Lest we forget

The role that photographs play in fixing people in our minds eye is vital for a family historian. Photographs of forebears are pored over, with each feature compared to those in other photos, to other family members, and to yourself – seeking recognition, belonging, a likeness – and memory, for those recently departed. How often were these photographs clasped close and studied by family shortly after they were taken, as they were, unexpectedly, the last of loved ones?

I have written about my great, great-grandmother, Rachel Lawn née Hart as if I knew her, but of course I was born long after she died – even my own grandmother was too little to remember her as she was under two when Rachel died. All I know of what Rachel was like is from a handful of six or seven photographs that I had been given copies of from across the family, mostly formal family groups and a few stories second and third-hand. Trying to select images for the book, and the requirements of publishing means that a lot of details (and colour and tone) are lost, so when new photos turn up, it is exciting to share them in this medium.

It is now just over a hundred years since Rachel Lawn, née Hart died, aged 57, less than a year after her son Ben was killed in WWI. I now have been given access to several more photographs¹ – most tiny ( 5cm x 3cm ) reprints off scratched negatives and in poor condition. I have edited the images to enhance and repair obvious cracks and stains. These ‘new’ images add a further dimension to what little we know of Rachel – but more importantly these images that were taken in a the space of a year: just before Ben was killed, and just after, and trace the grief that family said broke her heart and sent her to an early grave.

This studio image (which appeared in my book) was taken in Reefton on Ben’s final leave before embarkation and brought together almost all of the Lawn family (except Charlie and George). Along with this original image I also had various group poses: Dinah, Ben and Jim; Ben and John; James and his sons.  I was startled to find that there was another portrait – Rachel with her two daughters Eva and Dinah. It seemed that ‘just the women’ were not as valued as the pictures of the ‘boys’ in uniform which several different family members had copies of.

Lawn Family, Reefton, July 1916:                                                                           Back Left to Right: Dinah McIvor (née Lawn), Ben, Herbert, James, John.
Front L to R: Dorothy McIvor b 26 Nov 1913, Edith Evans, Eva Evans (née Lawn) with baby Eva (b 1 Dec 1915), James ‘Jack’ Lawn, with Henry ‘Harry’ Evans, Jennifer ‘Jean’ Evans, Rachel Lawn.
absent: George Lawn. Charlie Lawn
[Rachel wears a shawl brought back from probably Egypt or Gallipoli by John]

In this portrait of mother and daughters it appears that Dinah is wearing one of Ben’s collar badges (with ‘XIII’ in the centre) at the throat of her blouse, and Rachel too is possibly wearing one of John’s cap badges, it is unclear in both photos whether the flowers on Eva’s blouse are also pinned by a badge.

Mother and daughters: Rachel, Dinah and Eva, 1916

Previously I had only seen one informal photograph of Rachel – this somewhat blurry snapshot taken about 1910 in Blacks Point:

Jim, Rachel, Dinah and Ben, outside their house at Blacks Point

Now another small image taken in summer time – of Rachel and James Lawn with a young woman has come to hand – I am not positive, but judging by the shape of her jaw, this may be Eva Evans née Lawn; I would be interested to hear what others think. How lovely to see Rachel in a relaxed and happy mood, James dapper in his car coat: a vingette of before.

James and Rachel and possibly Eva Evans

The next image I had used in my book was what I thought of as ‘Rachel’s last photo’. In To Live a Long and Prosperous Life, I wrote that this was taken on a visit to see her new grandson.  James and Rachel had travelled to Woodville in the North Island for an extended stay² with George and Doll and their children, the little boy ‘named after his late uncle’ Benjamin. Rachel here is smiling, but looked tired. Her dress, as usual, is dark, but the dull crepe and the complete lack of lace at her throat and her hair pulled back a little more severely suggests that she was wearing mourning clothes: it is likely that the visit was arranged to help Rachel in her deep grief.

James and Rachel with George and Doll,  Olive, Benjamin and Evelyn, 1917

Another photograph – a portrait of Rachel – had been taken around this time (her bow brooch doesnt have the chain in the photo above so possibly not the same day).  Is it my imagination, or does she look resigned – a sadness in her eyes? Perhaps just a result of the poor photographic print, her colour looks high. Blood pressure elevated, overweight, suffering from grief and depression, a few weeks after this on their journey home Rachel was overwhelmed by a stroke which killed her.

Rachel, 1917

Another candid shot – possibly as James and Rachel were about to depart on their homeward journey:

James and Rachel Lawn, Woodville, 1917

Rachel fell ill on the overnight Wellington to Lyttelton ferry and upon berthing she was taken to Lyttelton hospital where she lingered for three days before she died. Family, including her mother Dinah Hansen raced from the Coast to be by her side and others came from afar for her funeral and burial at Lyttelton cemetery.

 

                 Greymouth Evening Star, 24 August 1917                               courtesy Papers Past

George and his family must have travelled down for her funeral and then visited the Coast, because the next snapshot is of James with his grandchildren, possibly at the Evans farm at Waitahu, near Reefton. He holds baby Ben on his lap, on his right is Edith Evans and on his left Jean Lawn. Sitting on two little chairs are George’s daughters Olive and Evelyn Lawn and on the grass at the front are Harry Evans and the only possibility for the curly-haired toddler in the centre is my Nana, Eva Evans (born December 1915).

James Lawn and grandchildren, 1917

The final snap was one that appeared in my book, but I have included here again as it is easier to see (somewhat blurry) detail in this format. I believe that this is taken at George Lawn’s home in Christchurch, where he and his family shifted in the early 1920s. James went to live with them there at Slater Street, Richmond until he died in 1928, and was buried with Rachel in Lyttelton. George’s daughter Olive was living there in the 1960s when I visited and stayed there as a child.

James Lawn in a reflective mood

Peering at these new images, it brings home to me that we take for granted the ability we have today of taking endless digital images of our family, our homes and ourselves, yet we rarely think how they might be available for the future generations. Do you print out photographs? Do you edit or delete images that show the everyday interiors or awkward moments?  The last photograph here is tantalising – if only it was a clear image and we could see more of what is in the background: what is in the picture frame above the fireplace? I have so  many questions about the things in this photograph! Where did the shell come from? What are the porcelain animals? What time was it on the clock?

What matters is that someone thought to keep these pictures, and I hope that somewhere in your family pictures are safely stored (and named and dated!) for the future generations: to remember, lest we forget.

¹ Thanks to Mervyn Lawn for sharing these images.

² Little Benjamin was born 19 October 1916 just four days after the family learned of Ben’s death. In the group picture little Benjamin looks about six months old, and the photo taken after Rachel’s death he would have been 10 months, so if the George Lawn family picture was taken in Woodville James and Rachel were visiting there for several months.

What happened to Ben

. . .as we are the Thirteenth Reinforcements we are doubtless the unlucky ones, according to the superstitious “13”.

Just over a year ago, I travelled across the European farmland that had a hundred years previous reverberated with the sound of mortars and machine guns. I posted here about my great, great-uncle Benjamin Lawn, whose fate was to die and lie buried ‘somewhere’ on the Somme.

On my journey I carried with me a poppy – the symbol that has come to represent the bloodshed and remembrance of the fallen. We in New Zealand wear these on our Remembrance day – Anzac Day – which falls on the 25 April and commemorates our defining moment as a nation at Gallipoli alongside our Australian comrades, although now all battles, including the wars that have followed the Great War are remembered. I had kept this poppy for five months, and carried it across the world for Ben.

Poppy image: Royal British Legion

The poppy, a seemingly fragile flower, nevertheless persevered and came to be the first to bloom again in the mangled farmland: it is a fitting tribute to the fallen. Travelling by high-speed train from Paris to Amsterdam and watching the fields of towering ripe corn shoulder to shoulder in the achingly bright sunshine was surreal: a million light-years away from the horrors that happened here. Seated in plush comfort and sealed behind the train windows meant I could not let that single poppy float to the ground, nor place the poppy anywhere: I kept it safe until we arrived in London later that month, 100 years to the day that Ben was killed.

But what exactly had happened to Ben was something that always eluded me as I wrote To Live a Long and Prosperous Life. Many years ago my mother wrote  to the New Zealand Defence Force, and enquired about what happened to Ben. I remember  seeing the report, and the horror when I realised he had died in the Somme. Yet this report was somehow mislaid and although we both seemed to recall that he was shot, or struck in the head, and that after he was buried the continued bombardment of the area meant his grave was unable to be relocated as all identifying landmarks were obliterated, the frustrating lack of accurate reference material meant that I was unable to write with any accuracy on Ben’s death. Ben’s Army records, now with New Zealand Archives, like other records, does not provide much to confirm or elaborate on his fate.

Papers Past has now filled in the gaps, with further releases of digitised newspapers. For the following excerpts I owe a debt of gratitude to the sleuthing skills of my cousin Peter Walker for providing this information. Peter also contributed significantly to Live Long and Prosper with his research on Ben’s brother John Lawn’s WWI service at Gallipoli.

The first excerpt is from a letter printed in the Greymouth Evening Star on 5th October, 1916. The letter was written two months earlier by Ben on 5 August – he had died on the 27 September. Just one week after this letter appeared in print his parents received notification of his death on the evening of the 12 October and his name was published in the Roll of Honour on Saturday 14 October.

Here, then, is Ben’s final letter home captioned by the newspaper as “Salisbury Plain Camp – A Reefton Boy’s Experiences”:

 

We have been in this camp since Wednesday week. At Plymouth all the people belonging to the place were at the station to see us.   They treated us well, giving buns and tea and plenty of it.  The Mayor of Exeter sent us a big bag of cakes each, with a card on each, on which was his name, and wished us a safe return.   We arrived at camp at about eight o’clock at night, and the first one that I met whom I knew was Andy McIvor. [Ben’s sister Dinah Lawn had married Sim McIvor, Andy’s younger brother, in 1912) When he saw me he said I had no right to be here.  He has not been to France yet.  I have been mess orderly and have not done any drill.  I hope they won’t keep me back from Ralph and all the boys on account of not doing drill.  We were supposed to have been off for the front seven days from when we landed, but owing to an outbreak of measles on our steamer, the Willochra we have been isolated for 16 days.  We had about 150 cases, and as we are the Thirteenth Reinforcements we are doubtless the unlucky ones, according to the superstitious “13”.   We get leave for three days and most of the boys are going to London.  I will, I think go to Cornwall to see Dorothy. [Dorothy James (born 1894), Ben’s cousin, daughter of his aunt Sarah née Lawn]  I expect to get there in about eight hours.   The distance is about 400 miles, and the trains do go some.  We travel at half rates.

We are not tied down so much here as we were at Trentham – we can go anywhere we like within a radius of five miles without a pass.   We can travel by motor, but not by train.   Ralph and I went for a walk and we got into some big fields and lost out bearings, and we did not arrive until ten o’clock at night.  We had to be in not later than 9.30 so we had to go before the commanding officer.  Nearly all my mates have joined the machine gun section.  They wanted me to join, but I think the infantry will do me.

Alas, the Infantry was to well and truly ‘do’ for Ben.

It was not until many months later that word was received about his fate, underlining how the not knowing must have compounded the grief for family and friends back home and how it was that ‘private’ letters and scraps of information were shared by the publication in the newspapers of “OUR SOLDIERS LETTERS” – the collective noun emphasising the sense of the entire community – and country’s involvement in this Great War.

In the first week of January 1917 William Nicholas (14141), who had been a driver for a carter on Buller Road, Reefton when he enlisted, wrote to his sister, (Mrs Rix of Greymouth) from “Somewhere in France”. This was a welcome letter, received nearly two months later, as he had previously been reported killed, instead of just seriously wounded.

Our company came out of the trenches a couple of days before Christmas.   We are billeted in a nice little town, and are having a good time.  Our Christmas dinner was a good one.  It consisted of roast pork, plenty of vegetables, and an ample supply of plum pudding.  All the Reefton boys were together.  Minehan, of Cobden, was with us.  He was not hurt, as you suppose, but is still going strong.  Among our company were Steve Hocking [Blacks Point neighbours of the Lawns, survived the war] and Pal McMasters. The former, having a job at headquarters, is done with fighting for a while.  Anyhow, he deserves a spell.  He has come right through the campaign without getting a smack.  Pal McMasters is in the band.  I have not met Jim Hannah, of Boddytown, but am on the lookout for him.  Our brigade was relieved for Christmas and New Year holidays, after a long spell in the trenches, and it was up to us to enjoy ourselves a little. 

Ben Lawn, of Black’s Point, was not with us. He, poor fellow, was killed while charging the enemy.  A piece of shell struck him on the back of the neck.  His death was sudden, but painless. 

It is a terrible experience to be under continuous fire.   Not much credence can be attached to the words of those who say they like it.   Those who talk that way have not seen much fighting.  I have been in No Man’s Land frequently, small companies having to lie down flat for six consecutive hours on the enemy’s wire entanglements, armed with revolvers, bayonets, and bombs; snow on the ground, and the night bitterly cold.  At present we are in the rear seven miles from the front trenches, drilling and route marching all the time.  There are many casualties from stray shells, but it is preferable to the front trenches.  Building dug-outs, and other kinds of work also has to be done.  Indeed, more men are hit in the fatigue parties than the front-line trench, but it is better for the reason that we can occasionally get to town at night.   One of Fritz’s aeroplanes will come over and discover some working parties; Fritz receives the report, the result being that the big guns are put on the spot.  Of course we do the same.  The efforts of the Huns to bring down our aeroplanes are often watched by our men with hilarious laughter and shouts of derision.  They will fire 200 shells without a hit.   Sometimes we have some close shaves.   Our chaps say, jokingly, that they would like to get a “blighty” – meaning a smack – just mild enough to be sent to England.  But they cannot be taken seriously, if one is to judge by the manner in which they race for cover when the shells are falling.

We are holding a very quiet part of the line now. The Somme advance, made by our boys a while back, was a hell upon earth.  The experience was a rough one.  It was in the very place where we are now that the Australians got chopped up terribly.  We relieved them when we took over these lines.  They advanced and took Fritz’s two front lines.  But Fritz was cunning.  He let a big dam go in the vicinity, flooding the trenches just occupied by the Australians, and as they clamoured out like drowned rats, Fritz turned his machine guns and shrapnel on them.  Even now dozens of them still lie out in No Man’s Land.  We send out parties frequently.  Forming one of these parties, I have had many peculiar encounters with Fritz.  One night we dispatched two Germans sitting on their own wire.  This was done through stealthily creeping along in the stillness of the night.  Our retreat to our own lines was very hasty and accomplished before Fritz in the trenches had time to recover.

Our rations are good. Porridge in the morning and bacon; good stew for dinner, and bread and butter and cheese or jam for tea.   In addition, if desired, plenty of tinned meat.  In the trenches a pair of clean sox are issued to us every morning.  In conclusion, I think we will all be home for next Xmas.   The Germans are beaten.  Lately the French have been giving them something to go with.   I hope to get a look at Paris before my return.  Reefton friends will excuse me for not having time to write.

(Greymouth Evening News, 3 March 1917)

Although Nicholas was nearly 10 years older than Ben it is clear that all the Reefton lads serving knew each other well, as later in the year he again touches on the death of Ben in one of his published letters home. (Nicholas survived the war and returned home in 1919, he died in Auckland in 1959).

Touching the death of Private Ben Lawn, a letter from Private Nicholas to his Greymouth relatives says he was talking to one who was near him when hit. It was during the advance at the Somme that Ben was hit. He dropped and never moved.  The writer does not know whether he was hit with a bullet or a piece of shell, but he was killed outright.  The boys were going to over to take a Hun trench, but on the way Ben was hit in the neck, and immediately sank.  This would be about September 27th.  . . Private Nicholas and his friends are still going strong, the latter wishing to be remembered to all friends.

(Greymouth Evening Star, 28th June 1917)

In September 2016, on the periphery of Hyde Park, under some leafy trees just beginning to lose their leaves in the stifling heat of late summer we stumbled upon a memorial to all the animals who have died in British warfare: from pigeons, dogs, to horses and even elephants, here represented in sculpture by two bronze donkeys, labouring to a carry a small cannon and cases of ammunition. Hugely moving, this memorial signals that so many men relied on their beasts of burden, yet their vital role is often over-looked. I tucked what I had come to think of as ‘Ben’s  poppy’ into bronze of one of the humble little donkeys, and left it there with the cacophony of the traffic wending its way around Hyde Park, and the hub-bub of shoppers pressing down near-by Oxford Street oblivious to the frozen tableau of the donkey, his shoulders straining forward, his head lifted, in eternaldetermination, as he steps up to serve.

An inscription on the wall reads:

“They had no choice”

 

UPDATE:

Recently I learned from a family member who visited that Ben’s medals are in the repository at The National Army Museum Te Mata Toa, at Waiouru.

Benjamin Webster Lawn’s medals. Image courtesy of National Army Museum (New Zealand)

I wrote to enquire about them, and the whereabouts of his ‘Dead Man’s Penny’ which was sent to the next-of-kin of fallen soldiers. I recieved this reply from them:

Dear Cynthia

The medals of Benjamin Webster Lawn are currently on display in our Medal Repository. He received the British War Medal and the Victory Medal. I have attached a photo. We do not have his Memorial Plaque, though.

The medals were donated in 1984 but I am afraid it is not our policy to release details regarding donors.

I would be intrigued to know if anyone knows who had the medals and subsequently donated them.

 

Pro patria mori*

*  second line from the phrase beginning  Dulce Et Decorum Est -Wilfred Owen’s gas poem.

September 15 2016 marks the 100 year anniversary of the Somme Offensive. This post details the involvement of  just one of Dinah’s grandsons and grand nephews who served in the Great War. What must it have been like as a grandmother and mother to see these young men go off to war, to feel the grief and worry of your daughters as they farewelled their boys? This is the story of one who never returned.

Benjamin on his mother Rachel’s lap in 1897 (part of a group photograph that included Sarah’s family, the older boy is  Ernest Lawn, son of Sarah and Thomas)

Ben from a group photo taken c1905

Ben and brother James at Blacks Point school

At Dinah and Sim McIvor’s marriage in 1912

Ben at brother Herbert Lawn’s wedding, 1915

Private Benjamin Webster Lawn

2418, 5ft 4½, 8st (64 kg), with ‘clear complexion, light blue eyes’ and ‘black hair’ signed up at Reefton on the fifth of February 1916; passed fit on the sixth February, sailed from Greymouth on the ninth and two days later he was in Trentham where he attested on 11 February 1916.

Ben Lawn was the second youngest son of James and Rachel. He had grown up in Black’s Point, with the sound of the great stamper battery ringing in his ears, a tease of his older sister Dinah and playmate of younger brother Jim. The three youngest children of James and Rachel played together, and went to school together. With dark curly hair Ben had the look of his mother Rachel, and he had grown tall as he reached his teens. Leaving school he headed to the inevitable job at the stamper as battery hand, working for the Consolidated Gold Mining Company. He kept fit like his brothers playing rugby and even joined his friends one Easter weekend cycling the Buller Gorge to Westport on his brother Charles’ bike.

Ben’s army record suggests he had high spirits in training, with two misdemeanours recorded, over staying leave: forfeit three days’ pay and bringing liquor into camp. The last meant he forfeited any leave and remained confined to camp before embarkation on Troopship No.35 Willochra which left Wellington on 21 May 1916.

James and Rachel Lawn family about April 1916

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Two months and six days later they arrived in Devonport, on 26 of July 1916, and two days after that he marched into Sling camp where he was attached to the British Expeditionary Force – France, 1st Infantry Battalion 2nd Company of the Canterbury Regiment. After a short, sharp, shock of drills and exercises, the young men who had arrived in high spirits had been transformed to a disciplined and focused unit, ready to face the enemy. One month after arriving in England on 28 August they were hardened up enough to be on their way to the front in France. The following day they arrived at the NZEF Depot at Etaples, near Calais where Ben joined the 1st Battalion Canterbury Regiment and was posted to the new 13th Company on 8 September.

The company went into the Somme, where the offensive had begun on 1 July. The British and Allies were trying to retake an area that the Germans had occupied for some time. What was once rolling farmland, woods, quarries and cellars in farms and villages disguised machine gun posts, and the ground was heavily entrenched. The Germans were in strong fortified bunkers, some double storied underground and trenches protected by vast beds of barbed wire some 40 yards (metres) deep. Bare ground was frequently mined, prolonged gun and artillery fire had blasted trees and shredded vegetation, pockmarked the fields and buildings had become an alien landscape. Air reconnaissance was used to see the enemy trench systems and to plan attacks, with various trenches and posts named as ‘alleys’, ‘lanes’ and also local roads, buildings and rivers in a confusing tangle of battleground that is hard to comprehend from the official written account: even the maps appear confusing to the novice. At points in the melee men frequently lost track of their battalion and with reinforcements and regrouping it was not until much later that they would find men were ‘missing’.

On the first day of battle in July over 60,000 British troops were killed or wounded. The offensive continued over the next two months, with little ground taken. The third ‘big push’ began on 15 September, in which the British used tanks for the first time. The rain began on the second day. On 25 and 27 September the third phase was begun with the New Zealand Division involved in attacks at Morval and Thiepval Ridge.

The official account of the Canterbury Battalion details how Ben’s regiment prepared for the attack near Longueval. At about 8 pm three companies of the 2nd Canterbury Battalion who had been detailed to be sent into battle emerged from their trenches and lined up on the road. Half an hour later they began to advance, silently creeping up until they were finally seen, 50 yards from the enemy line. Under rifle and machine-gun fire the troops rushed the German trench Goose Alley and captured it.

The mission was reasonably successful and they captured prisoners and machine guns, yet a few hours later the enemy made a ‘determined counter attack’ and the Allies were pushed back, only to then surge forward again. Such was the nature of battle in the Somme—forward and back, rush forward with bayonets, lose a trench, scramble and snare in acres of barbed wire, gain another trench. Exhausted, the company was relieved from the front line, but they were not given much rest, instead they were detailed to try and repairthe roads around Thistle Dump.

The ‘weather was wet’ was an understatement. The rain poured and the chalk ground was rotten: churned, muddy and waterlogged. Trenches were deep in water, uniforms and boots were wet through. After several days at this difficult task, on the night of 24-25 September the Brigade relieved the 3rd (Rifle) Brigade in the front line, with orders to take part in the Fourth Army’s attack the following day. This took place just after midday, and met slight opposition, and a few casualties. The line was moving forward, and the next forward push was about to be made.

For once, the rain had stopped, and as one account described, the weather was glorious, and was excellent for aviation work. First the artillery bombarded the enemy, and then a creeping barrage, with artillery fire moving forward in increments and the troops followed behind—although sometimes the troops were too enthusiastic, got too far ahead or the creeping barrage was off range and men were killed by ‘friendly fire’. The men were ordered over the top at 2.15 pm on 27 September. It was overcast and rainy: the fine weather had not lasted. The 1st Canterbury Battalion advanced behind the barrage, with the 12th and 13th (Ben’s Company) in that first wave. The official account concludes the description of this offensive:
The attacking company was held up for a short while by bombers and machine-guns; but the latter were silenced by our Lewis gunners, and all the objectives of the battalion were captured by 2.38 pm, with slight casualties.

Ben was killed in action on 27 September 1916, probably going ‘over the top’. He was aged 20 years, one of the ‘slight’ casualties. The Allies had advanced one mile on their last position. Behind them lay 50 square miles (130km2) of devastated land. By the end of the offensive the line had only advanced 5 miles (8km) into enemy held territory. Country roads ceased to exist as chalky waterlogged soil crumbled under heavy machinery; replacement artillery, troops, supplies all had to traverse the mess that had once been productive farmland. Ahead lay miles of equally soulless land. One hundred years on, the words: ‘The Somme’ still conjures unimaginable horror and loss.

When this battle ended the 2nd Canterbury Battalion counted 33 officers and 713 men killed, wounded and missing. Ben’s burial was recorded by the OCDGR E (Officer Commanding of the Directorate of Graves Registration and Enquiries), as Reference number 21836 B as having been performed by A.H. Cullen, attached to South African [Infantry?].

Those who died in No Man’s Land were often never identified: as they fell into the mud their bodies became obliterated by the on-going battle. Dog tags were perishable and in the wet, uniforms rotted. Nevertheless there are still human remains being discovered and identified in the twenty-first century. However, soldiers who, like Ben, were seen to be killed were probably buried by their comrades close to where they fell, perhaps in part of a trench, in a shell hole or a hurriedly dug grave, perhaps with one or two others, their dog tags removed and passed to an officer in command.

A telegram was prepared, addressed to Mrs R. Lawn, Black’s Point: she was noted as next of kin (mother) in his military file. Nearly two and a half weeks later Rachel and James received the dreaded black bordered telegram from the Ministry of Defence advising them of Ben’s death. The news spread quickly to his sisters and brothers, aunt and grandmother, as well as friends and neighbours—everyone in the community knew the boys who were away serving. The family reeled with disbelief that their Ben was not going to be coming home. He was just a lad.

The date of his death was what everyone turned to: what were they doing that fateful day? It was a Wednesday. Carrying on their work-day lives far away, while Ben heard the crack of rifle fire, the sudden thud as the bullet hit, the oblivion as he fell lifeless into the mud, the sounds of mortar and gunfire thundering on.

Although a grave reference is recorded on the Defence Force file, it was not until the following year that the bodies of soldiers in their temporary graves could be re-interred in appropriate cemeteries, the difficult task carried out by the British V Corps. The battle that had raged over the ground where Ben had been buried was to totally destroy the landscape and identifying features—his grave was never found. This was perhaps the hardest thing for his family to imagine: the boy from Black’s Point alone in the cold dark ground on the other side of the world. No funeral, with comforting rituals to help the grieving, no headstone for family to visit. A few lines in the newspaper under ‘Casualties’ and then: gone.

1500 New Zealanders were killed on the Somme. Most of them, 1272, remained unidentified and are buried in unmarked graves or remembered on memorial walls. Benjamin Webster Lawn is remembered on the Commonwealth War Grave Memorial at Caterpillar Valley, Longueval. White headstones lined up with military precision, enclosed in rectangular grounds, surrounding by rolling fenceless farm fields and a few trees creates a peaceful oasis in contrast to what it was like when Ben the boy from Reefton was there.

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Ben is also memorialised on his mother’s headstone in Lyttelton cemetery. Rachel Lawn nee Hart died just over a year later, the family believed, of a broken heart.

Benjamin Webster Lawn memorial on Rachel Lawn headstone, Lyttelton Cemetery

Rachel Elizabeth Lawn, Lyttelton cemetery (stone since collapsed after 2011 earthquakes)

 

(excerpts 327-29 Chapter 15 The Great War To Live a Long & Prosperous Life)