William Bryant





Remington Terrace on Oxford Road (picture from SWOP website)

Memorial for William Bryant in High Wycombe Cemetery





William Bryant 1882 - 1918

At home in Remington Terrace, Oxford, I wasn’t just service number 31261. I was a son; I was a husband. My parents, Thomas and Jane Bryant, and my wife Bertha didn’t enlist in the war. My parents were much too old and my wife wasn’t allowed to do so. I was one of the first to be signed up when war broke out. A mixture of excitement and nervousness churned within me; I was 32, but had not yet done my bit to represent my country. After all, that was what anyone who enlisted wanted to do. Serve the country, make our families proud. Make our mothers, our fathers, sisters and brothers, wives and cousins take pride in our achievements. Attired in my new uniform, I marched on eagerly.

By the time our garrison duty and training was over, I was itching to get on to a real battlefield, as I thought that I was ready to take on anyone and anything that challenged me. The 2nd battalion was a sizeable force of men. We were stationed on the Western front along with five other battalions. We were part of the 5th Infantry Brigade, 2nd Division, fighting against the advancing Germans. Our battalion was one of the first to arrive at Mons in France. It was the first battle that the British had taken part in, and it was a victory on our part. However, after the victory, we were quickly outnumbered by Germans and began a 220-mile retreat, not stopping until we reached the outskirts of Paris. The weather was blisteringly hot during the days of our retreat and we suffered in the cruel warmth of the sun. My first battle was over, and I had survived. The going would get much tougher over the next few days, months, years, but I'd got off to a good start. Many of my comrades, who I had trained with, were not so lucky. It was the first time any of my battalion had seen large-scale death, and had been forced to take part in the killings ourselves. It was a lot to process, but our exhaustion pushed it to the back of our minds. We had to keep going.

We fought against the Prussian Guard during the first week of September in the First Battle of the Marne. Our next engagement was not until more than a month later during the First Battle of Ypres, which saw 143 deaths and casualties from our battalion alone. From the entire attack, it was said that ‘the heart of the old Regular army was ripped out’. Our numbers were depleted and the loss of comrades we had known for months now bore harder in our hearts.

1914 came to an end. I was still part of the battalion. We were often thrown headfirst at the enemy, suffering insurmountable loss for little reward. By the end of most of these battles, victory had been won but we hadn’t secured much strategic gain. These narrow successes took a toll on our battalion. It was often replenished with new soldiers, fresh faces to help fill the gap left by our dead infantrymen. At certain times, it seemed like a waste of effort- like we weren’t getting anywhere, just losing precious life. My family back home cherished the thought that I was still alive, especially my wife.

Our second great loss of life came on the 16th of May 1916 at the Battle of the Festubert. Just under 400 of our battalion died, aiding the French attack. The new faces were gone, and younger men who had just enlisted were joining our ranks. I was by then seen to be a seasoned and weary soldier, even though it had been under a year since I myself had enlisted. It was rare for someone to have survived though two such enormous battles, and I had garnered respect from others for doing so.

I felt older than I was- I was barely 33 at the time yet I was disillusioned with war, exhausted with the prospect of fighting. I held the thought of home, my family and my wife close to me.

After the Battle of Loos, I was one of only 2 officers and 180 men to survive the battle, despite there being almost 800 of us to begin with. Most of the survivors of the 2nd battalion were either promoted or suffering casualties. I was a Corporal, still remaining faithful to my original battalion. Lieutenant Colonel Richard Crosse took over our battalion on the 8th of July 1916. He led our battalion for the next 3 years past my death.

Towards the end of 1918 we had suffered so many casualties and deaths that it was impossible to count. It was the Battle of Albert, during the 100-day push towards the end of the war. I had nearly made it; I was going to see my home once more. I felt like a husk of the person I once was, clinging onto the hope of returning home to Oxford. I would not live to fulfil that dream. I was killed in action on the 23rd of August 1918 aged 36, three months and eight days before the war ended. I had lasted from the very beginning in 1914 yet I could not make it to the end. Victory was so very close… yet I would never witness it. My life was over, bitterly taken from me at such a cruel time, but my memory lives on at the High Wycombe Memorial Hospital and with the comrades who had been at my side throughout the war. I had served my country to the full, and I was not alone. I know that I will never be forgotten.



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

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