E H V Davis Grenadier Guards, Died 27th July 1915 Aged 14

I have occasion, every few months to walk through Brompton Cemetery in London. I look forward to it and enjoy the experience. This may sound morbid to some readers, but, as my mother always said, "Cemeteries are for the living, not the dead." We walk our children and our dogs; feed the squirrels and the pigeons; picnic and read our papers on our lunch breaks; sit and contemplate and sunbathe. Cemeteries are parks to enjoy as we watch an episode of Poirott being filmed or photographers doing fashion shoots among the buildings and memorials. We share the space with those that have gone before us and are memorialised in stone and words.

Life in the Cemetery

My parents had a particular humour toward their own demise, which is encapsulated in their choice of words on their shared gravestone, commissioned by my mother for my father and herself:

Remember man, as you pass by,

As you are now, so once was I,

As I am now, one day you'll be,

Prepare yourself to follow me!

We celebrate in stone our loved ones, referring to our loss, our love and our hope for the future souls of the individuals that we commemorate. Our monuments can be simple or extravagant, pious or reflecting the achievements of  those that have died.

The grave of Emily Pankhurst

I like to read the names on some of those memorials, considering the Ancient Egyptian Belief that if your name is spoken after your death then you still live in the after-life. I also take the time to visit two of the graves along the central path each time I pass by. Firstly, Emily Pankhurst, the great Suffragette, and then the grave of Flight-Sub-Lieut Alexander John Warneford, VC: R.N.A.S. The former for her contribution to the history of Women's struggle in the United Kingdom, and influence on Parliamentary Democracy, and the latter because I find his memorial fascinating! 

With Warneford's grave, I feel that I should go away and research his story. What happened and occasioned him to shoot down a Zepplin, and what was the unfortunate accident that heralded his demise in 1915? I have known since childhood about the Pankhursts and the Suffragettes, but Warneford and his story is a blank in my education that I casually contemplate as I stroll through Brompton, avoiding aerial bombardment from the pigeons, and the murderous disregard for pedestrians from the numerous cyclists and skaters!

The memorial to Flight-Sub-Lieut
Alexander John Warner, VC: RNAS

Just before the Olympics began, in the shadow of the Earls Court Exhibition Centre and Chelsea Football club, I was having a stroll through the Cemetery. Having a little more time and patience than usual, I decided to take a more circuitous route, taking the left hand path on my way to the tube, instead of the central path of my usual walk. The sun was beating down, the birds were singing, and there was an almost palpable sense of excitement in the city about the Olympics, only days away.

I read the stones as I passed, wondering at the stories hidden within what was not written, rather than what was suggested. Saddened by the early deaths of so many and at the stones where the inscriptions were no longer legible, and the name no longer  speakable. Slowly, I meandered toward the gated off War Graves, with no real thought, just allowing my mind to wander along with my feet.

As I began walking past the War Graves, toward the central cross of gleaming white marble, I began paying my respects to those that had given their lives for King and Country, thankfully not a sacrifice I have ever been asked to make! I noted names, dates and ages, wondering at the horrors that these men (as they invariably were) would have witnessed in their lives, and the potential brutality of their ends. Toward the end of my reverie among these brave and courageous Heroes, I was abruptly brought to a halt! 

24117 Boy; E H V Davis; Grenadier Guards; 27th July 1915; Age 14  

I literally stopped in my tracks. I read and re-read that simple, brutal, inscription, coming back again and again to that simple fact: Died aged 14! I am not stupid, and I am not illiterate. I knew exactly what it meant, but I really did not want to comprehend that a 14 year old child could have been killed in the First World War as a soldier. The tragedy of such a young life lost and the grief and sorrow of a family bereft of such a young child. It brought to mind the words of my favourite anti war song, The Green Fields of France:

Well how do you do young Willy McBride,

Do you mind if I sit here down by your grave side,

And rest for a while beneath the warm summer sun,

I'v been walking all day and I'm nearly done.

I see by your gravestone you were only Nineteen

When you joined the great falling in 1916,

I hope you died well and I hope you died clean,

Or young Willy McBride was it slow and obscene?

What was this young boys story? I presume that he was a drummer boy or musician, or perhaps a tailor. But how, in this case, did he die? Maybe I am making too many assumptions, that because of where he is buried that he is one of 'the great falling' of the carnage of France. Perhaps he was killed in an accident in England and never saw the horrors of the trenches or the decimation of his comrades and contemporaries. I don't know, but the simple fact: Died 27th July 1915 Age 14, has haunted me since. I think of him every day, and took the opportunity to visit him with my camera yesterday as I had to walk through Brompton. Does anyone else still mourn this little boy?

I am sharing this with you, because I am going to try to find out more about E H V Davis. I am not sure how to begin my research, probably at the Imperial War Museum, but I will share his story with you as I try to give this little boy life again, nearly 100 years after his death. I don't just want to speak his name. I want to tell his story. Again, I will return to 'The Green Fields of France':

Young Willy McBride I can't help wonder why

Do those that lie here know why did they die,

And did they believe when they answered the call,

Did they really believe that this war would end wars?

For the sorrow the suffering the glory the pain,

The killing and dying was all done in vein,

For young Willy McBride, it all happened again

and again, and again, and again and again!

Map of Brompton Cemetery. (The War Graves are just above the word 'WEST')

Dulce et Decorum est Pro Patria Mori?