Newton-le-Willows and Earlestown War Memorial

Letters From Our Soldiers

“Newton and Earlestown Guardian”
20th August 1915

Private Leo Doyle of the 5th South Lancashire Regiment who, along with his company, last week arrived in France, writes home to his mother Mrs Frank Doyle of 45 Legh Street, Earlestown, as follows:-

Twelve o’clock noon, and are now passing through the Seine, which is about 100 yards wide, so you will understand we are the centre of attention to the villagers on both sides of the river, who can utter fluently Frank’s comforting query “Are we downhearted?”

The journey across the Channel last night was a rough one, and I am not mistaken. I felt the rocking of this boat RMS Viper, but not the ocean boats to and from New York. The sights of the Channel last night were instructive and interesting. The searchlights (consisting of 4) throwing out powerfully, making it difficult for possible enemy ships to evade detection. We travelled in total darkness.

Our first pull up was at Le Havre, at about 7 this morning. We are now one hour’s sail from Rouen, where we shall be encamped - then a 34 hour train ride to the scene of the battle, “Somewhere in France”.

Second letter - later:-

After being “lost” on the railroad for two days “somewhere” in Belgium, we finally arrived at that much talked of spot “Somewhere in France”.

This place was shelled the day previous to our coming. Mr Censor will not permit a description of the village “be it ever so humble”. The guns of the Huns report periodically, to stir things up a little.

The average speed of the French train is, I should guess, about as fast as Dr. Patterson’s motor car.

The chocolate girl at Popperinge, Belgium, assures us that her name is “Alice” and not “Marguerite”.

The sleeping accommodation here is not very inviting, but we sleep well.

Shall write to Frank, though Boulogne is not near. Jack may be up the line, but his base is Le Havre.

I saw Wakefield, Cunliffe, Baskerville, Greenslade, Rimmer, Joe Walker and Abey at Rouen Base Hospital.

P.S. - They are shelling us at present.