Albert Edwin Davis





Wycombe Cemetery (picture from SWOP website)

Memorial for Albert Edwin Davis in High Wycombe Cemetery





Albert Edwin Davis 1897 - 1916

I was born in 1897 to Albert and Emily Davis. I didn’t know my father, as he died in February 1900 when I was just 3 years old. Mum and I lived at 1 Phillips Row, High Wycombe. I had a sister, Kate, who was a fair bit older than me. She lived in Wooburn and had a son, Reginald; Reg and I were baptised on the same day in 1904!

After a bit of schooling I did what most did, and worked in one of the chair factories; I was a dowel turner. Not long after war broke out, I, like most others, was keen to have a go at the Germans. A bunch of us from the factory signed up, and ended up with the 2/1st Oxford and Bucks Light Infantry. We had a while to wait before we got anywhere near the front line, however, undergoing the usual period of training. After nearly 18 months of this, we finally reached France in May 1916.

From Le Havre we moved, along with the rest of the 61st Division, to the Merville area. We were sent to the Fauquissart sector, relieving the Welsh division. Little did we know, to the south preparations were underway for what is now known as the Battle of the Somme. Things started heating up a little in our sector, with frequent raids of the enemy trenches taking place, and increasing bombardment of the enemy lines using artillery and mortar fire.

When the attack on the Somme was launched on 1st July 1916, it did not go according to plan; the German lines held, and many of our lads were lost. It was decided that a diversionary attack was needed, to draw Germany away from the Somme, and this was where we came in. At first there was talk of a gas attack, but that was decided against in the end; nasty stuff, gas, as you never know where it will wind up. Instead, we opted for a standard assault on the German lines in what became known as the Attack at Fromelles.

With the Australians to our north, we were due to attack a bit of high-ground known as the ‘sugar loaf’. It was a pretty horrid spot, as the Germans were well dug in and had a good view of the surrounding area. On 19th July 1916 our artillery opened up on the enemy; unfortunately, C company of our battalion was a bit too far forward, and lots of the boys were caught in our own barrage. At 6pm the bombardment stopped, and we clambered out of our trenches. Soon after that, I died. I don’t recall much, but one of the Australians nearby, who lived through the attack, described what it was like.

“Stammering scores of German machine-guns spluttered violently, drowning the noise of the cannonade. The air was thick with bullets, swishing in a flat criss-crossed lattice of death ... Hundreds were mown down in the flicker of an eyelid, like great rows of teeth knocked from a comb ... Men were cut in two by streams of bullets that swept like whirling knives ... It was the charge of the Light Brigade once more, but more terrible, more hopeless.”

My body was never found, but my name lived on in three different places. It was engraved on the Loos Memorial, with 20,000 others whose bodies were never found. It was displayed on a memorial plaque in Wycombe Hospital. Finally, it was written under the names of my father and mother on a headstone in High Wycombe cemetery. My poor mother, hearing that I was gone, died just 5 weeks after I had.



Researched by Neill George, Gill Evans, and the girls of Wycombe Abbey School

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