Brian Robert Philip Wood




Brian Robert Philip Wood's memorial plaque in All Saints Parish Church

Easton Street(picture from SWOP website)

Brian Robert Philip Wood, courtesy the Royal Grammar School




Brian Robert Philip Wood 1894 – 1915

My name is Brian Robert Philip Wood and I was born in 1894 in High Wycombe to Robert Samuel Wood and Theodora Sarah Sophia nee Boyton. I had two sisters Nora Christine Daisy and Evelyn Maud and we lived at Bedfors House High Wycombe.

Neither of my parents were born in High Wycomne, my father came from Manchester and my mother from Watlington, Oxfordshire. My father was a solicitor who worked from offices in Easton Street, and he was also an alderman.

I was educated at the Royal Grammar School here in High Wycombe and also at Felstead in Essex. I enjoyed sports and was the captain of Wycombe Wednesday FC and also a keen Wycombe cricketer. I enjoyed taking part in the Wycombe Hockey and Lawn Tennis Clubs too. At Easter 1914 I returned from Brussels where the Wycombe Hockey team were on tour to assist Wycombe Wednesday FC to win the Bucks and Berks Wednesday Cup. Yes, I enjoyed an active life.

After I left school I was articled to my father as a trainee solicitor but my career was cut short by the advent of war. In June 1914 I had succeeded in passing, with distinction, the Intermediate Examination of the Law Society and I was preparing for my final examination when the war broke out. I came from a family tradition of Boyton men doing their bit for King and Country, fighting at Bunker's Hill and in the Indian Mutiny, so I didn't hesitate.

In September 1914 I joined the 7th Battalion of the London Regiment (London Rifle Brigade) a a rifle man. As soon as I had enlisted I was offered a commission but I preferred to earn it by merit, sharing the lot of a Private first and learning by experience. I proved my worth and rose to the rank of a non-commissioned officer and then to 2nd Lieutenant in the same regiment.

I returned home for a few brief hours before being sent to the front in France. On Easter Sunday our platoon came under heavy shellfire and I attended to the wounded and tried to remain as calm as I could in front of my men. I had a jolly band of chums and our morale remained high.

It was on the 2nd July 1915 that I met my fate. Only five days before I hadbeen appointedinstructor in bomb throwing for the Brigade. On the morning of my death, the Brigade being in reserve, I was taking a bomb throwing class for officers and NCOs. We were throwing bombs in a trench but one of them failed to explode and I went to see why it hadn’t gone off. I picked it up and thinking that the fuse had not ignited I tried to light it but suddenly it exploded in my hand, severely injuring my hand, head and chest. I was killed instantly.

My Company Officer, Captain C.E. King-Church wrote to my parents to tell them what had happened. He was keen to stress that although my death had been accidental and not caused by any action of the enemy, I died doing my duty as truly as if I had been in the front trenches. I was buried that evening at 8 o’clock in the cemetery of the village where we were billeted, Mazingarbe Communal Cemetery.

My body, draped with a Union Jack, was carried to the grave by NCOs and men of my own platoon, a party of 10. Had the village not been shelled nearly every day the whole platoon would have attended but it was not wise for the Company Officer to allow them to do so. As we passed the billets of the company whom I had been with before I gained my commission the whole company lined the road as my body passed by. My platoon had made a cross of white Madonna lilies, red roses and blue cornflowers from the flowers which had been kindly given from the garden by the French lady whose house we were billeted in. This cross was laid on top of the Union Jack which covered me. The Chaplain of the 6th Battalion read the short service which is used in the field whilst guns firing and shells bursting could be heard about a mile away. A cross with my name was put over my grave. Later, in their spare time, the men of my platoon erected a fence around my grave.

Captain C.E. King-Church wrote ‘I have lost in him a first-class officer and a very good comrade. I could not have wished for a better subaltern. He was untiring in his work, knew his job thoroughly and could always be relied on to do th eright thing on his own account without definite orders. The men were all very fond of him and had perfect confidence in him. Having been in their ranks he understood them and realised their hardships, a thing which is not always easy for an officer to do. As a brother officer, we shall miss him terribly.’

Although our family grave is in High Wycombe Cemetery (and there may be an inscription for me on the fallen headstone) my family chose to have a memorial plaque for me in All Saints Parish Church where a memorial service was held soon after my death.





Researched by Sally Scagell, Lost the Plot

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