PERSONAL ITEMS.
The Very Rev. Dean McKenna, who has been stationed in New Plymouth for 25 years, left on Monday on a trip to the Old Country. Mrs Morshead, Argyle street, Hawera, has received word that her son, Horace B. Morshead, wounded at the Dardanelles, is progressing favorably. -Hawera and Normanby Star, 25/5/1915.
Mr. C. E. Morshead, Hawera, received a cable oh Monday from his brother, Horace B. Morshead, who was wounded at the Dardanelles about six weeks ago stating that he has arrived safely at Hyde Park Hospital, Plymouth, and is doing well. The cable did not state the nature of his wound. It was Mr. Herbert Dillon Morshead, elder son of the late Mr. E. T. Morshead, of New Plymouth, who was recently killed in action. -Taranaki Herald, 22/6/1915.
WOUNDED SOLDIER’S STORY
NEW PLYMOUTH BOY.
IN DEVONSHIRE HOSPITAL.
Some very interesting letters have been received by his people here from Private Horace B. Morshead, written from Hyde Park Hospital, Plymouth. Private Morshead was wounded early in the Dardanelles campaign, and from Malta was sent on to Plymouth. At latest advices he was getting on splendidly, and his right arm, in which the wound was, had been taken out of splints. He expected soon to be discharged from she hospital as convalescent.
Private Morshead gives a graphic description of how he was hit. "After we had been at Gaba Tepe for about eleven days.” he says, “they placed us on destroyers, put some English troops in our trenches, and took us 12 miles down to the entrance to the Dardanelles, where the English regulars had landed. They marched us round the beach, gave us about half a day’s spell, and put us to charge the trenches in front of Krithia. I had only gone five hundred yards when a shell burst right in front of me, and I got it in the right arm. A pellet went in my arm near the shoulder, travelled down to the point of the elbow, and came out there, breaking my arm about an eighth of an inch above the joint.”
Describing the reception at Plymouth, Private Morshead says: “We had a great reception here when we landed. The people cheered and cheered as we came up the street in motor-cars, and threw us cigarettes and lollies galore. We are quite heroes here. We get as many cigarettes given us as we can smoke, without thinking of strawberries and cream, chocolates, bananas, oranges, flowers, and books. We get out in a big oval twice a day, but are not allowed outside the grounds.”
And in a later letter; “My word, I am having a good time here. The people are really too kind. They are spoiling us altogether. I have been for three motor drives round Devonshire now, and the scenery is simply beautiful. You know, this part is supposed, to be the prettiest of all England, and it will take a lot to beat it. The scenery is totally different from that in New Zealand, but once you see the country lanes you read so much about, and the quaint oldfashioned villages, you can quite understand why the people here are so proud of their land. The roads are perfect for motoring, and sometimes you go for over a mile under a perfect archway of green oak, ash, and birch. The hedges are generally small nut-trees with ferns growing up the bank. There are practically no wire fences here - all live hedges and small paddocks — and to look up one of the many valleys here is a perfect picture. Hundreds of people here want to take us out for drives, to tea, or to stay with them, but the authorities will not allow it. We are only allowed out with clergymen, J.P.’s, or, someone well up and well known. I have been out twice with a Justice of the Peace and been round to his house to tea twice. This gentleman only takes my mate and I out. He asked for two New Zealanders, and we happened to be the only ones near, so we struck it nicely. There is also an officer in one of the forts here who takes us out to tea and also for motor drives. Both he and his wife were born in New Zealand, but he has been in England for thirteen years. His name is Gundry. He was in Inglewood for some years.
“I am in the best of health,” concludes Private Morshead; “in fact, the people here tell me I look as if I shouldn’t be here, I look so well. I must be well over list, I am that fat.”
Private Morshead enclosed in the letter a sprig of wild heath which he picked on the historic Dartmoor, near the well-known prison. -Taranaki Herald, 7/8/1915.
On July 1st, 1916, Arthur Morshead was reported as "dangerously ill" with typhoid.
DEATHS.
MORSHEAD. — On active service, on June 29th, 1916, Trooper Arthur James, third son of Mrs Morshead, Hawera; aged 27. -Hawera and Normanby Star, 3/7/1916.
PERSONAL.
Mr. M. J. Brennan, of Opunaki, who has been laid up for some time in hospital at Hawera, is now well on the way to recovery.
News has been received of the death from enteric fever, on June 9th, of Trooper Arthur James Morshead, third son of Mrs Morshead, formerly of New Plymouth, but now of Hawera. Deceased, who went to the front with the Third Reinforcements, was formerly factory assistant at Manutahi and also at Havelock. -Stratford Evening Post, 4/7/1916.
Trooper Arthur Morshead is buried in the Military Cemetery at Port Said, Egypt. His estate was valued at 736 pounds.
SOLDIERS' LETTERS.
NEWS FROM LOCAL MEN.
Some very interesting letters have been receiver! by their people here from Trooper A. J. Morshead and Private H. B. Morshead, of the New Zealand Expeditionary Forces.
WITH THE MOUNTED MEN.
Writing from Sidi Bishi camp, Alexandria, on July 2, Trooper Morshead, who left with the mounteds in the third reinforcements, says: -
“I would have written before only the censoring has been so strict that one could write practically nothing. I am attached to the Divisional Headquarters A.S.C. at present, driving a wagon. I went over to the Dardanelles with them, but was only there a short time; owing to not being able to land our horses, we were sent back here again. Yesterday I applied for an exchange with another chap, and expect to be leaving for the front again in a few days. The exchange is nearly sure to be passed as the fellow is a convalescent wounded man and won’t be able to go to the front again for some time owing to bad nerves. It is still pretty hot over there and we are still losing a lot of men, although the Turks are losing much more heavily. Some ten days or so ago the Turks made a night attack on the trenches held by the Australian and New Zealand division but they were repulsed, and in the morning they found three thousand Turks literally piled up in heaps. It is hard to credit it, but I know that it is correct. A doctor told me on the boat that be counted 500 in one heap and then gave it up as too big a job, and that is just on the small front occupied by our boys and the Australians, although the Tommies and French don't seem to get them like the colonials. Our officers make us hold our fire until they are within 30 yards, and then rapid fire, and we seem to simply mow them down. Nearly every time they attack a difficult position on our side of the Peninsula, they put the New Zealand and Australian division in front to lead the charge That is why our casualties are so heavy; even the Home regulars won't face the terrific fire like our men will. Our Mounted Brigade has been out there about five weeks in the trenches as infantry, and up to a few days ago one third or them had been killed or wounded, and they have had another big scrap since then so you can see it is no picnic there and they can hardly call us ''Chocolate Soldiers or “.Massey's Tourists" now.
By chance I met Horace on Alexandria wharf when he came back wounded. He got a shrapnel bullet in his right arm above the elbow; the bone was broken and an artery cut. There were so many wounded coming back at that time that he couldn’t get medical attention and was nearly a week before he got it set and properly fixed up, and then the artery gave trouble so he had a pretty bad time. I have not been able to get any news of him since. All I know is that he was sent to either England or Malta. I was jolly pleased to see him back even wounded as he was, as there was a terrible lot killed outright the first few days. He was in the firing line a fortnight. It is very hot here in Egypt now, although it is not so bad here as it is at our Cairo camp where our Mounted Regiment’s horses arc. My unit, 3rd Reinforcements Mounted, with the 4th Reinforcements Mounted, are looking after them, and are having rather a bad time. They have six or eight horses each to attend to and exercise, the 5th and 6th Reinforcements are expected any day. I don’t like Egypt, much too much sand, your clothes and blankets are always full of it; also the tucker gets a fair share, and when out on parade on the desert you swallow a big feed of it. Where they can get water on it the sand seems to grow anything well. It turns into a sort of black loam and they crop it year after year, three or four crops each year without any manuring and it seems just as good after fifty years cropping. The natives have very crude methods of farming. For a plough they often have a limb of a tree trimmed into shape a bit, drawn by a pair of bullocks, or sometimes by a mule or donkey with a bullock or a cow. The milk cows, young heifers, and bulls all work here. There seems to be water within twenty feet of the surface anywhere, and out in the desert you find dozens of wells dotted about with a few acres of cultivation. The water is lifted by a sort of windlass (bullock or mule power) which works an endless chain of earthenware buckets that reaches to the water. The buckets empty as they go over into a trough that runs the water through small channels all over the cultivated area. There are some lovely residences round the towns, big stone buildings often covered by beautiful creepers that seem to be always in flower, with large grounds nicely laid out, with large flowering shrubs, and flower beds underneath a lot of the shrubs co vered with creepers flowering, of which there seems to be a large variety of very beautiful ones, with often a nice fountain in the centre. The Sultan and his family have some, lovely places, also the High Commissioner for Egypt. You could put in all day looking over the grounds to his palace, and then want to go back next day.
EXPERIENCES IN ENGLAND.
Writing from Hyde Park Hospital, Plymouth, on July 1, Private H. B. Morshead says: —
I was taken round Plymouth yesterday by a very kind lady who takes a great interest in my mate and I. She can’t do enough for us. Never a day passes but she sends in fruit, cakes and cigarettes for us, and we have many other friends who also send us good things. I haven’t lived so well for many a day as I do here. I have got so sick of sweet stuff that I like plain bread and butter better than anything now. Well. I was going to tell you about yesterday’s trip. I suppose you have heard of Plymouth Hoe. Well, that is where we spent the afternoon and evening. There is a pier there with a theatre on it, and we spent a couple of very enjoyable hours there, and had tea in the same building. After tea we went and inspected the Drake memorial, the Spanish Armada memorial, and also saw the bowling green where Drake used to play, and where he was playing when the Armada came in sight. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, and arrived back tired out. Tonight I am going to see two of the greatest comedians in the world, at the theatre. The New Zealanders got better looked after than any of the other troops here. I think every New Zealander in Plymouth has been to see us, and of course that means something nice brought in for tea. Our table is like a king’s some nights. We got lovely strawberries here, and Devonshire cream; I am quite sick of them. I have never seen such big strawberries in New Zealand. I would like to take you for a trip round the country here; it is simply lovely. The quaint old villages and the moors away in the distance — it is the sort of scenery one never forgets. We have rare fun in the hospital here. The nurses don’t know what to make of the terrible New Zealanders. You know we haven’t half the discipline the English boys have. We are too free and easy, and they don’t like us much. That is, the English boys, not the nurses. The other wounded are very jealous of us, especially as the Australians and New Zealanders had by far the harder landing, to effect and fewer men to do it with. We are all supposed to be in bed at nine, and lights out. Then the fun starts. You are just turning over to go to sleep when “biff” comes a pillow or a book, and in two minutes the whole ward is upside down, the sisters and nurses awfully wild, and pillows flying everywhere. They have got quite used to us now, and don’t take much notice. The boys have got a good joke on to me. There is a book here entitled “Tom Jones. The Story of a Foundling," and as soon as my back is turned this book is stuck in my bed, or under the pillow, or in my locker or somewhere I can easily find it. Even the nurses pretend to tuck the clothes in round the bed and slip it in, and now I am called nothing but “Tom Jones.” I have tried to get rid of it, but it always comes back again. The first thing I hear in the morning is “Come on, Taranaki, get up, and get the cows in.” I am the only Taranaki boy here at present, and of course I get nothing but cows and butter and such things connected with me. It all tends to pass the time away, and of course I enter into the fun and give as much (if not more) than I get. I think they are sending me back to New Zealand shortly, as I will be unfit for further service for at least six months. The doctor says I will be discharged as unfit for further service, but I am trying to be put on Home Defence. Anyhow, I am going to have a good look round before I do go.
On July 5, Private Morshead continues:-
I am going up to London to-morrow to a convalescent home on Epsom Racecourse. They have turned the grandstand into a hospital. I will be able to see the famous course on which the Derby is run. I don’t suppose I will be there long, as I think they will gather all the New Zealanders together, and I am the only New Zealander going with this lot. I think they will soon put me on furlough, as they don’t do anything to my arm now except massage and trying to straighten it. I think I told you in my last letter that the doctor says I will most likely be discharged from the force; but I am trying to get on Home Service, as I want to do a bit more yet towards crushing the Turks and Germans. They have killed too many of my mates for me not to want to have another go at them. Of course if I am on Home Service I don’t go to the front, but still I will be doing a bit.
From Woodcote Park Convalescent Home, Epsom, on July 8, Private Morshead writes:—
“I have been transferred from Plymouth to a convalescent home at Epsom racecourse, near London. I am the only New Zealander here at present and I feel pretty lonely. I quite enjoyed the trip up from Plymouth in one of the fast trains. Several parts of the journey we were travelling over sixty miles an hour, so it was quite a new experience for me. You ought to see the stations here. They are all covered in with glass, and about eight or twelve tracks ran through them, so you can imagine the number of trains that pass through in one day. We went right into Waterloo Station, London, and changed trains to get back here. I saw Westminster Abbey and Big Ben, and also St. Paul’s Cathedral from a distance. My word the houses in the villages here are pretty. Of course this being summer I see England at its best, and it is really beautiful. Knocks anything I have seen in New .Zealand into a cocked hat. The business people’s suburban houses are just one mass of climbing roses and green ivy — a different variety of ivy to what one sees in New Zealand; it is a lighter green, and it looks just lovely climbing up the brick and stone of the houses. Some cottages are just covered in it. Then there are the gardens of the houses. You talk about roses in New Zealand, but you ought to see them here. They simply take your breath away. Even the poorest country people keep their roses and other flowers in perfect order, and the whole country wherever there are homesteads is just one mass of colour.
“I suppose you will be wondering how I manage to see these gardens. Well, I have been out to tea a good deal since being in England, and then I get a chance to look round. Of course in the towns like Plymouth, there is not much room for growing flowers and such like, but here at Epsom we are practically in the country, and of course they have the room here. I have been to tea to a few places where servants wait on you all the time at the table. Everything that is passed to you is passed by the servants — very flash, eh what! 1 don’t feel too comfortable at those places, though, after eleven months of camp life, where everything is simply ‘chucked’ at you, and if you don’t catch it — well you just take the consequences. Of course going from place to place like I have been doing you get an idea of the difference between the rich and poor. One day I may be at a wealthy man’s place, and another day at a comparatively poor man’s place, but I might tell you I feel much more at home with the poor than with the rich.
“Well, I’ll try and tell you what this convalescent home is like. We are living in huts, and have to make all our own beds, and sweep up the floor, then we are free for the rest of the day. There are 48 beds in each hut, and there is accommodation here in this camp for 3000 convalescents. The first day here I was out to tea at a very nice place, so I did not make a bad start. We are in a big Park adjoining the famous Epsom racecourse, so we have plenty of room to roam about. We have our meals in a separate dining-hall, but do not have to wash our own dishes. There are no nurses here. All the work is done by Red Cross men. The weather here is not too good. We have had a good sample of Taranaki rain the last two days and everything is very muddy.”
From the same address, on July 15, Private Morshead continues:—
“I haven’t had any New Zealand mail since I .left Egypt (April), so I don’t know how you all are at home. We have been expecting our mail for weeks, but so far cannot get into touch with it. What a pile I’ll have when it does come. That is if I get it all. My arm is nearly straight now, but will not be strong for weeks yet. I don’t know yet what they are going to do with me after my arm is straightened. I hope they put me on Home service, as I don’t want my discharge yet; in fact I could have had it if I wanted at Plymouth, but told the doctor I would sooner go on Home service, so, he sent me along here for six weeks’ spell. I am the only New Zealander here at present, but there are about 300 .English boys. We are living in corrugated iron huts, and I have nothing to do but eat, drink, sleep and wander round the grounds. How would you like to be let loose in a big English park in the middle of summer, and be able to do as you please? There are certain boundaries outside of which we are not supposed to go, but when we got to know the ‘run of the ropes’ we do just about as we like. We wander all over the downs and of course getting about after being cooped up in hospital so long does us a lot of good. I got wet through last night. I was about two miles away from here, when it came on to rain like fun, and as I had to go through a lot of long grass and woods to dodge the picket, I was soaked to the skin.,
‘‘We have a lot of fun in these huts of a night. I might say for a, start there are no nurses here. Last night beds were upside down all along the room (there are only 44 beds in the whare), and pillows, rotten tomatoes and things of every description lying about, so you will see although wounded we still enjoy life.
“You know, I feel myself as if I would rather be on Gallipoli again instead of here, but they won’t let me, so that’s an end of it. I am not particularly anxious, but still there are times when I do feel that way. It is shameful the way a great number of young fellows here are shirking enlistment. There are hundreds walking the streets who should be in khaki, but they are the ones who want someone else to do the work. A person said to me the other day, on hearing that I had a brother at the front, that if all families were like ours it would be a God-send to the country. Well, mother, I think you can safely say that you have done your little bit for your country with two great lumps like Arthur and I at it. You just ought to see some of. the streets here. You would wonder where all the young fellows in civil clothes come from.
“I saw a big airship this morning flying quite close to here. Of course aeroplanes are quite common, but it is the first time I have seen an airship flying. You ought to see the aeroplanes at the front when they are being fired on by the big guns. My word, it is a sight.” -Taranaki Herald, 31/8/1915.
Horace was reported as arriving home in January, 1916.
PERSONAL ITEMS
It is with regret we have to record the death at New Plymouth Hospital to-day (Friday), of Mr Horace Morshead, a returned soldier, who left with the Main Body, saw active service at Gallipoli, and who returned to the Dominion over two years ago invalided. He sufficiently recovered to be able to take up employment in the Hawera Telephone Bureau, but after working there for several months, had a recurrence of his trouble, eventually having to go to the New Plymouth Hospital where he had been laid up for about twelve months. Deceased, who was 27 years of age, was well liked, and bore his suffering with great fortitude His mother and sister are residents of Hawera, and much sympathy will be felt for the family in their sad bereavement. Another son, Trooper A. Morshead, also gave his life for King and country, while a third, Corp. C. Morshead, has recently been wounded. -Hawera and Normanby Star, 6/12/1918.
The length of time between Horace's wounding and eventual death would indicate some kind of infection entering the wound, for which there was no effective treatment 100 years ago.
THANKS NOTICE.
MRS. MORSHEAD and Family desire to express to the Medical Superintendent, Matron and Staff of the New Plymouth Hospital their sincere thanks for kind attention extended to their son and brother, Horace, during his long illness; also to all friends for floral emblems, letters and cards expressing sympathy, and to the officers and members of the Returned Soldiers’ Association for sympathy expressed and help rendered. -Taranaki Herald, 14/12/1918.
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