and baby Robert were among them. Cousin Jim’s reference to the medal ribbon being bare of the clasp bearing Talana, Defence of Ladysmith, and all other decorations corresponding to the actions of the 1^st Leicestershire’s, left me disappointed and an unrecorded four-month void in their lives.

Gavin estimated that if the 1^st Leicestershire’s Adjutant had been unsure of the actions at which temporary detachments were present, an all-encompassing clasp such as that of Natal would have been a convenient solution.

Gavin is assured that James was due the Defence of Ladysmith clasp in the least and being attached to the 1^st Leicestershire’s he must have been at Talana and several other interesting and challenging elements of the first six months of the Boer War for which he remained specifically unawarded, but generically sufficed by the issue of the Natal clasp.

Accordingly, it is the records of the 1^st Leicestershire’s that provides direction for James Corr’s whereabouts and experiences during the period September 1899 to March 1900. This knowledge indicates that James was not at Ladysmith when Jane gave birth to baby Robert. Having lost six-day-old Gertrude so suddenly fifteen months before, it cannot have been easy for either of them to have been separated by the duties the army required in the prelude to an inevitable war.

Stand-to is a state of preparedness that had long been observed by the British army of 1899 and remained a standard operational procedure during my service one-hundred years later. An army in an operational theatre needs to remain alert to danger 24-hours a day, however it is not feasible for every man involved in the operation to continue to operate on that basis indefinitely.

During the hours of darkness, most of the force can be allowed to sleep (fully clothed, booted and rifle secured) while a skeleton number of the force mount a guard. The guard is rotated, the duration of wakefulness will vary dependent on the size of the force and the scope of the threat – geographically and militarily. I have personally experienced these duties in one-, two- or four-hour stints. The task has been known for time immemorial as stag – which is an abbreviation of Standing Tall at Gate, which derives from duties at the depot where there is a formal gatehouse, and a guard is mounted. In an operational theatre standing tall would be highly inadvisable – belly down in the dirt as low as practically possible whilst able to observe your given arc is the preference in the modern army.

Stag ends when stand-to begins. Stand-to begins approximately one-hour before dawn as it has been evidenced through many centuries of warfare that a favoured time to attack a static enemy is during that last period of snooze just before the sun creeps over the horizon. It is the duty of the man on stag at that time to wake everyone for this purpose – including the officers, which allows a private soldier rare flexibility to address a sleepy headed Rupert (army slang for an officer) in a manner he probably will not recall when fully alert! On being woken the entire force quietly and carefully pack away anything they have been using for sleep, which in 1899 would have comprised a rough blanket, before slipping into a position of cover, rifle loaded and ready. Finally, a senior NCO, such as Sergeant James Corr, would stealthily make his way along the line whispering ‘stand-to’.

Reply from the British artillery was delayed as the horses had been taken to water. Once the horses had been gathered, harnessed and the guns rushed to open ground, the weight and accuracy of the RFAs return fire from several 15-pounders soon silenced the outnumbered Boer gunners. Major General Sir William Penn Symons intended to seize the initiative created by his gunners and force an infantry assault up Talana. Three of the infantry battalions were assigned, the Leicestershire’s remained behind to guard the camp. Those advancing reached the foot of the hill and negotiated thick woodland. Emerging from the other side they were pinned down by tenacious Boer rifle fire from above. The General stormed to the front to encourage his men to drive the attack home, but was shot in the stomach, withdrew, remounted his horse, and returned to the camp where he died.

Brigadier General James Yule assumed command. The Artillery sustained a fierce and accurate fire on the hilltop affecting Boer ability to defend their position. Yule, accompanied by the Dublin Fusiliers, ascended the slopes under withering fire and reached the top – losing several men in the process to British artillery fire – poor observation and communications prevented British gunners receiving the command to cease fire when their comrades entered the target area. As the Fusiliers stormed over the hilltop, the Boers fled, mounted their steeds, and made their getaway. A pursuing horde of British Hussars attempted to cut them down in retreat but was surrounded by fresh Boer forces – 200 of them were captured and surrendered. Fortunately for the British another strong force of Boer guns and infantry positioned to the west on Impati Hill played no part in the battle as they were shrouded in thick fog.

As the British had pushed the Boers off their hilltop prominence the battle could rightly be concluded a British victory, but it had come at an alarmingly high cost of 41 dead, 175 wounded and 220 captured or missing. With its nominal force thinly strung across the colony the British could not afford such a high rate of attrition against a numerically superior foe. In the knowledge of the Boer force on Impati Hill balanced against the losses at Talana, Yule decided to withdraw to the comparative safety in numbers of the Ladysmith garrison.

Above - an iconic image of the Leicestershire's miserable rain sodden withdrawal to Ladysmith after the Battle of Talana Hill.

The Leicestershire’s official history states – The battalion, together with the 1^st Royal Irish Fusiliers and 1^st King’s Royal Rifles, bivouacked for the night on a small kopje (hill) in the rear of the position and out of range of the enemy’s guns. With a mixed force, on the 22^nd October, it then commenced its march to Ladysmith, which was reached on the 26^th after some trying marches, and in torrents of rain throughout.

For the infantrymen the protracted foot slog through the glutinous mud for four days beneath relentless rainfall must have been the most miserable of affairs and would have reflected nothing on their prowess at unhinging the Boers at Talana. The victory had led to a retreat. In such conditions, even in a force numbering many hundred, each man withdraws involuntarily into his own thoughts placing one mud-laden boot before the other, eyes down, packs and rifle straps cutting into shoulders, pinching the nape of the neck, ignorant to the suffering of those around him. No doubt Sergeant Corr, having been mentally swamped by the field of battle at Talana, would have allowed his mind to stray to thoughts closer to the heart. How was Jane? Had the baby arrived? Was it a boy or a girl? Was it healthy… did it live? One boot in front of the other. And the next, and so on.

The description provided by Louis Creswicke, published less than a year later in 1900, describes it with more authenticity than I – The movement was fraught with many discomforts. Rain fell in torrents, making the roads a mass of slush and enveloping everything in a thick mist, while provisions, which had been hastily gathered together, were scarce. The advance column, after passing through Dundee, where it was joined by transport, and rear-guard, proceeded along the Helpmakaar road on the way to Ladysmith. On Monday afternoon the first halt was called, but the rest was of short duration, for at ten the column was again plodding along through the miry roads in hourly dread lest the whole scheme should be spoilt, and the Boers suddenly arrest the course of the two-mile column.

And they had indeed good reason for alarm. They were forced to plod through a narrow pass in the Biggarsberg range of mountains, so narrow indeed that a hundred Boers might have effectually barred their way. Here, through this perilous black cylinder of the hills, they marched at dead of night. It took them between the hours of half-past eleven and three, stumbling and squelching in the mire, and knowing that should the enemy appear, should they but shoot one of the oxen of the leading waggon of the convoy, and thus block the cramped defile, all chance of getting safely through to Ladysmith would be at an end.

This was by no means a happy reflection to fill men’s minds in the dripping, almost palpable, darkness of the night, and the resolute spirit of the gallant fellows who unmurmuringly stowed away all personal wretchedness and stuck manfully to their grim duty is for ever to be marvelled at and admired.

The retreat from Dundee is barely remembered today but it bears more than a striking similarity to that of the retreat to Dunkirk of forty years later for its drama, its human cost, and its impact upon those involved or affected.

Fulfilling his final duties of the march, James Corr would have fallen out and staggered off to Tin Hut City, the corrugated shanties to which the 1^st Leicestershire’s had been relocated, to fall into the arms of Jane and meet, for the first time, his first son Robert James Corr. The juxtaposition of joy and fatigue are impossible to picture.

Sir George White, Commanding Officer of the approximate 10,000 troops at Ladysmith, decided that positive action had to be taken to protect his vital and sole line of communication and reinforcement to the south – the railway that terminated at Durban.

The 1^st Leicestershire’s were part of a massed force of British units deployed to what became known as the Battle of Lombard’s Kop, just three days after the exhausting four-day retreat from Dundee. Lombard’s Kop (kop – small hill) was located east of Ladysmith. Taking and securing the position would prevent the Boers wrapping the town in a circle of guns and keep open the route to the south. The 1^st Leicestershire’s made up a multi-battalion right wing of the force under Colonel Grimwood. The task of the right flank was to push in and wrap-around to the left, forcing Boer troops into the centre where they would make clustered targets for the British field gunners. Alas the pure weight of numbers of Boer riflemen prevented the plans success and as the attack faltered a messenger arrived from Ladysmith with orders from Sir George White to retire. In the town there was panic. In the far distance to the north observers had seen the mighty barrel of a Long Tom gun emerge into position on Pepworth Hill. The gun may have been a little over five miles away but was well within the range at which it could casually lob eighty-four-pound shells into the settlement.

It marked the beginning of one of the bleakest and tragic periods in the history of the British Empire and its army and the James, Jane, and Robert Corr were caught in the middle of it.

Accounts of military endeavours, written by army officers or the mass of Press correspondents pouring into the region, are many and all give similar accounts with minor differences regarding the battles, the movements, and leading characters of the wars progression. Very few publications describe the conditions under which the civilians and families of servicemen endured.

One exception is the diary of 33-year-old unmarried Ladysmith resident Bella Craw, daughter of the district Assistant Registrar of Deeds, whose parents emigrated to South Africa from Yorkshire in 1849. Thanks to the assistance of a member of the Ladysmith Historical Society, I received a copy of her diary in 2015.

Bella Craw’s recollection of the day of defeat at Lombard’s Kop reveals something from the perspective of a civilian – What an awful day we have had, we none of us shall ever forget it. The Artillery and troops began to move out at 2 o’clock this morning. At precisely ten minutes past five we heard the first shell. We laid still for about five minutes, then they went on hot and strong. We got dressed, then strolled up the street. At every gate groups of men, women and children were standing talking over the latest rumours.

For those that remained in Ladysmith the follow-up to the defeat at Lombard’s Kop only worsened the feeling in the town. Another force sent on a similar foray was dependent on its long train of mules for provisions, ammunition, and water. The troops contoured a steep incline, the truth has never been identified – but the fact remains that whether planned and executed by the Boers or by pure fate, something caused a torrent of tumbling rocks to cascade down the hillside. The mules panicked, either being struck by rock and dumping their burden or running in wild fear, scattering the contents of their packs for miles around. This bizarre occurrence left Lieut.-Colonel Carleton and his force severely hampered, vulnerable, and many miles from safety.

Rather than take what in hindsight may be considered the preferable option, to break from the mission and return to Ladysmith while still able, Carleton pressed on and rallied his shaken force on top of Tchrengula Hill. At dawn, a strong force of Boers opened fire on the ad-hoc and hastily prepared British defences. The Boers were not professional trained soldiers, but they were wily and knew the land, barely exposing enough for the British riflemen to pick a target whilst maintaining a fearsome fire. As the near invisible Boers pressed closer the British lines were split and in chaos. Captain Duncan of the Gloucestershire’s raised the white flag without receiving an order to do so from Carleton. As Carleton saw Boers strolling uphill in acceptance of the surrender, he felt compelled to acquiesce much to the rage of the Royal Irish Fusiliers who were willing to fight to the death.

Father Matthews, chaplain of the 1^st Royal Irish Fusiliers, who accompanied the battalion at Tchrengula Hill, recollected - We had one hour's sleep. Firing began just after daylight. It was slack for some time, but the Boers crept round. Then the firing became furious. Our men made a breastwork of stones. After 12 o'clock there was a general cry of 'Cease fire' in that direction. Our fellows would not stop firing. Major Adye came up and confirmed the order to cease fire. Then the bugle sounded 'Cease fire.' In our sangar there was a rumour that the white flag was raised by a young officer who thought his batch of ten men were the sole survivors.

We were 900 alive, having started perhaps 1000. I think that many of the battery men escaped. Our men and officers were furious at surrendering. The Boers did not seem to be in great numbers on the spot, but I heard that the main body had galloped off. The men had to give up their arms. The officers then ordered the men to fall in. The officers were taken away from the men and sent to General Joubert.

I think that the surrender was a great blunder and was caused by a misunderstanding. Major Adye was much put out. The white flag was not hoisted by the Irish Fusiliers.

Into which group Jane and baby Robert fell is impossible to prove. Would James have insisted they take the train and seek safety at Pietermaritzburg, the capital of Natal and a robust position that the Boers were not to threaten during the entire war? If I place myself in James’s position, I think I would have. He had recently experienced the fighting at Talana Hill, and Lombard’s Kop and he knew as well as any that the Boers had been dangerously underestimated by those at the helm of the Empire. Would any man, knowing the town in which his wife and baby were residing was about to come under heavy sustained artillery fire insist on their remaining when a last hope of safety existed? I think not.

The Second Boer War was to continue without Sergeant James Corr for another two years.

Soon after re-joining the 1^st RIR James was promoted to Colour Sergeant, possibly in reflection of the war experience he gained while the remainder of the battalion enjoyed less stressful pursuits in India.

India is a large country, and the British Army of the period were posted across a broad spray of its environs. A hint as to where the Corrs were stationed is provided in documents recording the arrival of Sidney Alexander Corr, my grandfather.

Sidney was born on 21 February 1902. The baptismal record, created on the day of his baptism on 9 March were completed by the reverend of St Patrick’s Chapel, the Roman Catholic chapel of Fort William in Kolkata, or as we know it Calcutta.

The history of Fort William goes back to the early days of the British East India Company of 1696 and named after King William III. When the old fort was attacked in 1756 it was decided to strengthen the position. Work was completed on the new fort in 1781 and remained largely unaltered when Sidney was born in 1902.

According to Brenton-Laurie’s official history of the battalion, the 1^st RIR moved 570 miles from Calcultta to Fyzabad on 3 February. This is at odds with the baptismal record. Even the official Army Returns – Births 1901-1905 acknowledges Sidney’s birthplace as Calcutta. James may have again been detached from the battalion in preparation for a return to England. His army records evidence that the family departed India on 22 April.

James’s army records do not define exactly where he was posted but state that he was with the 3^rd Battalion as permanent staff instructor. The 3^rd was a reserve battalion based in Ireland, most probably Newtownards, as such James would have returned to the country of his birth for the first time in many years and oversaw drilling and training of the reserve soldiers. He remained at that post for 2 years 131 days. That ended when James left the army, a note in his Military History Sheet stating – At his own request after 18 years’ service with a view to a pension under the Royal Warrant for pay.

Father and sons – born in the army, lived for the army

In the early 1980’s my Nan (Hilda May Corr) and Uncle Bill (William Christopher Corr) moved from the long-established Isle of Wight branch of the Corr family home at 36 Orchard Street, Newport, to the British Legion flats at Carisbrooke. Uncle Bill died in the late 80’s and when I moved back to the Island not long after, paying visits to Nan was a regular feature of reintegrating into the Island life that I lamented we’d ever left.

During one of those visits to Nan I was telling her of an upcoming tour overseas with the 1^st Princess of Wales Royal Regiment and Nan remarked on the subject, something along the lines of ‘you men need time together to be men’ and made a brief reference to Pappy’s service (Sidney Alexander Corr – her husband, my grandfather). It was the one and only reference to Pappy’s service in the army that she had ever made to me, and at the time I knew next to nothing of its extent, or that of his father James Corr and his brothers, Robert, and William.

As described above and with more to come below, James served a lengthy period but even his extensive service was to be equalled by three of his sons, all of whom I knew as elderly gentlemen but could never have appreciated their part in the events that marked the twentieth century.

Robert James Corr (Uncle Bob) attended a recruitment office in Belfast, possibly Victoria Barracks, and signed up on 16 April 1915. Aged just 15 years, he was tasked as a telegraph messenger when he agreed to the 12-year commitment, 9 in the regulars and 3 with the reserves. Despite his age, and his honesty in declaring it, he was welcomed. In Section 15 of the attestation document, in answer to the question ‘For what Corps are you willing to be enlisted’ – he unsurprisingly entered ‘Royal Irish Rifles’ and was subsequently despatched to the 3^rd battalion.

His records evidence that he stood 5’ 2” tall with a fresh complexion and fair hair.

Within less than a year, two more Corrs joined the RIR.

On 6 March 1916, my grandfather Sidney Alexander Corr went through the same process and also attested to the Royal Irish Rifles for 12-years. At 14 years old he was sent direct to the depot of the 1^st battalion as a boy messenger – he was still in school at the time he signed up.

The brothers had volunteered their services. Military conscription became enforceable the same month that Sidney joined but would not have applied to him as he was below the lower age limit. Another person to whom no requirement for service of any kind would have applied was their father James, who, in his 49^th year with 19 years’ previous service behind him, did the most incredible thing by re-joining one month before Sidney, on 10 February, twelve years after ending his previous service.

James’s attestation was for ‘Short Service’ limited ‘For the duration of the war’. That morning in February 1916 he was immediately taken on the strength of the 3^rd battalion as a private soldier. Later the same day his records were appended to show that he was reinstated at his previous rank, last used twelve years before, as Acting Colour Sergeant which later still on the same day was made substantive.

Robert’s war was about to alter dramatically. His army records, obtained from the archives in Glasgow, comprised a substantial bundle. Attempting to decipher some of the handwritten entries littered with a myriad of army abbreviations and references that I did not understand, some I still don’t, has made it hard to pinpoint precise elements of his service.

However, it can be identified that by late May or early June 1918, he was in France after crossing the English Channel on a troopship from Folkestone to Boulogne, travelling by land from there to Le Havre. Within a fortnight he was suffering severe influenza and admitted to hospital but was back in the field by the end of June.

A return to the hospital in August was processed with less compassion by the authorities as his condition owed more to fraternisation with diseased French maidens than it did fighting the Germans. When considering whether to include that fact in this page I felt some discomfort in the assuredness that Uncle Bob would be turning in his grave at the knowledge of its inclusion (or indeed or my knowing it). However, I do not judge. Robert was an 18-year-old on his first trip overseas in a theatre of the most savage of wars. I consider it would be less likely to find a man who didn’t indulge in the pleasures available in the reserve lines than those who did. For his pains Robert was subject to a 27-day pay stoppage and forfeited all rights to former rates of proficiency pay, a substantial punishment.

In early September he returned to the 1^st Royal Irish Rifles field depot at Le Havre and went with them as part of the 36^th Ulster Division into the line on 16 September. When he was diagnosed with gonorrhoea five days later, he was probably as unpopular as the infection itself. Further hospitalisation, pay stoppage, and forfeit of rights followed.

During one of his hospital detainments at Le Havre it’s possible he met with his brother Sidney. Although the younger sibling was only 16 years old, he was by then displaying musical skill and was appointed a member of the RIR band that arrived at the Seine-Maritime commune that summer. For band purposes he was appointed as provisional lance corporal.

Shortly after this a drive spearheaded by the Royal Irish Fusiliers was supported by the Rifles, and successes were gained, advancing the front line to the Haagedoorne-Dranoutre road. Written with such simplicity, as are many of the official histories, nothing is captured of the horror and agony that must have accompanied every single clash of the opposing armies. The First World War was fought at a point in history where military mechanisation had evolved more quickly than the wits of officers commanding the armies, and men were mown down, blasted, and maimed on both sides in equally ghastly numbers. To emphasise the technical advances, this attack was the first in world military history to receive ammunition resupply by air, two boxes of live rounds being tossed to the troops below from an Avro Biplane. 

Robert experienced the final eight weeks of the war in the front line with the 1^stBattalion. ‘C’ Company settled into the front-right of the lines around Worthington Farm, their advance had cost the battalion 2 officers killed, 4 wounded, 2 missing with 24 deaths of other ranks, 115 wounded and 34 missing. Replacements, urgently pressed forward, were woefully short comprising 2 officers and 31 men.

On the 14^th October, the 1^st RIR were a small but integral part of II Corps’ massive push to the east. As referenced in The 1^st Royal Irish Rifles in the Great War by James Taylor (2002) – The attack commenced at 5.35 a.m.… very few casualties had been caused by the German counter-bombardment as the troop assembly took place in positions that were seldom shelled. It was a fine morning with a heavy ground mist. Prisoners taken by 1^st RIR were identified as being from 1^st Bavarian Reserve Division and they stated that the attack was not expected. Moorseele was entered at 9.45 a.m., consolidation began and 1^st RIR started to take over the lead. At 10.35 a.m., the battalion passed through 15^th RIR east of Moorseele and attacked Gulleghem without artillery support. All went well at first and a mile of ground was gained but they were held up by three belts of barbed wire and heavy machine gun fire about 500 yards west of the village. At 5 p.m. they attacked again, attempting an outflanking movement, but only progressed about 200 yards.

By June 1919 both Robert and Sidney had been despatched to Britain and were processed at Prees Heath Dispersal Centre. The Centre, near Whitchurch in Shropshire, was more commonly associated with the returning of war weary soldiers to civilian life. For the Corr brothers a return to civvy street was not on the cards.

In October, Sidney, who had briefly re-joined 1 RIR at Larkhill, began an extensive course of military music at Kneller Hall, the Royal Military School of Music (close to Twickenham Stadium). Despite accruing a less than impressive military record so far, unaided by not reporting for afternoon roll call on 10 November, Robert also took a musical direction being appointed to the 1 RIR band. For reasons unknown this appointment was relinquished on 14 April 1920 and he returned to the battalion’s depot, which at that time was Parkhurst, Isle of Wight (the site of today’s prison complex).

Sidney departed from Kneller Hall for his first arrival at the Isle of Wight depot on 29 October having achieved his desired qualification and having good on clarinet annotated in his records.

In the opening chapter of the third volume of the regimental history, written by Charles Graves, published in 1950, it records a peculiar yet singularly poignant event at which I know for certain my grandfather Sidney Alexander Corr was present as my Mum, Christina Nova Corr, recalled him telling her of it many years later.

A senior Warrant Officer tried to push it over with his foot, over-balanced and fell over into the grave. The roars of laughter increased in volume and the dripping Sergeant-Major yelled “Begob! The Irish Rifles will never die,” as he stumbled from the grave.

Decorum was duly established. Three volleys were fired and the Last Post sounded. A few shovelfuls of earth were put on the coffin and a tin hat hung over the top. Three loud cheers for the Old and three for the New concluded the extraordinary parade. The wooden cross itself bore the inscription “Sacred to the memory of the Royal Irish Rifles. Departed this life on 1^st January, 1921, after a brief but glorious existence, aged forty years – R.I.R., R.I.P., R.U.R.” A small gravestone bearing this inscription was afterwards erected on the spot and is there to this day.

Graves wrote this in 1949/50. When the site was eventually turned over by the military to Her Majesty’s Prison Service, the grave was removed and the gravestone now resides at the regimental museum in Belfast.

Brothers in arms

Intelligent, honest, reliable, sober and a very good worker. Excellent in charge of men; keeps them in good order and gets good work out of them. A real “live wire”. Good bugler.

The above was written by Robert James Corr’s commanding officer and entered in one of the many Annual Report and Employment Sheet’s included in his substantial army records.  Robert and his younger brother Sidney, both serving in the 1^st Royal Ulster Rifles, their father’s regiment in all but the re-naming, were to follow a very similar direction for most of the decade following the end of the First World War.

Sidney had almost certainly not seen combat in the war, not having turned eighteen until February 1920, but he had already accrued the 3^rd and 2^nd Class Certificate of Education and by June 1918, when still recorded as a ‘boy’ soldier at the age of 16, was appointed to the regimental band. Three months later he was granted the rank of Provisional Lance Corporal.

Robert, who blotted his copy book with awkward indiscretions leading to medical interventions when first serving in France, did little better in the immediate post-war return to Blighty. The Regimental Conduct Sheet of 10 November 1919 first reveals that he was already in trouble as he was listed as a defaulter – a person guilty of carrying out a military offence. To make matters worse at 14:00 that wintry afternoon he failed to attend the defaulters roll call. When searching Parkhurst barracks proved fruitless it was becoming increasingly likely to all involved that he had absconded and gone AWOL (Absent Without Leave). When he was eventually located in his billet at 22:00, it is unlikely that his claim to have been there all the time stood in his favour. In the following spring of 1920, he was admitted to the Royal Victoria Hospital, Netley, for reasons not recorded, and re-joined the battalion on 13 May.

One month earlier, Robert, despite a patchy opening to his army service, committed to the force by extending his term of service for a further twelve years. Four days later Sidney was appointed a bandsman, Robert, being one step behind his younger brother on this occasion, arrived at Kneller Hall. The desire of both brothers to bring the music of the military into their lives suggests that life at home in Belfast may have been accompanied by music, but no evidence has been unearthed to support this theory.

Compared to Sidney’s five months, Robert remained a student at the Royal Military School of Music for twenty-two months, re-joining the 1^st RUR at Parkhurst on 25 November 1922.

How the brothers and the rest of their colleagues at Parkhurst, Ulstermen through and through, felt about the Irish War of Independence, fought between January 1919 and summer 1921 is impossible to estimate. Like all matters of human conflict, the Irish revolt is a complex matter that cannot be adequately described in few lines. However, a generalisation can be made – that many of the rebels were Catholic Republicans fighting for a united Ireland and they faced both the might of the British forces based in the Emerald Isle in addition to the home-grown opposition formed from the ranks of the Protestant community.

All wars are horror. Wars of insurgency tend to bring the horror to the doorstep of civilians as battles are fought on small scale with frightening intensity in the streets where even those unwilling to participate are nevertheless targets for one faction or another and sometimes becomes its casualties and its fatalities. It’s very easy for rebels to be represented as the aggressors in any such situation, both in contemporary accounts and historical reflection, but it should be remembered that the British, including soldiers of the regiments and corps present in the nation, used the burning of civilian homes as reprisals – with impunity.

The war was fought to a standstill, there was no victor. Accordingly, the truce, established in the summer of 1921 to enable peace negotiations to begin, was extremely fragile. That fragility was brought home to the Corr’s in April 1922.

The lasting effect of the period was the creation of a divided land which we have known ever since as the Republic of Ireland ‘free Ireland’, and Northern Ireland, under British rule. Casting politics to one side it is a tragic conclusion for an Island nation that has brought, and continues to bring, much joy and happiness to the world through its eager willingness to share a culture of music, comicry, and a universally appealing stout.

Nothing exists in the brother’s military records to suggest that either of them travelled home during this traumatic time for their family. At the time Patrick Joseph would have been 16, William Christopher 14, Agnes 12, and Francis just 2, suggesting that one or more of the younger siblings were at home when the inexplicable gun attack occurred. How do we explain the attack? I am in no position to make accurate perceptions, but it does strike me that as a Catholic family living in a Catholic community during a torrid time when Irish political separation resulted in fighting, shootings, and killing as a weekly occurrence throughout Belfast, that to have two Catholic sons serving in the British Army may have been exceptional. No doubt it would have been known locally, as surely as the knowledge that James Corr’s second stint of service with the British Army finally expired only four years earlier.

Was the attack some sort of reprisal or sinister message from armed republicans to the Corr family? Had Jane been caught in crossfire the event may appear less disturbing, but both press publications agree that the gunmen entered the family home in Mount Street before the shot was fired. Was the shooting of her hand a deliberate act of menace, or had she instinctively raised an arm in self-defence as the weapon was levelled at her? This came only a few weeks after the notorious McMahon family shootings a short distance from Mount Street across the River Lagan. Five members of the family and an employee were shot in their beds and a female member of the family seriously assaulted. The two survivors swore that the attackers were members of the Ulster Special Constabulary!

Shortly after re-joining the 1^st RUR at Parkhurst Robert was appointed Unpaid Lance Corporal. The status was elevated to the fully paid position less than a month later, 14 December 1922. The brothers travelled with the 1^st Royal Ulster Rifles, arriving in Cologne, Germany, on 23 February 1923 where the battalion formed part of the British Army of the Rhine (BAOR).

Historically there have been two BAORs. Both were established in the aftermath of world wars. The first was established in March 1919 and continued until 1929. The second was established in 1945 and retitled British Forces Germany (BFG) in 1994.

BAOR of the 1920’s was posted in defeated Germany for two principal reasons; to provide security to France from threat of a repeat invasion, and to enforce the harsh reparations placed upon Germany in the wake of the Treaty of Versailles. The Treaty, the formal closing of the First World War, cornered the shattered remains of German authority into accepting the blame for the war and to make substantial, and ultimately crippling, payments in cash and kind to the Allied nations that had defeated them. In hindsight it was the unyielding desire to make an entire country pay for its leaderships ineffectiveness that substantially contributed to the rise of Hitler and his Nazis and the reasons for the Second World War. In terms of international diplomacy, it stands as an abject failure.

Battalion adjutant Captain Douglas Wimberly wrote in his diary – Venereal disease is a perfect curse here. We have had over ten cases already (after just one-month in post). Why the Jocks have not more sense I cannot imagine. We have tried everything we can to keep it down, loss of pay, punishments, precautions, etc., but it seems no use.

The tragedy of the German population of the era was that reparations caused incomparable financial hardship and consequently shortages of food. Ladies who would never have considered prostitution were driven by hunger to rethink, and in some cases were compelled to do so – a father was arrested after repeatedly luring soldiers from bars to his home with the promise of intimacy with his unwilling daughter in order to feed the family.

Robert’s record of repeated visits to hospital for infections of the kind while in France did not resurface in Germany and it appears that the brother’s interest for the opposite sex sought more meaningful terms.

If they had, they may have been surprised, according to the official regimental history – Never before had the married members of the Battalion had such quarters provided for them. Rows and blocks of houses were built by the Germans for the Army of Occupation, furnished and equipped with the latest labour-saving devices and accommodation on a really generous scale.

A few months later the battalion moved to less salubrious accommodation at Wiesbaden until returning to the United Kingdom in November 1926 with a posting to Talavera Barracks, Aldershot. How the brothers had existed in anything like a marital state cannot be imagined, particularly given that in the meantime Eileen Agnes Corr (my Dad’s sister) was born to Hilda May Corr in 1924 when Sidney was still in Germany.

Being a father perhaps compelled Sidney to reconsider his choice of career. On 3 March 1928 he was discharged on termination of engagement and left the army at his choice, and the brothers lives suddenly took widely differing directions. To the best of my knowledge, I believe Sidney gained employment as a council labourer.

For Robert, who remained childless (then and forever) no such emotional pull impacted on his consciousness. In June 1925 he had been appointed Corporal and his Commanding Officer wrote of him in September – Has performed the duties of a conductor to 2^nd band with credit and very good results – which suggests that if he was conducting the band of the 2^nd Battalion, he had transferred from the 1^st. By January 1926 he was elevated to the position of Lance Sergeant – a position awarded to a corporal who fulfils a role normally given to a sergeant. While in Germany he re-engaged with the army for a period of 21 years. This means 21 years from when he first attested in 1915, extending his commitment to the service until 1936.

11 August 1935 the IW Rifles commemorated the twentieth anniversary of the Suvla Bay landings during the First World War, where many Island riflemen lost their lives, with a drumhead service at Northwood. As a member of the band Sidney would have featured in the events described – Among the distinguished company present, were Her Royal Highness Princess Beatrice, Princess Alice, the Earl of Athlone, and Lord Mottistone. The battalion paraded in the car park and marched through the park to Northwood House, headed by the bugle band. On behalf of Princess Beatrice, the Earl of Athlone briefly addressed the parade and on the call of Lord Mottistone, cheers were given for the King and Princess Beatrice. After the service, the parade was marched back to the Drill Hall, where it was dismissed.

The role of the battalion on conversion from riflemen to artillerymen is summed up in the statement made by General Sir Richard Haking when he announced it to Sidney and colleagues, who were strangely requested to attend in civilian clothing, at the Newport Drill Hall on 1 April 1937 – The 8^th Battalion Hampshire Regiment, Princess Beatrice’s Isle of Wight Rifles, is to be converted to a brigade of heavy artillery, charged with the important duty of manning some of the Isle of Wight batteries which are part of the outer defences of Portsmouth and Southampton.

Between musical renditions by the band, the General continued – The War Office has written very sympathetically on the matter, pointing out that they considered the change a necessity as part of the re-organisation of the defences of Portsmouth and Southampton. They wanted more artillery in the Isle of Wight and felt that the only people who could supply that need were the gallant officers and men of the Isle of Wight Rifles.

Contemporary reports state – Thus, on the first of April, 1937, the Isle of Wight Rifles became a heavy brigade of Royal Artillery, they had to learn the highly technical but deeply interesting science of coastal defence gunnery. The Rifles thus had a definite role to perform on mobilisation…

Mobilisation came sooner than expected.

Attempts at international diplomacy to avert the likelihood of war were set in motion. British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain attended a conference with Hitler in Munich on 29-30 September during the period generally termed the Munich Crisis. When Chamberlain returned to Britain, landing at Heston Aerodrome waving a piece of paper he proclaimed to the massed press reporters - The settlement of the Czechoslovakian problem, which has now been achieved is, in my view, only the prelude to a larger settlement in which all Europe may find peace. This morning I had another talk with the German Chancellor, Herr Hitler, and here is the paper which bears his name upon it as well as mine. Some of you, perhaps, have already heard what it contains but I would just like to read it to you ... We regard the agreement signed last night and the Anglo-German Naval Agreement as symbolic of the desire of our two peoples never to go to war with one another again.

Chamberlain had appeased Hitler’s every demand and in doing so hoped, and seemed to believe, that further German expansionism and hostility had been averted. Returning to Downing Street later the same day, he added - My good friends, for the second time in our history, a British Prime Minister has returned from Germany bringing peace with honour. I believe it is peace for our time. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts. Go home and get a nice quiet sleep.

The phrase peace for our time was to be thrown back in Chamberlain’s face a year later and his attempts to appease Hitler’s aggression by allowing German annexation of Sudentenland without tangible objection has since been regarded with tragedy. The weakness of Chamberlain’s position is today considered to have given Hitler the green light to continue with his aggressive plans in the belief that his potential foe was not up for the fight.

The mandate was far from universally popular and by the 1930’s had broken into sporadic but worrying violence from some quarters which developed into the Arab Revolt of 1936. While stationed there in 1933 Robert was awarded the Long Service and Good Conduct medal, and a gratuity of five pounds (around £230 today).

Both Robert’s records and the official history suggest several movements of contingencies of the 1^st RUR between Palestine and Egypt over the next few years, but little mention is made of active operations. On 5 December 1935 he headed for Hong Kong. The official history states – The voyage in the “Neuralia” was somewhat unpleasant owing to a typhoon which appeared on the scene before most of the troops had digested their Christmas dinner. On arrival it was found that one of the drawbacks to Hong Kong was the distribution of the Battalion in three different barracks. One of them, Mount Austin, at the top of the peak, necessitated a separate mess. But from the point of view of sport, Hong Kong proved to be most enlivening and the Battalion had to enter three teams in various football leagues. In addition, there was hockey, water polo, basketball, billiards, cricket, rowing, running, sailing and other competitions.

The leisure-filled bliss of the Hong Kong posting wasn’t to last, as remarked in the formal history of the regiment – August 1937 found the 1^st Battalion being moved at twenty-four hours’ notice from Hong Kong to Shanghai on emergency duty connected with the Chinese-Japanese war. On arrival the International Settlement it was discovered that this was divided into four sectors, one held by the Japanese, another by the Shanghai Volunteer Corps, the third by the 4^th United States Marine Corps, and the fourth by the British.

The battalion were transferred from troop ship to Royal Navy destroyers and proceeded upstream – they found several Japanese warships busily shelling the Chinese positions. Ludicrously enough, the crews stopped action as the British ships passed and saluted them.

At their new base – there was much to be done, posts had to be redesigned and in some cases entirely reconstructed, and new wire fences erected. In addition, refugees had to be controlled and the internal security of the sector maintained. The perimeter wall was well outside the Settlement boundary and the area between was policed by Chinese responsible only to their own Government. These men carried rifles, automatics and bombs and killed two Japanese civilians. In consequence they had to be disarmed by a platoon of Royal Ulster Rifles.

The challenging insurgency operations continued along dirty lines, opposing an enemy reluctant to reveal itself in conventional combat satisfied to snipe from safety. Robert served on the frontier for 1 year and 79 days before the battalion was returned to Ireland in the awareness of heightening tensions in Europe. By now the RUR had been moved from the only home depot it had ever known, Victoria Barracks in Belfast, to the newly appointed St Patrick’s Barracks in Ballymena.

Among those moving to Ballymena one was missing off the married establishment. Army records evidence that while Robert was serving overseas, on 20 January 1936 his wife Agneta was struck off the strength of the married quarters. Precisely why, whether it was at her own volition or not, is not known, but this may mark the beginning of the breakdown of their marriage – most of which was spent in separation due to Robert’s duties. For sure they had divorced by 1943 as he remarried. It appears that Agneta didn’t as she died still bearing the Corr name at Sunbury (near the former home ground of London Irish rugby club) on 7 December 1982.

On 6 February 1939 Robert was struck off the strength of the 1^st Battalion and sent to the Army Technical School in Arborfield, Berkshire on 15 May – just four months before the opening of the Second World War.

On 1 September 1939, two days before war was declared, the Times and Weekly News published the following description of Arborfield - Stretches of reinforced concrete roads, rows of galvanised iron buildings and continuous building activity almost as far as the eye can see – is one’s first impression of the Army Technical School at Arborfield – the boy’s camp.

The first started and now complete, this school is the last word in comfort. Electric light, central heating, sprung beds – the boys’ first experience of Army life is probably vastly different from what they expected. Most of the lads are between 14 – 18 and at present there are 500 of them under training. It is understood that the full complement is 1,000 and it is expected this number will be there by the end of October.

Gymnasiums, billiard tables, football, rugby, and cricket pitches – these boys have plenty to amuse them when their work is done. In course of erection is a huge building which is to be a dance hall and cinema and will seat 1,000. Every facility for instruction is provided – the workshops and machine shops being the last word in modern efficiency. As yet there is no band at this camp and Band Marches are relayed to the large parade ground from gramophone records amplified through loudspeakers. Education facilities are provided by the War Office and a well-equipped hospital attends to any minor accident or illness.

At present the A. A. Militia, comprising 1,100 men and Reservists in 4 Batteries, have not been afforded the comfort of built quarters and they are under canvas. There is however, feverish activity on the part of the contractors in erecting and completing the wooden buildings that will very shortly "house" these men, it is to be hoped before the winter arrives. Nearing completion too are the married quarters which closely resemble a vast housing estate. Officers' quarters are rapidly being built and before very long the entire camp should be completely finished and it is understood will comprise over 20,000 people.

From this, and other statements in Robert’s record, it appears that having served for 24 years, massing experience, and achieving the position of Company Sergeant Major, his next career step is in the education and training of a new generation of soldiers.

A despatch was sent to Hitler requesting that he cease military operations in Poland and withdraw his invading forces. Chamberlain did so fully aware that the terms of the Anglo-Polish Agreement, ratified in April that year, compelled Britain, and France to come to the aid of the Polish if they were attacked by Germany.

When Germany failed to respond within the time stated by Chamberlain, the inevitable became reality. Shortly after 11:00 in the morning of Sunday 3 September 1939, the voice of the BBC, Alvar Lidell, announced by radio to a strained nation of pensive listeners - At 11.15, that is, in about two minutes, the Prime Minister will broadcast to the nation. Please stand by.

The radio, and the nation, fell silent for those protracted two minutes.

The silence was broken by Chamberlain’s educated parlance - This morning the British ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.

In an almost insulting manner given that the failure of politicians, principally himself, was to again throw the nation into a war in which millions of common people would die, he added - You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed.

Just over one year into the war Robert James Corr’s military records evidence that he was discharged from the army. Why did it appear that he left the army at the very point experienced men were needed more than ever?

The fact is that his discharge from the army was an administrative necessity, as he had achieved the incredible feat of gaining the Kings Commission. The Commission is a formal document approved by and signed by the monarch which proclaims the terms by which the beholder is appointed an officer of His (or Her) Majesty’s armed forces. What happened to Robert’s original document is sadly unknown. Regardless of the loss of the original, the fact remains that of the family’s long association with the British Army, beginning with John Corr at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815 through to my own service which ended in 1996, Robert is the only one of us who has achieved the distinction of being commissioned as an officer. Administratively he had to be discharged as one of the collectively termed OR’s (Other Ranks) to be re-engaged as an officer.

Even today it is not common for a soldier from the ranks to rise and gain a commission. In 1939, when officers were largely those who came from privileged backgrounds and attended Eton and Harrow, it was extremely rare.

Had Sidney happened across his brother in service from that day on, he would have been compelled to have saluted him and address him as Sir.

One week after declaration of war, Lance Sergeant Sidney Alexander Corr was posted to Blythe Battery, Tyne and Wear to serve with 510 Tynemouth Heavy Artillery. Why he was sent hundreds of miles from home to do the same coastal artillery task he had been doing on the Isle of Wight is inexplicable. In any event it did not last long, by 11 November he was back on the Island with 189 Battery of the Green Gunners posted to Freshwater.

In June 1940 he was appointed War Sergeant. The rank was awarded to suitable men for the duration of the war only. With that rank he attended the Coastal Gunnery School at Llandudno, Wales, from late December until 25 January 1941 on a course of counter-bombardment. Through the course of the war, he was mainly stationed on the Island but interspersed with brief postings to Bournemouth for further specialist training, and active service with 551 Coastal Battery (location unknown), 428 and 520 Coastal Batteries, both at Dover, and in August 1944 received a second award of long service and good conduct earning a pay enhancement and the granting of a bar to add to the medal of his original LSGC medal ribbon.

In the aftermath of Victory in Europe in May 1945, Sidney’s impending discharge from the army was formalised in the Notification of Impending Release form in which the Commanding Officer of 519 Coastal Regiment wrote at Dover on 16 July that his conduct was exemplary and that – Sgt. Corr is a very good instructor. He has been a regular soldier and in the Territorial Army. He has good knowledge of electric lights. He is also a musician, playing the clarinet.

By 12 September Sidney’s 30-year association with the military finally came to an end. He was held as Class Z reserve until his 45^th birthday in February 1947, but was never recalled to the Colours.

Robert turned 40 years of age just a few weeks following the declaration of war and as such did not see active service overseas. His army records show that post-commission he attended various courses of instruction and was appointed Captain on 24 September 1943 six weeks after receiving a Certificate of Merit from General Sir Bernard Paget, Commander in Chief of Home Forces. CIC certificates were usually issued to a man for meritorious service that fell short of a higher medalled award but were sufficiently notable to be formally acclaimed. Sadly, Robert’s original certificate has been lost in time, but the award of it remains permanently recorded in army records.

Often after visiting the latter I would knock on Auntie Wyn’s door and say a quick hello. Naturally, she would insist that I came in for a cup of tea, always served in the finest bone china with a saucer in the traditional fashion. I didn’t care much for the Earl Grey flavour but suffered it quietly. We generally chit-chatted about everyday things and I only wish I had asked her more about her life and that of Uncle Bob’s when I had the chance. However, one minor event will always stick in my mind.

As we were sipping tea one day, I looked across the room to a framed black and white photograph of a young lady riding a horse. To say the subject of the photograph was attractive would be an understatement. I asked Auntie Wyn who that beautiful young woman was – when she replied a little bashfully that it was her in the 1930s, I caught a glint in her eye. The Auntie Wyn I knew was a very tidy, well presented, and mannered elderly lady. Unfortunately, she was one of those among the older generation that was cursed by an unwelcome crop of facial hair. 

The mysterious life of Uncle Bill

At the time of his marriage Uncle Bill was a cabinet maker living at 1 Amcomri Street, Belfast. Viewing Google Earth imagery of the street today reveals a display of Irish republican flags suspended from many houses. Across the road at number 6 there is a black plaque attached to the wall, remembering the life of Irish Republican Army volunteer Tom Williams who was hanged in 1942 for murdering a policeman. This suggests that Uncle Bill’s years as a young man were set amid the nationalist community of Belfast in stark contrast to his two elder brothers service in the British Army.

I know nothing more of Uncle Bill until 3 May 1939, when he attested to a Royal Engineers unit of the Territorial Army at East Cowes. The unit he joined was 392 Battery (East Cowes) of the 48^th Hampshire Searchlight Regiment, Royal Engineers.

Forming a part of the vital defensive line of searchlights and guns in protection of the vital ports of Southampton and Portsmouth, the posting appears at first impression to have been a relatively comfortable one for a territorial soldier. For reasons unknown he and his unit were brought to full-time stations on 18 June but stood down just under a month later. His territorial status altered permanently to full-time when 392 Battery were mobilised in anticipation of the beginning of the Second World War on 24 August.

As described above, his elder brothers Robert and Sidney were to serve in the army for a combined total of 68 years, but it is William’s seven years of service until being released to reserve status on 13 January 1946, that are remarkable for enduring some of the most arduous fighting of the era.

I know this from obtaining copies of his military records from the archives in Glasgow. Prior to that only two things existed to tie him to the army. Among a few items that somehow got mixed up in my Dad’s stuff, and passed on to me when he died, was a Royal Artillery Association membership card evidencing that Uncle Bill was a fully paid-up member when living at the flat in Carisbrooke, i.e., post-1981. Additionally, I once heard my Dad remark that Uncle Bill always gave generously to the Salvation Army for the way the charity cared so well for soldiers that had fought in Burma. These two matters combined to give an impression of an artilleryman who had served in Burma and turned out to be entirely accurate.

The truth behind Uncle Bill’s marriage of 1929 was evidently unearthed on 30 November 1939, and from then on, his records list him as a married man, albeit irreversibly separated from his wife. Having lied when attesting one would consider a punishment was meted. His records evidence no such thing. With the war in only its third month I anticipate that the authorities had more important matters than the personal life of an individual soldier. It certainly did not count against him as on 1 May 1940, just under a year since signing up, he was promoted to Lance Corporal.

Our searchlight company was stationed on the Island at first which was fortunate for us when it came to going on leave… Our army, the British Expeditionary Force, or B.E.F., as it was called, was fighting in France, and of course it took priority on stores, so that at first we used to go on guard armed with only a pickaxe handle and five rounds of ammunition! We used to say “What are we supposed to do with the five rounds? Throw it at them?”

Gradually things improved and we began to receive our arms. Searchlights were apt to be sighted on high ground, giving a clear field of vision and often overlooking the sea as well, so that they could be used for coastal defence, as well as anti-aircraft, so that they were draughty places catching the wind.

First off we slept in bell tents on the ground, about 10 men or more to a tent, together with all our equipment. We were issued with bedding boards and a palisade. We had a ground sheet which could be converted into a cape and 2 or 3 blankets, plus of course our great coats on top in the winter. We mounted a guard or air sentry as he was called, constantly all round the clock, which usually meant 2 hours on and four off for those on guard duty, our slang word for this duty was going Stag, of course this went on in all weather’s day and night. We used to go in batches to headquarters by lorry for lectures, square bashing or to go sick and we always sang our heads off going along.

Being young we were carefree and light-hearted and laughed a lot, we thought that we were invulnerable if we thought about our fate at all. The same old jokes still caused a chuckle, like “Halt who goes there?” “Army chaplain!” “Advance Charlie Chaplin and be recognised!”

We knew that the ration lorry was due soon so we waited for it and piled in under the canvas cover. The sergeant asked the driver to drop us off by a roundabout route near our destination, stopping in a wood to get off unseen. We were then able to kill time while the sergeant reconnoitred. At about the appointed time we skirmished through the gorse bushes and sure enough there was Dinky surrounded by several farm labourers laughing, chatting and smoking. They ‘happened’ to be going rabbiting and stopped for a chat keeping him in conversation while we crept up on him and took him by surprise. Not a sign of recognition passed between the men and their mate the sergeant so well did they play their part, but they must have been bursting with laughter at the officer’s expense.

As the war progressed, the life of 392 Battery turned to more serious matters – The air raids started in earnest and we were very much in action both night and day. Swarms of enemy bombers and fighters flew right across the Island to bomb Portsmouth and Southampton. There were barrage balloons like miniature airships made of fabric and filled with gas floating above the cities in the hope of preventing the planes from flying too low, or that they might collide with the cables, these were easily shot down by the fighters.

Hilton and William parted company in November 1941 when William was sent to 5^th Anti-Aircraft Divisional School in Storrington, Sussex (probably the camp at Barns Farm Lane, Sullington). In February 1942 he was posted to the recently formed 123rd (City of London) Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment (not to be confused with a totally separate unit known as the 123^rd Light Anti-Aircraft Battery). With the 123^rd William converted from searchlight operations to anti-air gunnery by provision of four batteries of 40mm Bofors guns. As no further references appear in William’s records until 1943 it can be assumed he remained in service with the 123^rd throughout 1942.

Although the infamous London Blitz ended in 1941, anti-air gunners of London in 1942 would have been every bit as alert and ready to respond to the intermittent but heavy formations that raided the city from then on. However, William’s war was to take a radical change and entirely of his own choosing.

In preparation for an upscaling of the war in the East against the tenacious and bloodthirsty Japanese forces, volunteers were required to serve as commissioned officers and senior NCO’s with the forces of West Africa. These colonial troops, collectively known as the West African Frontier Force, were drawn from the British colonies of Sierra Leone, Nigeria, Gold Coast and Gambia.

William was one of the senior NCO’s who responded to the appeal for volunteers to work with the colonial forces in West Africa. His records suggest that he departed from the United Kingdom in mid-January 1943 and disembarked at Freetown for a short stay at a transit camp at Sierra Leone on 7 February. Freetown earned its name as the most popular destination for repatriated former African slaves freed in the wake of Britain’s Slave Trade Act of 1807 which began the process of eradicating slavery worldwide.

He stayed at the Freetown camp for about a week, not a particularly long spell according to another soldier who arrived there around the same time - This camp was notorious for the time you could spend there. It was said that there were skeletons there of men who were still waiting for a ship! In the event I was there 33 days.

Where in Ghana he disembarked I do not know, but three days later, 27 February, he reported for duty at the Gold Coast Area School of Artillery. Two months later he was posted to another artillery school of the West African Frontier Force. These postings were annotated as being ‘Field’ postings – in other words serving in an operational area, although I have discovered no evidence of fighting in West Africa during this period and given the status of operations to the north and east of the continent it seems very unlikely.

In October 1943 he was moved again, this time from that of instructor to that of active sergeant in the 2^nd Light Anti-Aircraft Anti-Tank Regiment. This reflects the recognition that the development of superior anti-aircraft weapons was found to be perfectly suited to knocking out German and Italian tanks when the barrels were lowered to a suitable trajectory.

The relevant pages of William’s Service and Casualty Form from there on are difficult to decipher, handwriting, much of it illegible, is crammed into every space in Column C where the most important facts are entered. A few select and vital elements can be deduced – the first evidencing that he embarked with an illegible force of West Africans on 28 May 1944 and arrived in India on 10 July where he was T.O.S. India Command (‘taken on the strength’) of the India Command, the commanding element of the British Army in the East, headquartered in Delhi. Being taken on the strength by a command indicates that the command accepts liability for your food, accommodation, pay, and welfare and that you are, by definition, a permanent member of that command from there on.

William did not leave India until thirteen months later, so what was he doing there?

Suffice it to say that fighting in conditions of extreme heat, humidity, mountainous incline, and thick jungle represented the most arduous war fighting of all the theatres in which Allied troops faced the enemy. Having personally engaged in mountainous jungle battle training in the considerably less hostile slopes of Kathendini in Africa, I have a modest concept of what these men, including Sergeant William Corr, endured daily.

Ultimately the Third Arakan Campaign proved successful, but at the cost of many lives, mostly killed in the fighting and a considerable number of others that succumbed to the harsh jungle, its diseases, and infections.

The war in Europe ended on 8 May 1945, but the 82^nd West Africans carried on the fight against Japan alongside the rest of the Forgotten Army. As ghastly as it was that it took the Americans to terrorise Japan into surrender by the dropping of atomic bombs on the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki on the 6^th and 9^th August, it did at least ensure that the land offensive, which would have undoubtedly cost the lives of hundreds more Allied servicemen, ceased when Emperor Hirohito formally surrendered his shellshocked nation on the 15^th.

Sergeant William Corr’s Notification of Impending Release from the army was date stamped two months later to the day. He had already departed East Asia on 24 September, homeward bound with his final report stating his military conduct to have been exemplary and in the words of Captain Abbot of 102 Light Regiment, West Africa Frontier Force – Sgt. Corr has been with the Regt. for the past twenty-seven months, of which the last eight have been spent in action. He has given every satisfaction during the whole period being a hard worker and efficient in all his duties.

He was formally released from regular service to the reserves on 13 January 1946. His permanent address, 6 Donaldson Road, Kilburn, London, has been crossed out and replaced with 36 Orchard Street, Newport, Isle of Wight – he was returning to the home of his brother and sister-in-law.

The William I knew, Uncle Bill, was the kindest most thoughtful man I have ever met. Even today if I need to consider my reaction to a difficult situation it will often cross my mind - what would Uncle Bill do? 

He passed away at Whitecroft Hospital on 10 January 1988 suffering a cerebral tumour. Five days later we arrived on the Island for his funeral. I recall it very well. Many of the Irish side of the family attended too and the wake at The Waverley in Carisbrooke was a night I shall never forget. Cousin Jim had us in stitches backed up with the humour of his brothers Liam and Francis. It was the way such things should be done. The pub has probably never sold so much Guinness in one session!

Although I have been able to reveal much of Uncle Bill’s life and mitigated some of the ambiguities, mystery surrounding Uncle Bill re-emerged following my Mum’s death. Mum had kept documents, receipts, and all manner of ephemera diligently from many decades before. There was even a receipt for a coat purchased by someone in Newport in 1936, three years before she was born! Among the more eye-catching items was Uncle Bill’s Soldiers Service Book, generally known as the Pay Book as without it you could not claim your wages.

Inside at first glance there is the usual detail, showing that the book was issued when he arrived in West Africa, his rank, service number and a couple of passport sized photographs. To protect the book Uncle Bill had applied a form of animal hide cover and within a pouch created on the inside of this there are several small photographs. Most are identifiable, one shows Uncle Bill in smart civilian attire, most men kept a photo of their sweetheart in their Pay Book and it came as no surprise to find a portrait image of my Nan, his sister-in-law Hilda. She also features in three other photos with her parents Henry and Alice Hall and some other children. But the final two images have me stumped. These both feature a blond-haired boy of approximately eight-years-old. At first, I wondered if these were my Dad but images I’ve seen of him when a child show his distinctive dark wavy hair. Who is this boy, it could even be two different boys with similar features? Did Uncle Bill have a son or sons with his estranged wife Anna?

Above, some of the most interesting aspects of Uncle Bill's Army Pay Book, and three poignant photographs.

In December 2022, out of the blue, I received information that opened up a new mystery of Uncle Bill’s life whilst assisting the conclusion of another.

Via the Ancestry website, where I have been building the family tree, I received a message from another member who was not known to me and who I shall not name. She stated that she was searching for information about William Corr - as he was her grandfather. Given the existing mysteries of Uncle Bill’s life this didn’t come as a complete surprise. What I expected to be told was this person’s mother was Uncle Bill’s wife of 1929 and that she had a brother, who would turn out to be the boy in the Pay Book photographs. I was wrong. Rather than conclude that mystery, a new one emerged.

She told me that her grandmother met and engaged in a relationship with Uncle Bill where she lived, on the Isle of Wight. In 1941 she gave birth to their daughter, the mother of the person who contacted me. For decades her grandmother led her family to believe that she had been married to William Corr, had his child, and that tragically he had been killed on active service. She had even changed her surname to Corr and registered the birth of her child under the same name. What is all the more remarkable is that they remained resident on the Island, unknown to the rest of the Corr’s (or possibly not?), until the daughter was old enough to attend secondary school when they moved to the mainland. A few years later, when the daughter left home to attend university, Mrs Corr returned to the Isle of Wight where she spent the remainder of her life until passing away in the 1980’s.

Some elements of this are questionable as I can find no record, official or otherwise, of any Corr on the Isle of Wight during the period described other than those I already know. However, it is evident that there is a DNA connection between the inquirer and the Corr family.

In an attempt to arrive at an answer, I asked questions within the family. Most chose not to reply. Perhaps for some the past should not be unearthed. I respect that decision as much as I recognise my own need to seek truth. Of those that did reply, the arrival of a potential new relative was a surprise, but in the course of discussion they revealed a new factor and concluded something I’d suspected for a long time.

As mentioned above, this person told me that my grandmother Hilda’s mother was not Alice but the woman I’d known as Auntie Ethel, that as a child I was told was Hilda’s elder sister. Quite a revelation. They also confirmed a series of events leading up to Hilda’s death in the mid-1990’s that confirmed Uncle Bill had been my father’s father, not his uncle, and was therefore my grandfather. This probably accounts for the fact that when my Dad passed out with the army in 1958, it was Uncle Bill, not my grandfather Sidney, that attended the parade.

Knowing the truth behind these forgotten shenanigans makes no emotional difference to me at all. They were all wonderful people from my past no matter what role they masqueraded. However, I can’t help but wonder at the menage-a-trois of 36 Orchard Street. It wasn’t a large house by any means – did Uncle Bill and Nan Hilda really share both a home and a relationship from at least 1939 without Sidney, who died in 1973, knowing anything about it? I suspect not, and my only hope is that whatever the situation, they were happy in their lives. It is notable that in nearly all of the black and white photos I have of them socialising over the decades following the war, the three of them are smiling together. They seem as happy in the photos as they always did when I walked into number 36 as a child. I hope they were.

Above - on the left Uncle Bill (William Corr - my grandfather), in the centre my Hilda, my Nan (grandmother) and on the right, bearing the badge of the Royal Irish Rifles on his blazer is my grandfather Sidney Corr (my great uncle), photographed in the back yard of 36 Orchard Street.