100 years on from my great uncle's death in WW1, here's his story, pieced together from letters to his mother

“I am afraid you are worrying Mother dear, but you really mustn't. You say you wish you could do something for me, but don't you see that you and Father have made me what I am. Memories are as powerful as words or acts, and we are not 'separate one from the other' because we can't see one another. What you have done, beyond measure or statement, you are still doing.”

Letters from Percy

On 13th October 1915 at 2pm – a bright, sunny Autumnal afternoon in a dark, grim section of the western front known as the Hohenzollern Redoubt – over 700 Staffordshire men clambered out of the trenches and into battle. By 3pm more than 500 of them lay in the mud, dead or wounded. It was just a moment in the war, one of many, and historically overshadowed by the subsequent epic horrors of the Battle of the Somme. An hour in France that changed the future for families, communities and businesses in the Potteries for ever.

21 year-old Percy Mellor was just one of the many who disappeared that day. Untimely death had become unremarkable. But fleshing out the story of just one of the men behind the statistics might help us to imagine each and every one of them as an individual, and the enormity of the loss that was suffered one hundred years ago.

Percy was the eldest son of a well-to-do potter’s merchant, training to be a lawyer, dreaming of being a poet. The newsletters of Newcastle High School list his prizes for verse writing, reading and recitation, and report on his lively participation in the debating society at which proposals such as “that women should be given Parliamentary suffrage” and “that arbitration is preferable to war” were hotly and humorously debated.

His charismatic younger brother Reginald was making a clean sweep of prizes for science, athletics, music, and had a Cambridge scholarship safely under his belt, deferred until war and his active service ended. The two brothers went regularly to watch their beloved Stoke City Football Club. Their two younger sisters, Marjorie and Jessie (aged fourteen and twelve when war broke out), completed this happy family picture. Together, they went on holidays to Deganwy, put on dramatic and musical entertainments, embraced community and civic duties with enthusiasm, wanted for nothing.

Percy, Jessie, Marjorie and Reginald

In early September 1914, Percy joined hundreds of others at his old school to sign up, and was gazetted 2nd Lieutenant in the 2nd/5th North Staffordshire Regiment on 15th September. The school newsletter reported that “The movement set on foot by our Headmaster by which Old Boys and their relations and friends were enlisted to serve together in the same Company (if possible) and at any rate in the same Battalion under an ON Colonel, must have cheered the hearts of all who love the old school. We bid them God speed with tears in our eyes. They carry with them the credit of the School. May they come back having aided in the salvation of England.”

Percy spent the first few months training at camps in Harpenden and St Alban’s, and invested in a motorbike so that he could come home as often as possible; life was still safe and relatively pleasant.

...I think I told you we had now got a piano in our Mess but strangely enough there isn't one of us who is really a decent performer, which is a pity. However we make hideous rows and enjoy ourselves immensely.

Much love to all

Yours

Percy.

Meanwhile Marjorie and Jessie’s headmistress, Miss Powell, was determined that the Orme Girls’ School should participate fully in the war effort. French lessons were doubled to help the girls welcome Belgian refugees. Wounded soldiers convalescing in local war hospitals were invited to school plays and concerts. The girls wrote letters addressed to ‘Dear Unknown Soldier Friend’ to raise the spirits of men at the Front. The school newsletter reported on fundraising efforts for: ‘Christmas Presents for Soldiers and Sailors at the Front; Our own Belgian Refugees; Stoke War Hospital; the Serbian Relief Fund’ among others. It was reported however that "the Knitting Party has not been so well attended this term, one reason, no doubt, being that so many of us have now brothers and cousins at the front, whom we have to provide with mufflers and socks."

5th North Staffordshire Battalion

By the summer of 1915 Percy was in France and life was less comfortable, although his letters maintained resolutely cheery.

...Imagine it to be three o-clock this morning, all well and a lovely night, myself sleeping peacefully in my dugout. If it were light and you were here you would see that this is a cross between a hut and a cave of small proportions. It is about six feet long by 4 ft wide and 5 ft high, built up of sandbags. One big beam runs along the centre of the length, three smaller laid on it and running at intervals across the breadth, and on these sheets of corrugated iron are laid, and on top of these again sandbags and earth making it bomb-proof. Occupying half of one of the short sides and running right up to the roof is the door, to enter which of course I have to bend. An old oil sheet makes a capital curtain. On the floor are wooden gratings and occupying half the space a bed about six inches high and made by nailing the universal sandbag ,empty of course, to a couple of parallel beams. A couple of old bayonets pushed into the 'wall' support a shelf and a couple of old ammunition boxes supply one with a table and stool respectively. That is my 'eligible residence' and remarkably comfortable it is.

It was a long way from the home comforts of Woore Manor House in the heart of the village where the family lived.

...With all your letters arriving in topsy-turvy order I almost forget where I was in my last letter but I believe it carried us up to two or three days in the trenches. Fortunately I was in a trench which was quite a good one and not too lively although the whole district where we are is a pretty famous one, I don’t know if you know where I mean. It is simply extraordinary how quickly one comes to accept everything as quite ordinary and part of the routine. I don't mean to say that a Jack Johnson sounds quite like the Blue Bells of Scotland, or that tinned tongue resembles afternoon tea with ices, but the sort of awe and unreality that the word 'trenches' used to hold disappears and it seems as natural to 'stand to' at dawn as it used to do to catch the 9.10 at Pipe Gate. Heaps of love to you and all.

Although he came to accept his environment, he still asked to hear the about minutiae of his former life, and longed for everyday comforts:

...please write very often, and remember that details, such as that Marjorie has broken the vase on the hall table or got another drawing certificate, or agitated for another inch of frock, bless her, is just as interesting as bigger things. Then I shall want lots of socks and things, particularly socks sending and papers and cakes and chocolates; you know how I love cakes and chocolates! Oh and lots of things like that, you'll soon find out what a nuisance I shall be when I start sending for things.

The Mellor family - without Percy

Only occasionally does he ever lapse into the more alarming details of his life.

During the day time nobody dare put his head over the parapet, but at night there is a constant stream of fire ebbing and flowing in intensity. By and by some sentry will think he sees something suspicious and let it have 'five rounds rapid', his pals next to him also then have five rapid and like lightning the whole trench is pumping lead away like Billikins and the other side doing the same. Result usually nil. Five minutes later about two people are firing one shot in five minutes.

I hope you are getting your hol. drawings done now and please congratulate Grandpa on his tomato for me.

Percy’s words to his mother were sensitive to the unthinkable anxiety that she and every other mother had to bear.

...I am afraid you are worrying Mother dear, whatever you say, but you really mustn't. War is a nasty business altogether, but the Mellors have always tried to do their duty I think, and I know you wouldn't want either of us to hold back now, although you may not like our going. I am glad you have been expecting this for some time... now it has come I feel quieter, more comfortable, even happier in a particular kind of way, than at any time since I joined, which is strange...You strike something primitive, something concrete and you push, pull and kick till you either go under in the best possible way a man can, or as the chances still are, you come out on top on the other side and ten times a better man than before.

You say you wish you could do something for me...but don't you see, Mother dear, that you and Father...have made me what I am, such as I am, and what you have done you are still doing. Memories are as powerful as words or acts, and we are not 'separate one from the other' because we can't see or speak to one another... What you have done, and that is beyond measure or statement or anything else, you are still doing.

Always and always

Your ever loving

Percy.

Then one day there were no more letters from Percy. The rest of his story is pieced together from newspaper reports and the archives of the North Staffordshire Regiment.

‘At three p.m., on October 12th, the Battalion marched from DROUVIN to their rendezvous at VERMELLES. The day was glorious, and as they marched towards the firing line the only signs of War were the booming of the guns and the buzzing of the aeroplanes. At 3.15pm the Colonel's whistle gave the sign for the advance, and they started for their great enterprise. To read the men's letters gives an idea of their splendid spirits. They sang "Bonnie Scotland" and "Tommy Atkins," and other favourite marching songs…’

The Battle commenced as planned. At 2pm on 13th October, after two hours of bombardments, the advance started. The Staffordshire Sentinel reported “With the battle-cry of "Potters for ever!" and "Now, the Potters!" they pushed ahead under the Colonel's leadership.’

One soldier who survived recalled that “about five minutes before we charged, they opened up a murderous machine-gun fire, simply sweeping our parapets. It was a mystery to us, but still we knew we had to face it in a few minutes. Just then the officers sent the word along that we must buck up, and that they were proud of us, and bid us a last farewell. We raised a cheer, and sent word back that we were proud of them, and trusted them, and would follow them anywhere. Watches were out. Two o'clock—five more minutes to go. Our sleepiness began to shake off. We felt at our bayonets, and put our smoke helmets on. Four minutes to go—three—two—' God help us '— one; ' Up, lads, and at 'em!'

Among all the men’s accounts of this battle, there is no word of faltering or retreat, but just onward, as they had been ordered, waiting for the only end, a bullet or a shell.

How eloquently the Staffordshire Sentinel summed up the tragedy in the Potteries:

“Only one thought has been in everyone's mind this week, one theme on everyone's lips - the gallant doings of the brave soldiers lads from North Staffordshire and the unflinching sacrifice made by all ranks. In shops, in offices and on the streets, little groups of people have talked over the tidings with profound sorrow and sympathy, but with equally intense pride. The "5th North" - our own peculiar pride and possession amongst Staffordshire regiments, with which every town has its links - have covered themselves with glory.

There are many desolate homes throughout the district, and the wave of sorrow and mourning is well nigh overwhelming. There are other homes in the grip of a sickening suspense and anxiety. For all these, the whole neighbourhood is united in heartfelt sympathy. Feelings of delicacy prevent people from intruding where friends remain under the shadow of a great grief or a great dread; but their thoughts are constantly with them, and the names of the gallant boys whose fate is as yet uncertain are ever on their lips, breathing with them deep and sincere wishes for their safety. Letters remain unwritten, for while there is a glimmer of hope, friends hope on.

A great bond of fellowship has revealed itself in the district. A common anxiety and a common sorrow have bound all classes together as nothing else could have done. There is a fresh anxiety too for the brave boys who are, as everyone knows, on their way out to fill the gaps. For them every heart is beating out an unspoken prayer. They take the love and tenderest thoughts of their friends with them. If hearts could be revealed, what a wealth of pity and kindness and sympathy one would find in the most unexpected places! Some of it, one hopes, may find its way to the consciousness of the bereaved, and to those racked with suspense and foreboding, and bring with it tender healing for those wounds that are worse than any sustained on the battlefield. Brave hearts beat in our soldiers' breasts, but equally brave hearts send them out to the unknown dangers, and they are worthy of our deepest solicitude.”

Two months after the Battle of Hohernzollern Redoubt, the Staffordshire Sentinel officially reported Lieut P Mellor, as “wounded and missing".

The Mellors never received definite proof of Percy’s death. Even as they waited for news, they waved their next-born son Reginald off to the Front. Reginald was wounded and sent home from the Front in September 1917. He was awarded the Military Cross for bravery. He followed his father into business, eventually becoming a board director of Royal Doulton, married a vicar’s daughter and was the only one to continue the family line with children.

Marjorie and Jessie never married. For their generation, there were simply not enough men left in Staffordshire. Marjorie devoted her life to caring for her parents. Jessie went on to a highly distinguished career in the Queen Alexander Royal Army Nursing Corps, travelling the world for her work. In 1944, she led the first group of nurses that followed the second front over to France, for which she received the Royal Red Cross Award (1st class).

In 1917, two years after Percy ‘passed out of the sight of men’, his parents dedicated a screen in St Leonard’s Church, Woore, in memory of Percy. To this day, a brass plate on the wall near the new chancel screen bears the inscription: "This screen is erected to the glory of God and in memory of 2nd Lieut Percy Mellor, 5th Battalion, North Staffordshire Regiment, who fell in action in France, in the attack on the Hohenzollern Redoubt, October 13th 1915. Age 21 years."

West wind, above the ever-ripening plain

Rich with the kiss of summer I would stray

With thee, and borrowing childhood, take my way

O'er fields, where 'neath thy breath the sun-lit grain

Billows and breaks with whispering refrain

A strange land-sea that mimics the wave's fray.

- O'er many an old-time garden newly gay

With fragile poppies and with all the gain

That careless June reaps from the seed of Spring.

And when the skies should tire me and the sun

Too fiercely burn, then thou shalt quietly bring

My languid spirit where fresh streams do run

Fern-fringed through lush meadows; and shalt sing

Aeolian melodies till day is done.

Percy Mellor 29.6.13