Lieut. Hugh Montagu Butterworth (Memorial Book)

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I have been asked by several people to place this young officers Memorial book on the forum, who am I to argue. With his name coming up a few times as of late, maybe it is the right time to do this, as he seems to be another one of those men who refuse to be forgotten.

The book is called "Letters from Flanders" and was published in 1916 by Whitcombe & Tombs Limited of Wellington.

Letters written in the trenches near Ypres between May and September 1915.

MEMOIR

Extract from The London Times, October 1915.

"Lieutenant Hugh Montagu Butterworth, 9th Rifle Brigade, who was killed in action on September 25th, was the only son of Mr. and Mrs. G.M. Butterworth, of Christchurch, New Zealand, formerly of Swindon, England. He was educated at Hazelwood, at Marlborough and at University College, Oxford.

At Marlborough he was captain of the cadet corps, a member of the cricket, football and hockey teams, racquet representative and winner of the athletic championship cup at Oxford, where he went in 1904. He was a very good, but unlucky, all-round athlete. At different times he represented his University at cricket, football and hockey, and he won the Freshman's 100 yards, but a bad knee only permitted him to obtain his Blue at racquets. He played in the doubles with Mr. Clarence Bruce as partner in 1905 and Mr. Geoffrey Foster in 1906. In 1907 he went to New Zealand and became assistant master at the Collegiate School, Wanganui."

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The above reproduction gives the facts of the early life of Hugh Butterworth up to the time when he came to New Zealand. Apart from his achievements as an all-round athlete, his school and university careers were much the same as those of hundreds of gallant Englishmen who have fallen in the war.

His real life's work began in 1907 when he joined the staff at Wanganui: for seven short years he gave of his best to the service of the school. He played no small part in this difficult period of its history, which included the change from the old to the new buildings. His influence was great and always increasing: he was wonderfully popular and yet never courted popularity. Beneath a modest and somewhat careless exterior he had a strong and inspiring personality, the outstanding features of which were a large measure of human sympathy, his enthusiasm, his cheerfulness, his sense of humour, his unswerving loyalty to his friends and to what he conceived to be right. Such qualities could not fail to attract boys; he possessed their complete confidence and won their intense admiration. One could write at length of his many acts of supererogation and the innumerable occasions when he gave a helping hand to the younger members of the community. Nowhere was his influence for good used more effectively than in his House Dayroom, Selwyn has reason to be deeply grateful to its first House Tutor. When he went to England early in 1915 he received a commission in a battalion which had been in training for some time. To a man of his temperament the routine and environment of Aldershot were by no means congenial, but he worked hard to make himself efficient, and when the battalion left England in May it is clear that those in authority regarded him with considerable favour.

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He spent his four months of active service in the neighbourhood of Ypres: when he went into action for the last time he was in command of his company. In the intervals of duty and sleep in the trenches he found relaxation in writing letters: to quote his own words:- "It's a great joy when one gets a moment's quiet to sit down and retail one's moderate experiences." His letters to me, written in a style which many of us are so familiar, give a complete and intensely interesting picture of his life in the trenches.

When the suggestion was made that they should be preserved in print I readily agreed, because I feel sure that there are many people, both here and in other parts of the world, who would welcome the opportunity of possessing them in a permament form.

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In the last number of the Collegian, a mamber of Selwyn House wrote:- "We remember him best on the cricket field." A fine cricketer in the best sense of the word, he was able to inspire others with his own enthusiasm for the game. He devoted himself heart and soul to coaching and, above all, he strove hard to create a cricket atmosphere without which one's efforts are of little value. As a bat, he was in a class by himself here, he made prolific scores in all parts of the country but his greatest joy was to watch a good innings by one of his own boys or to see the School XI. play good cricket against Wellington. Before he went to England he made a complete list of all his scores of 50 and over, it is probably a unique record of its kind.

More eloquent than any words was the universal sorrow and the sense of irreparable loss which the news of his death in action called forth.

The Chaplain of his brigade has written:- "He was loved at University (University College, Oxford) and he was loved in the Rifle Brigade."

We can fill in the gap and say with all sincerity - he was loved at Wanganui; we shall sorely miss him.

J.A.

Wanganui,

January, 1916.

[marina]

Good start, Andy. I'm looking forward to this!

Marina

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Externally Hugh Butterworth's life calls for little comment. He went to the conventional English public school, shone at the conventional games, did the conventional minimum of work, and went on, conventionally, to the university.. Then came the break in the smooth course of things. With his family he migrated to New Zealand before he had finished his time at Oxford, - without the many "blues" that were within his reach and without a degree. He came to Wanganui in September 1907, and till he left for the war in December 1914 lived in and for the school, "a presence that was not to be put by."

Butterworth's great merit as a school master was that he was entirely unporfessional - and completely human. He was a man of parts, not of knowledge. Energy was the keynote of his character, though partly disguised under a slouching gait and a lackadaisical manner which deceived the unwary. His physical energy expressed itself in the number of games which he played with exceptional skill. Wanganui boys do not need to be reminded of his wonderful scores at cricket, and of his inspiring captaincy.

In Rugby, football, hockey, racquets, tennis and running he held his own in the best company; while golf, dancing, riding, swimming and motor-cycling claimed his powers, each in due season. But if any thought he was a mere athlete whose bolt would be shot when his muscles began to stiffen, they made a great mistake. Behind the body lay a mind equally instinct with energy that expressed itself in racy prose and light verse and black and white sketches of no little merit. Academic he was not, but his love of life led him to love its reflection in literature. He knew Dickens, Thackery, Kipling and Bernard Shaw minutely; he read the "Ring and the Book" in the intervals of tennis and cricket one summer holidays. In order to explore unfamiliar regions of thought he would study works on socialism or evolution or religion. In the same way he would read Euripides and Asistophanes (in translations), Tolstoy (in French), and occasionally, in their original tongue, Horace and Virgil. We had all hoped to see the School enriched for many years with these many gifts and wide sympathies, deepening and maturing with the flight of time.

[susanhemmings]

Good start, Andy. I'm looking forward to this!

Marina

Me too....

Susan.

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As to his private friendships nothing can be said; they are their own record. A man as cheerful, as sincere, and as loyal, could not only attract friends, but keep them; and there was no bitterness or cynicism to repel or hurt. One of his Oxford friends has written since his death that he was "one of the most loved and lovable of men." We who knew him in later years will not wish to alter those words.

When the war came, he allowed his sense of duty to conquer his strong love of life. He was not long in making up his mind. He left New Zealand in January, was gazetted in March to the 9th Battalion of the Rifle Brigade, and was in Flanders by the end of May. Until he fell on the 25th September he plied his friends with letters, written in unadorned, colloquial style that mirrored both himself and his surroundings. As the months went by, though he never lost his light touch, the shadow of his approaching death seemed to add a seriousness to his letters which was absent at first, and now and then he lifts the veil from his inner thoughts and feelings. The programme allotted to him for the great offensive in September convinced him that the end was near, and his last letters, written just before going into battle, strike the note of farewell. In the last sentence of his last letter he wrote, "I don't doubt my power to stick it out, and I think my men will follow me." His friends are sure that his men followed him, and in those words he has penned his own best praise. Hugh Butterworth was a leader and inspirer of boys who became a leader and inspirer of men fighting in a great cause;- Felix opportunitate mortis.

H.E.S.

Wanganui,

January, 1916

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Copied from "The Malburian," November 1915.

The short biography of Hugh Butterworth which appears in "The Malburian, mentions his achievements by which he came into public prominence, and the events and changes which marked his life: but it says nothing of his high sense of honour, of his affectionate nature, of his straight forward manliness of character, of his strong common sense and clear headedness, of his cheerfulness, of his humour: it says nothing of the willing sacrifice on which he insisted, when, in spite of their unselfish wishes he decided to accompany his people to New Zealand, and to give up his honour degree, an assured position in the legal profession for which he was intended, and an excellent chance of a cricket "Blue": it says nothing of his second great sacrifice, when, having by sheer merit won himself a happy and comfortable position with good prospects at Wanganui, with congenial work, immense popularity and every opportunity for the athletes which he loved, he resolved to leave all and to offer his services and his life to his country.

He was a splendid athlete, and, whatever he played, he played hard: but he always recognised games in their proper proportion. He accepted his many disappointments at Oxford with philosophic resignation: it was indeed hard that one who was regarded as the best hockey forward in Oxford and who made 130 in the Seniors cricket match should have been deprived by ill-luck of the crowning honours. In New Zealand he devoted himself to coaching the school teams, and he met with marked success: nor was he less successful in his other teaching. He had inherited a strong love of English Literature and he taught his pupils to appreciate all that was best in it. At school, at college, at Wanganui and in his regiment everyone who knew him loved, trusted, admired and respected him: and it can safely be said that he never made an enemy. Marlborough never produced a more worthy son.

L.W.

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Extract from a letter written by Colonel Villiers-Stuart, commanding the 9th battalion of the Rifle Brigade, to Miss Butterworth:

"Dear Madam,

I cannot express my sadness at having to tell you of the death of your gallant brother, in action on September 25th. He led his company most bravely, and for a time all went well, but the German counter-attacks were very heavy and our men were forced back by bomb attacks in great force. It was in leading a few men to counter-attack one of these that your brother met his death. With him I lost all my officers but three. All his time with me your brother showed the most conspicuous coolness and courage, and he can never be replaced as an officer. I have no words to express my regret for you at his loss. Your brother's name had long been sent in for Captain's rank.

Yours sincerely,

W. Villiers-Stuart

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LETTERS

May 25th, 1915.

Cheer Ho ! We pushed over here the other day via Blanktown and Censorville. Spent a day at latter place and then marched to Xburg where we entrained. To our surprise we meandered on, and where finally shot out into the murky night at about midnight. We heard the guns booming away on the starboard bow. At 2 we slipped off on what we were told was a 5 mile hop. It turned out to be 16 kilometres, and the men having had no food for 12 hours we had a rough time. However we finally bumped into a village to accompaniment of distant cannon.. Sank into billets. We are absolutely on clover. Our Company is billeted in a ripping farm, the men in barns and we in the farm. We've got a ripping pond. In fact the back of the front is a good spot. We live like lords with unlimited food and beer. We are about half a mile from the village, and one can get into comfortable garbage. We've had some Company sports this afternoon. Great success. I figured in a Platton relay race, and ran like a hare, and almost collapsed at the finish. We've dug splendid baths, and put a waterproof sheet in to splash about. One trips over there in the dewy morn, dodging the cows. We are a great push at this farm, including one of the funniest of men, and we spend the day laughing chiefly and strenuous work on occasion. Shall push on to Bloodville shortly I suppose.

[marina]

Cheer Ho, Hugh...sounds just like the description of him!

Marina

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4th June.

I've written two letters during last week, only they've been blown away or melted or got into the butter or something. I forget whan I wrote last; somewhere when I was in the North of France. Well, of course, I can't say where I am, but we're in a mighty interesting spot - a place you've heard of several times. We're out every night these times within a mile of the Germans, but our battalion has had no casualties so far. It's very strange. There are guns all over the place wonderfully hidden. Flares go up all night continually, and then suddenly from some spot comes terrific rapid fire and the __ __ __ of machine-guns. It lasts about 5 minutes, then silence there. The trench is either taken or not. We shall be in the front trenches next week. You would have liked to see But: doubling through a dangerous and shelled-out village reeking of badly buried corpses and horses. Doubling for men carrying rifles, ammunition, spades, etc., is a good game. Baths are impossible, one sort of puts in a wash of sorts in the morning. We're in camp at present - of sorts. Up to lately we were in good billets, but the time for good billets has now departed. However things are quite entertaining. Thank boys for letters. Will write when I can, but we're never in bed till 4 a.m., and one has things to do by day. We're usually out from 5 p.m. to 4 a.m. If I don't get into too grim a place I think I'll enjoy things pretty much. The officers in our Company are splendid lads, and we shall extract humour out of most things. Love to all. Give Wananui my best wishes.

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June 10th, 1915.

We are in trenches and having a thoroughly satisfactory time. My platoon is in with a Company of the _______'s, and we are all being instructed in trench fighting. We came in last night, passed through various shattered villages and then came up an immense communication trench with the bullets singing over our heads. We are about 90 yards from the Germans, and I have been out to the listening post in front which can't be more than 50 or 60 yards from them. Being so near them is really rather an advantage as they are very chary about shelling us. They are magnificent trenches with splendid dug-outs. My dug-out is made of sand-bags, with a corrugated-iron roof and with a glass window facing the rear ! I am the guest of the _______officers, and we live like lords. At lunch to-day we partook of beef and tongue, pate de foie gras, comabere (or however you spell it) cheese, stewed apricots, biscuits, almonds and raisins, white wine, coffee and benedictine, and this with bullets pattering against the wall ! Very gentlemanly warfare ! The only objections are (1) lice (2) bad water - the Germans have a habit of dropping in arsenic (3) the fact that the ground has been twice passed over in the eraly days of the war, and the corpses are a bit lively. When one digs, (which one does 5 hours a day and most of the night) one usually rakes in a souvenir of sorts !

I'm glad to say we haven't yet been gassed, but we are provided with respirators, gas-helmets, and sprayers. so should be alright. We're just expecting what we call "a little frightfulness," as the artillery have just rung up to say that they intend to do a bit to it. When our new batteries open up we take to our burrows like rabbits !

I was out in front this morning for a bit with one of the subs. Men who have been out months usually stroll about in full view of snipers with telescopic sights without caring a straw. We also selected quite the worst possible spot to stop and discuss the merits of chevaux-de-frise. However a festive Bosche got busy, and we hooked it hurriedly.

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continued.

My men are very pleased with themselves. They averaged about 20 rounds during the night - without I suspect hitting anything, - and are full of joy. Also, I was pleased to note, they put their heads over the parapet and took a proper sight before shooting. Many men their first night, I'm told, hold their rifles well above their heads and loose of anyhow. Men look fearsome ruffians in the trenches. The water is bad for shaving, as if you cut yourself you may get a bit poisoned, so they mostly grow beards. Personally I take a tot out of my water-bottle, but I haven't washed yet to-day (2.30 p.m.). We're in for four days and can't have our boots, putties or equipment off all that time. We've had rain, so I'm slopping about in gum-boots fairly covered in mud owing to crawling operations this morning. Shall get a wash before dinner to-night. However officers don't get much sleep - about 4 in the 24. Also rifles and ammunition get filthy dirty and have to be continually inspected.

I am going out with the Captain soon to some spot where we can see the German lines well. Of course I have looked at them through periscopes, and when flares are shot up at night. Shal, probably work off a big mail before I go out, as there's plenty to talk about, and one can dart into one's dug-out when things are quiet. Best wishes to all. The only thing I object to is the censoring my platoon's letters !

My servant has just got one in the head - not badly - which is highly annoying to me !

[marina]

I'm very glad his letters didn't get into the butter!

he's much more forthcoming bout what he sees than AndreW. Interesting differences emerge from all these books and letters..

Marina

[Hambo]

For more detail on the Butterworth story see this thread where Andy and others managed to supply me with a ton of excellent information for a project I'm doing on this man's prep school

http://1914-1918.invisionzone.com/forums/i...showtopic=74583

Thanks for sharing all this Andy

[stiletto_33853]

Hambo,

The two discs with all the information, 14th Division War Diary and the 9th Rifle Brigade War Diary all posted to you today. I hope they help you with your project on this officer.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

It might be an idea to fill in the blanks left in Hugh's letters before we go to much further.

Post #11 mentions Blanktown and Censorville.

The Battalion left Aldershot on 20th May 1915 and crossed from Folkestone (Blanktown), arriving in Boulogne (Censorville) in the early morning of the 21st, apart from 3 officers and 106 other ranks and all the 1st Line Transport, who left on the 19th embarking at Southampton and crossed to Le Havre.

Xburg

The battalion marched to Pont de Briques Station (Xburg) where they entrained in the train from Havre which had the 3 officer ond 106 other ranks of the 1st Line Transport on board.

The Battalion arrived at Cassel at midnight 21-22nd May, and proceeded to billets at Zeggers Cappel, where it arrived at 8 a.m.

23rd-26th May:

In billets at Zeggers Cappell.

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27th May

Marched to St. Sylvestre

28th - 29th May

In billets

30th May

Marched at 4.45 a.m. via Godewaersvelde, Boeschepe, Westoutre, Reninghelst, Zevecoten, and went into huts about one mile south of that.

31st May

In the evening Battalion went to work on entrenchments. Post# 13

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Trenches.

5th June

Orders received that Battalion would be attached to the 137th Brigade from 6th June.

Half the machine-gun section reported this night to H.Q. 1/5th Battalion South Staffordshire Regiment, and went into the trenches.

6th June

Battalion marched to Bailleul, arrived there 10 a.m. and went into billets. "A" Company was attached 1/5th Battalion South Staffordshire Regiment. "B" Company was attached 1/5th North Staffordshire Regiment.

7th-10th June.

Trenches. "A" and "B" Companies were relieved by "C" and "D" Companies on 9th.

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Rest Camp

June 13th of somewhere near.

Back for a snooze. Got relieved night before lastWe had rather a rotten time getting back, as our relief was very late, and the platoon ahead of us went the wrong way; we did'nt get back till 3.30 and had to be up and off at 6. But we are now in camp. I have built a fine 'whare,' 2 water-proof sheets fixed on wire between trees, and my Wolseley valise to lie on. Tres bon.

Last night 6 of us burst into - and had a splendid dinner. Also I had a historic bath. I don't seem to have ammased any lice. I slept yesterday from 2 to 6 and from 9 to 8.15!! The worst of trench work for officers is the sleeplessness. The men get a good deal of rest, and of course as officers get scuppered the work gets harder for the remnant.

I've just re-read letter and see I haven't told you about last day. We had a fair amount of frightfulness. Our artillery opened and we got plenty in return; 120 shells at trench to our left. No one killed !! We got to it with rifle grenades. They replied with trench mortars and rifle grenades. I went out with a cove very much ventre a terre in the literal sense, and we crawled up to about 20 yards from their trench. Grass high and remains of old French trench. We decided on a bombing base, and we were going out in the evening to have a go. Unfortunately we were relieved earlier than expected, so it fell through.

I suppose we shall be in again in a day or so, but at this game you are never given orders long before, and they're always washed out and altered at least twice the next hour.

Au revoir, mes amis. Best wishes.

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June 16th,

3.10 a.m.

I, H.M. Butterworth, a man of peace, possessed of few virtues, but rather a good off drive, am sitting in a very narrow packed trench, about to take part in one of the biggest battles in History. Shells are fairly hurtling through the ether. With luck the sun ought to be up in half an hour, - at about which hour my watch ends. But what a life! I went out yesterday morning to sort of "reconnaisce" the ground, as it was my duty to lead the Company to its appointed support trench. We spun along on bikes without disaster though a few Jack Johnstons buzzed around. Past through Historic City, (d__ the censor), and found the way. To-night we stepped forth at about 10. Had a desperately slow march; (most of the British Army was coming along, I fancy), and ended a cheerless walk to by a double along a railway track from sleeper to sleeper. You have seen life in your time - have you ever seen a Company armed to the teeth and shovel doubling along a very much "Jack Johnsoed" railway-line with splendid shell-holes all over the place? A delightful experience made more so by the fact that telephone wires would trip you up every now and then.

6.15. A terrific bombardment has been going on for the last 3 hours. We must have hundreds and hundreds of batteries at work with whips of ammunition. Aeroplanes flutter around and have a look at us and get well shelled, but they go on rejoicing. I expect the main attack will develop (good word that) in an hour or so. I shall probably not be in the limelight till a good deal later. It will very likely be my pleasant task to stop a German counter-attack or something genial of the sort.

On the whole I am rather disappointed with the noise of the bombardment from our end. We are very near about 100 guns I should say, and one can talk in quite a low voice.

We,ve got no washing or shaving kit with us, just 2 days rations and a waterbottle of water. We shall be a quaint collection when we've finished - what's left of us.

The German's aren't replying to our artillery fire much just at present; I expect they are meditating something very unpleasant. Well, au revoir. This is June 16th, and we ought to get something done by Waterloo Centenary. Perhaps we are about to make history - perhaps not. Anyway best wishes to all. Curiously enough I feel as if I was playing bridge with you all - quite normal.

6.28 a.m. News through Canadians taken first line of trenches. Au revoir.

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Trenches,

Sunday, June 20th, 1915.

3.15 a.m.

What a night ! We left camp at 7, marched through Ypres, the most impressive sight I've ever seen, the whole place is absolutely gone. Every house is smashed to bits, absolutely a wonderful sight and very awesome. Well - at about 9 or so I picked up a couple of guides, (we were marched by platoons), Scotchmen, and they brought us up to these trenches. We got gassed just as we came up. We were entering the most complicated trenches imaginable and we got gas good and proper. My men were distinctly panicy and I had to mix profanity and jest in even quantities, slight preference given to profanity. Every platoon in the British Army seemed to be mixed up. Fortunately we had respirators and good smoke helmets so we got through. It's rotten though. After a bit I collected my platoon, (I reached my position the first time with one corporal and one rifleman,) and got them told off in their places and then things started. We had continual shell-fire, shrapnel and gas-bombs and some very heavy rifle and machine-gun work away to the left and right. So far my platoon is unhurt, but we've had some close calls. I had a sand-bag whipped off just above my head at about 1.15 this morning. Bullets of course whizz the whole time. The chief objection to this trench is the fact that it is more or less littered with dead, and if you dig you invaribly hit some corpse. It's quiet at last now and I'm penning this. It's a gruesome business, but perhaps we get used to it. One does'nt seem to have a dog's chance when things are moving. Oh ! inter alia, I was knocked clean over by a shell coming in this morning but was unhurt - a quaint sensation it was too. Why it did'nt slay me I know not. I will continue anon if I am still combering the planet. Au Revoir. I must take a turn round the trench and see that all is serene.

[AndyMacdonald]

Hi there,

A privately published compilation of Butterworth's letters from the trenches is held by University of Canterbury library in NZ. It's the only copy I've ever seen.

Andy M