Reading The Century at NO1 Riverside

Reading The Century at The Fusilier Museum

Reading The Century - Bury Event

Reading the Century - Rochdale Event

Stand To

In the Trench

STAND TOO!!
Morning orders, onto the step, guts churning, rifle ready,
steady, pupils mimicking the foraging rats.
STAND TOO!!
Stand close to the slimed, clay wall.
Close to the boy, my other, my brother,
who came here only yesterday, heart whole, cheerful.
Sharing a cake his mother baked, still fragrant in its tin.
CROUCH, LOOK OUT! But he, long knowing the sun as friend,
lifted his head, stopped, dropped, still smiling,
eyes no longer light with boys delight, face obscured by bloodied curtain.
I never knew his name, he was just another soldier.


Blessed night, no light, moonshine, star-shine,
Oh! Infinite darkness, cover me.
Suns probing search, discard me, reject me.
Expunge by brain of birdsong, childsong love song, laughter.
Make me as one with the earth,
as rat, as beetle, as disease ridden fly.
Plunge me into nothingness, Show me how to die.


Did you fly? 
There above the moil and muck, the stench of rotting tissue.
DID YOU FLY?
In that last dawn, that opal culmination of your days,
that SECOND when the bullet struck, smashed synapse.
Screwed nerve endings in hypoxic ecstasy. Did you fly?
In that shard of time, that splinter of infinity,
when your brain bled red, and you drowned in blood?
Was there sense of the countenance divine, his rivers, mountains,
his wondrous works.
In that second as your heart burst.
Did you fly?
And did you know him, praise him?
Did you offer our life to the god head?
Did ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ echo in your soul.
Did you believe in the cause, the sacrifice.
Did you become one with the majesty.
Did you fly?

© Eileen Earnshaw

Event Gallery

Eileen Earnshaw and some of the Reading The Century Gallipoli Centenary Poems
on display within the Digital War Museum at Rochdale Central Library

Painting by John Cooke displayed at the Digital War Museum No1 Riverside Rochdale

Part of the 21st Century Viewpoint display by John Cooke
at No1 Riverside Rochdale

21st Century Viewpoint by John Cooke at No1 Riverside Rochdale

It's Hundredth Year Sin' Waterloo, Mam

It's hunderedth year sin' Waterloo, Mam,
When all't regiments stood their ground
An now we're 'ere in Gallipoli, Mam,
Feightin' another round. 
Tha'll 'ave read about it in all't papers,
But now thee shall 'ere it from me:
It's a far longer battle nor Waterloo,
An there in't no victory.

Harry an' Tom an' Squintin' Dick, 
Are lyin' dead on W beach, Mam,
But Sam's OK and the rest, we pray,
Will fight on as best we can
To carry the war to Constantinople,
An' finish ' war in th' east,
So mi brother Bert in th' Flanders dirt
Can can hold back th' Hun at least.

But I miss owd Harry and Tom an' Dick,
An', Mam, I miss you all at 'ome;
I wish we'd get on wi' our victory parade,
Past Haggia Sophia's dome!
I'll send thee a postcard from Constantinople,
As soon as we feight our way through,
But this feightin's rough an' we aren't enough,
An this sure ain't Waterloo!  

© Michael Higgins

Reading The Century Event Gallery

Local Area Roll Of Honour

HEYWOOD MEN

Richard Beardsworth
Pte Kay
Joseph Lawless, Alexandria (Chatby)
John Joseph Scully, Helles Memorial


LITTLEBOROUGH MEN

Thomas Gibson, 29, Helles Memorial
Alfred Goodier, 23, Alexandria (Chatby)
William Jones, 37, PFSM
William Sutcliffe, Lancashire Landing Cemetery

MIDDLETON MEN

Clifford Atkinson, 17, Helles Memorial
Percy Beaman, 21, Helles Memorial
James Brookes,  Helles Memorial
Edwin Broxton, 19, Helles Memorial
Frank Connolly, 19, Helles Memorial
Thomas Connolly, 26, Helles Memorial
Chadwick Davies, 23, Twelve Tree Copse
Arthur Dean, 23, Redoubt Cemetery
James Dean, 30, Redoubt Cemetery
Arthur Foxhall, 24, Helles Memorial
Fred Gordon, 20, Helles Memorial
John Gosling, 18, Helles Memorial
Robert Graham, 41, Helles Memorial
Jocks Grimshaw, 22, Helles Memorial
Herbert Hamer, 25, Helles Memorial
Ernest Heap, 22, Helles Memorial
Elijah Heywood, 21, Cairo War Memorial Cemetery
John Hunt, 26, Helles Memorial
Robert Jacques, 22, Helles Memorial
Harold Lees, 23, Twelve Tree Corpse
Fred Lewis, 17, Lancashire Landing Cemetery
Alfred Liddle, 20, Helles Memorial
George Angus Macdonald, Helles Memorial
Joseph Marsden, 39, Alexandria (Chatby)
Alexander Morrow, 28, Redoubt Cemetery
Laurence Oliver, 27, Helles Memorial
James Partington, Helles Memorial
Frank Radcliffe, 39, Pieta Mill Cemetery
Thomas Ratcliffe 23, Redoubt Cemetery
William Henry Roberts 34, Helles Memorial
Harry Senior, 22, Helles Memorial
Herbert Turles, Helles Memorial
William Wellens, 27, Redoubt Cemetery
John Whitworth, 43, Netley Military Cemetery, Hampshire
George Wild, 25, Lancashire Landing Cemetery


ROCHDALE MEN

Thomas Ashurst, Helles Memorial
Fredrick Ball, Helles Memorial
James Birbeck, 19, Helles Memorial
Loughlan Black, Lancashire Landing
James Walter Boothman, 30, Lancashire Landing
Frank Bridge, 18, Lancashire Landing
John William Brierley, 20, Twelve Trees Copse
Norman Clifford Brierley, Helles Memorial
Samuel Broadbent, Alexandria (Chatby)
Samuel Brotherton, 25, Helles Memorial
James Burrows, 29, Alexandria (Chatby)
Herbert Chadwick, 27, Helles Memorial
Albert Clegg, 21, Helles Memorial
Robert Cook, 26, Helles Memorial
Ernest Dearden, 23, Helles Memorial
Joseph Donegani, 21, Helles Memorial
Samuel Duckworth, Helles Memorial
Frank Dunn, 24, Helles Memorial
Patrick English, 32, Helles Memorial
Ernest Farmer, 35, Helles Memorial
Edward Fisher, Lancashire Landing Cemetery
Arnold Fitton, 18, Helles Memorial
Thomas Guthrie, 38, Helles Memorial
Harry Hardiker, Helles Memorial
Herbert Heys, 22, Helles Memorial
Brinton Hollows, 17, Lancashire Landing Cemetery
John Hopkinson, 21, Redoubt Cemetery
Samuel Howarth, Helles Memorial
Joseph Hoyle, East Mudros Military Cemetery
James Izat, 20, Helles Memorial
Evelyn Jackson, 18, Alezander (Chatby)
Harold Jagger, 21, Helles Memorial
Robert Jeffrey, 28, Helles Memorial
Albert Edward Johnson, 44, Helles Memorial
James Knott, Pink Farm
William Langley, Twelve Tree Copse
John Lawton, 28, Helles Memorial
James Lomax, 21, Helles Memorial
William Marland, 20, Helles Memorial
Harold Mills, 20, Helles Memorial
Thomas Moran, Helles Memorial
James Mudd, 38, Redoubt Cemetery
Frank Murphy, 17, Redoubt Cemetery
John Myatt, 19, Helles Memorial
John Naylor, 20, East Mudros Military Cemetery
James Robert Ogden,  29, Redoubt Cemetery,
George Kenyon Osbaldeston, Helles Memorial
Wilfred Parry, 25, Pieta Mill Cemetery
Walter Pollard, Helles Memorial
John Pollitt, 39, Helles Memorial
William Porter, 20, Helles Memorial
Samuel James Price, Helles Memorial
Thomas Rigby, 26, Helles Memorial
Frank Riley, 20, Helles Memorial
Richard Risby, 18, Alexandria (Chatby)
William Ryle, TTCsm
Morris Sharpe, 24, Helles Memorial
Arthur Shepherd, 24, Helles Memorial
Charles Henry Shotton, 24, Helles Memorial
William Smith, Helles Memorial
Thomas Spencer, 26, Lancashire Landing Cemetery
Albert Stock, 38, Helles Memorial
John William Stockton, 29, Helles Memorial
George Edward Styles, 31, Twelve Tree Copse
Arthur Swain, 33, Helles Memorial
Charles Edward Sykes, 18, Redoubt Cemetery
Henry Hardman Taylor, 21, Lancashire Landing Cemetery
Richard Royds Taylor, 20, Helles Memorial
Walter Taylor, East Mudros Military Cemetery
Charles Edward Turner, 22, Helles Memorial
Willie Wacey, 26, Helles Memorial
James Ward, 52, Helles Memorial
Henry Webster, 23, Helles Memorial
William Whittaker, 42, Helles Memorial
William Whittaker, 25, Twelve Tree Copse
Joe Wild, Lancashire Landing Cemetery
Ralph Wildblood, 21, Helles Memorial
James Wilson, 25, Helles Memorial


Source: the majority of this information came from
Book:  The Gallipoli Oak
Authors:  Martin Purdy / Ian Dawson
Publisher:  Moonraker 2013

If your ancestor is missing from this list please let us know in the comments section below.

Seeking Sense

It breaks, wakes, makes, sakes, forsakes, takes
screams, shouts, cries and curses, curses and cries, and lies,
lies, it’s all bleeding lies.
Words obscene, screamed and cried, he’s dead,
he’s dead, the silly sod’s bloody died.
Questions and questions and no answers at all
and the sound of an echo bouncing off a wall
and the squelch of mud as a body falls
on top of a body
on top of another

the explosions, implosions, the groan and the fart
the tick, tock, tick last tock of a heart;
hysterical laughter disguising the weeping
and the insane chatter of the man who talks whilst he’s sleeping.
The praying, the preying and the shuffle of card playing
these are the sounds of the senseless slaying,
the whispered goodnight to a faraway daughter.
This is the sound of senseless slaughter

Bullets that whisper through the smog and the smoke
and the hush that heralds slowly the absence of hope
and the cough, and the wheeze and the swallow of phlegm
the song of a choir of terrified men
and the gentle ping, of metal piercing tin
and a helmet that falls to the ground
and the silent ‘o’ that is formed by the mouth
sounds the loudest of all
in this din.

And I spy with my little eye
half a million inventions of a new way to die
a man shot in the back as he’s taking a leak
and I see eye to eye on a dead mate’s cheek.

I spy something beginning with b
B is for blood, not crimson, nor red
but the colour of black that beats from the heart of the dead
and h is for hole right there in the hat
and p is for the poor bugger who couldn’t escape that
and o is for organs, not the Sunday church kind,
but organs like kidneys and intestines and hearts
and minds
and l is for limbs, hanging half off and half on
and h is for hero,
or i is for idiot shouting there’s a war to be won
d is for dead, and I wish to Christ it was me
just me,
lying there, bleeding out to the sea

and eye spy, just little I
something beginning with p
or perhaps with a g for Galipoli
that word that rhymes with almost nothing but unhappily.

Where the sound of a word breaks in mid breath
leaving only a silence to enjoin us in death,
silence and violence strange bed-fellows make
and climax in an orgasm too easily faked

We were asked to explore senses but where is the sense in this?
In imagining bodies in mud, blood and piss?
It just reminds me of how my cowardice ends like ice in my soul
and of how living in peace makes me feel less than whole.

But I wouldn’t have survived life in a trench
assailed by the stench
of sweat and fear,
tasting only the terror on my tongue
of where God had gone
and what Man had become

and if I could not have brushed my mother’s cheek.....

© Norman Warwick
Just Poets

A Wounded Heart

How can she bear to be with me?
I’m cruel, I’m distant, I’m broken
the shell of the man I was before I went to war
the kiss of her lips. The feel of her skin
I’m numb just a man now devoid of any emotion
waking up thrashing drenched in sweat
Oh God, The cold. The wet. The screams.
the thud of a dead man hits the floor
flashbacks and nightmares
I can’t take it anymore
my mind won’t stop it’s on reload, its on repeat
the crack of a gun and you could be done
death and pain, loss with no gain
my tortured mind makes me blind to the world around
shallow graves, rotting flesh with no shelter from the pain
here and now I’m ashamed to say
I’m ruined from that evil day.

For all the men that survived
For all the men that died
Gallipoli 25/04/1915.

© Samantha Harrington
March 2015.

Gallipoli

What did it achieve?
All the fighting and the killing,
young men, hardly grown,
leaving their family and homes.

If the guns or bayonets did not kill them,
many froze to death, lost limbs,
others drowned in the floods or torrents,
became diseased from the flies that followed.

Such an ill fated offensive,
so what did it achieve ?
The men left alive had no sense of joy.
Knowing they had lost so many of their boys.  

© Freda Robinson
March 2015.

Only Letters

Dear Charlie,
In trousers short, in summers long,
We talked, in voices braking,
of girls,
of plans,
of adventures.
We heard together the call of country.
As boys we signed our names.
We would be the heroes.

As men we sat united,
within walls of dirt,
eyes uncovered,
souls scarred.
Yet still somehow,
we were still those boys,
together to the end.

I spoke to you of Dot,
a pretty girl from home,
I asked if you remembered,
how every Sunday,
we would choose the pew behind her,
and watch her pert breasts,
rising and falling,
as she sang hymns.
Filling ourselves
with unholy thoughts.
You smiled,
remembering,
and then you left.

A shot rang out,
the smile was gone,
the crimson of Charlie,
Covered my damp,
lice ridden,
itchy,
woollen,
uniform.

You escaped.

You multiplied my hell,
you left it here for me.

I hate that you did.

I loved you.


Dear Mum,
Thank you for the parcel, it means so much out here,
to receive something from home on this over ploughed frontier.
And when I read your letter, I swear I hear your voice.
Of course I’ll wear the socks you sent,
it’s not even a choice.
I feel your love, I feel your fear, I promise I’ll take care,
and when I hold the socks you sent I know I hold your prayer.
I know you’ve heard of Charlie’s death,
we came out here together,
friends as close as brothers, as one in our endeavour,
to free the world of evil, for adventure and national pride,
Charlie was a hero and I, his friend was at his side,
please tell his mother he felt no pain, my desire to calm her fears,
a lucky shot into a trench the cause of all her tears.
But Charlie’s death does not mean mine,
this great war will be short,
I’ll be home for Christmas,
the Bosche plans will be thwart.
So save your energies for those left at home,
and your worries for me be done,
I have close comrades here who keep a watch,
on your ever loving son.


Dear God
What reason for hell?
What reason for loss?
Oh dear God! Dear God!
What reason,
for no reason?  

© Jackie Phillips
March 2015.

Too Many, Too Young, Too Soon

Ill prepared for war
Gallipoli rations supplied
drowned them in the sea
too many too young, too small
no training at all
many a peril to face
such a disgrace
people dying right, left, centre
night and day
there was no time for respects
to pay
if they weren’t blown to pieces
by weapons and wire of war
West Beach
bitter frost bitten weather
took their fingers
and toes
out of reach
There was
disease rife
too
dysentery or
entric
more catchable
than the flu
place stank
to high heaven
dead bodies
rotting in
the sea
insects covering
them
flies and flea
not a place
you’d want to
be
local lads
wishing they
were back in
good old
Middleton town
wasn’t much
chance of any
of them coming
around
homeward bound
after the torture and pain
life would never be the
same, ever again.

© Julia McClay
March 2015.

Cut Up About World War One

Germans’ anchored Council questions?
Churchill thoughts?
Council believe
Sedd-el-Bahr minefields
ability Peninsula fleet
a disaster however
a gamble
had become LOUDER
over 200,000
gone.  

© Julia McClay 2015
Langley Writers

Gallipoli

Horrendous destruction of World War One,
Gallipoli campaign a step too far;
Thousands were to die but nothing was won,
Some fought for their God, some fought for Allah.
Australia, New Zealand, Great Britain
Side by side against Turkey together;
Soldiers from all these nations were smitten,
In both freezing and sweltering weather.
Dreadful tales from those trenches have been told;
Slaughter beyond our imaginations;
Young volunteers that would never grow old,
Ripped from the heart of our bleeding nations.
For every army a terrible demise.
No nation would walk away with a prize.  

© Robin Parker, 
Langley Writers

Two Tens

(Prior to becoming the Lancashire Fusiliers the Regiment had been known as the 20th Regiment of Foot often recorded in Roman numerals as: XX Foot. Lancashire Fusiliers often referred to themselves as 'Two Tens' and the old timers still do today).


25 April 1915
World War I – Gallipoli
Lancashire Landing
1st Battalion Lancashire Fusiliers
3 Companies, 1,029 men
1 mission - W Beach
4:00 a.m. ship transfer
32 cutter boats
50 yards apart
5:00 a.m. closing in
6:00 a.m. Helles unleashed
200 yards from shore
3 sides of hate
100s cut down
0 chance of escape
24 hours later
320 hearts beating
700 men dead or bleeding

25 April 2015
Gallipoli Campaign Centenary
Lancashire Remembers
1st Battalion Lancashire Fusiliers
Cuthbert Bromley 36
John Grimshaw 22
William Keneally 28
Alfred Richards 35
Frank Stubbs 27
Richard Willis 38
and 1,023 fellow Fusiliers
6 VCs before breakfast
3 Fusiliers gazetted in 1915
2 years of campaigning
3 Fusiliers gazetted in 1917
100 years ago
The Two Tens
Stood to and counted.

© Shirley-Anne Kennedy 2015