Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 20 July 1916 Letters 1916-1923 Willie Doyle

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Letter from Fr Willie Doyle (1873-1917) to Hugh Doyle. Fr Doyle served as a military chaplain with the 8th Battalion of the Royal Irish Fusiliers, 16th Irish Division. In April 1916 he was recommended for the Military Cross (MC) for helping to dig wounded men out of a collapsed shelter under fire. He moved to the 8th Battalion, Royal Dublin Fusiliers around Christmas, 1916. He was killed during the third battle of Ypres while going to the aid of a wounded man near Frezenberg and his body was never recovered. His name is commemorated on the Tyne Cot memorial, Zonnebeke, Belgium.

 Irish Jesuit Archives IE-IJA-J2-83-75, IE-IJA-J2-83-75 https://letters1916.ie/item/1098 English Willie Doyle 1916-07-20 8th Royal Irish Fusiliers, British Expeditionary Force, France Hugh Doyle Melrose, Dalkey, County Dublin, Ireland Male World War I (1914-1918) Faith World War I (1914-1918)

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 France . 20/7/'16 . My dear Father If this letter does not reach you for some time you must not put the blame on my poor head, but pour the vials of your wrath on the real culprit — the Commander - in - Chief! We have just come out of the trenches, after our usual sixteen days 'Hard labour,' to begin a week of comparative rest, when like a bomb-shell comes the news this morning that we are to return at once for two days, they say, but who knows? I pity the poor men without sleep practically all that time, worn out, dirty and exhausted, shouldering their packs & facing off again for all the same dreary round. They are wonderfully cheery over the whole business, but I fancy the Kaiser is being consigned (mentally at least) to a cosy corner somewhere— 'not in France' — by more than one weary Tommy. I have had a couple of little adventures since last I wrote, coming through all, as usual, without hurt or harm, thank God. I had occasion a short time ago to go to a certain village which our men were holding. The journey by the 'underground', at lernin trench street, would take a good couple of hours whereas a quarter of an hour on a bicycle would cover the same distance, following the high road. There was just one little inconvenience in choosing the latter route, vis the road was in full view of the German trenches, unpleasantly near as well, so that in day light no one ever ventured by that way unless he was anxious for a nice cross near his head in the peaceful cemetery. Now, just at present, this child has not a burning desire to fill a hole in French soil, but the care was urgent, time was everything and there was no room for choice — the road it had to be — Providence and a fast pair of heels, or rather wheels, would look after the German bullets. The first part of the journey was uneventful. The road ran up a slight hill which hid me from any hostile observer, so I pedaled slowly in preparation for the coming burst down the other side. I had laid my plans carefully. I had calculated, and rightly, that since the road was not used in the daytime for the reason stated, brother Fritz would not expect a visitor that way and possibly might not trouble watching it, all the same I meant to keep my ears well cocked and at the first sound of a coming shell, the bicycle might go where it liked but my billet was the bottom of the deep ditch, where I would be as snug as a bug in a rug! As a matter of fact I had no fear from shells, big or little, as the artillery never fine at a single man, but they might. Rifles and machine guns were last on the cards; the latter if you lie flat on the ground I knew were quite harmless, while as regards the former I felt safe in betting a franc with my Guardian Angel that it would take a jolly good shot to hit me as I flew along at sixty miles an hour, more or less. A few moments brought me to the top of the hill & then right before me, on the opposite slope, were line after line of German trenches, about half a mile away. As I capped the rise, a thousand pairs of angry eyes, each more ferocious than the other, were fixed upon, me; from every observation post and broken window telescopes and glasses were thrust out, while mingled with the click rattle of the rifle belts and the sharp click of the gun breech came the deep roll of guttural German curses. At least those were my sensations at the moment. You know the feeling when having dined uneasily on a surfeit of lobster salad, you fall asleep on your back. For a little distance my road went straight down, every yard nearer & nearer the hidden enemy, and then turned sharply to the left, running parallel with the trenches. I was a bit uneasy about this last bit of the trip, for each second increased the chance of being seen, and besides I was closer to the Boches without cover of any kind. Down that hill I went like a hundred John Gilpers, but I had forgotten one thing; the surface of the road was pitted with shell holes which forced me to slacken speed, dodge & twist to get round them. Down I went past the spot where, some weeks before, five of my poor boys had been blown to bits, thinking it was dark enough to venture up the road. I had buried their mangled bodies under cover of darkness so I felt I had their protection now. It seemed very much like sinking into the lion's jaws, but all the time I had a strange feeling of security and rather enjoyed the adventure. At last the corner was reached; the ground was level and fairly good and you may guess I did not waste much time getting up speed. So far all had gone well, not a single shot had been fired, when suddenly I heard a rattle and a bang . . . . . . . . (To be continued in our next!) Fearing you might not have patience to wait til next week I resume the thrilling adventures of 'Chaplain Bill on his Bounding Broncho.' I gave a groan for I knew what had happened — the pump of my bicycle had jerked off (I had nearly done the same a moment before) and was lying in the middle of the road twenty yards behind. There was nothing for it; I jumped off ran back, picked it up and mounted once more, deeply grateful that the Huns had missed their last chance of letting day-light through me. I don't know how Daniel felt in the lion's den but I was mighty uncomfortable. In a few minutes more I dashed into the village to cover and safety, having ridden the whole way without one bullet being fired, probably because the Boche did not think it worth his while wasting ammunition on a wretched chaplain. Judging by some remarks which have reached me since, people cannot make up their minds whether I am a liar or a fool (I vote for the second), but then they cannot understand what the salvation of even one soul means to a priest, so I just laugh and go my way, happy in the thought that I was in time. My second adventure, if I may so style it, was of a different kind. Preparations had been made for the blowing up of a gigantic mine sunk under the German trenches, while at the same time our men were to make a raid or night attack on the enemy. The hour fixed was eleven o'clock, so shortly after ten I made my way up to the firing line where the attacking party were waiting. They were grouped in two bodies, one on either side of the mine waiting for the explosion to rush over the parapet and seize the newly formed mine-crater. As I came along the trench I could hear the men whisper: 'Here's the priest,' while the faces which a moment before had been marked with the awful strain of the waiting, lit up with pleasure. As I gave them absolution and the blessing of God on their work I could not help thinking how many a poor fellow would soon be stretched lifeless a few paces from where he stood, and though I ought to be hardened by this time I found it hard to choke down the sadness which filled my heart. 'God bless you, Father, we're ready now,' was reward enough for facing the danger, since every man realized that each moment was full of dreadful possibilities. It was well known that the Germans were counter-mining, and if they got wind of our intention would certainly try and explode their mine before ours. It was unnerving walking along knowing that at any moment you mightfind yourself sailing skywards wafted by the gentle heath of four of five tons of explosive. Fortunately nothing happened, but the moments were running out, so I hurried down the communication trench to the dressing station in a dug-out, about 100 yards away, where I intended waiting for the wounded to be brought in. On the stroke of eleven I climbed up the parapet out of the trench and as I did there was a mighty roar in the bowls of the earth, the ground trembled and rocked and quivered, and then a huge column of clay and stones was shot hundreds of feet in the air. As the earth opened, dense clouds of smoke and flames burst out, an awful & never to be forgotten sight. God help the poor fellows, even though they be our enemies, who were caught in that inferno and buried alive or blown to bits. For a second there was a lull, and then it seemed as if hell were let loose. Our artillery in the rear was standing ready, waiting for the signal; the moment the roar of the explosion was heard every gun opened fire with a deafening crash. Already our men were over the parapet, with a yell which must have startled the Boches, up the side of the crater and now digging themselves in for their lives. Under cover of our guns the raiding party had raced for the enemy's trench, fought their way in and out again as our object was not to gain ground. By this time the enemy's guns had got into action and shells were coming over like hail-stones, so on the principle that 'discretion is the better part of valour' I retired gracefully down my dug-out, twenty feet or more underground and was soon busy with the wounded and dying. One German prisoner, slightly wounded in a couple of places was carried in. Poor beggar he was certain his hour had come for he had been told the English kill all their prisoners. He was only a young lad and his teeth chattered with fear. I tried to get him to take a drink but he pushed it away thinking I suppose, it was poison. How I wished that our Charles with his Apostolic gift of tongues had been near to tell him we meant no ill, for my knowledge of German is limited to ' der Hund', but a repetition of this word only increased his tremor and convinced him we had sent for the dogs of war to tear him in pieces! By degrees I calmed him down, and with the help of a few French, Flemish and Latin words found out that he was a Bavarian and a Catholic. I gave him a rosary which he devoutly kissed and then hung round his neck, and then, evidently reassured that no harm would come to him with a priest by his side he fell asleep. Next morning he asked to see the 'Pastor' and seemed anxious to thank me for the little I had been able to do for him. It was nearly four when I got back to my cellar, tired enough I must confess and sad at heart after the scenes I had just witnessed, but happy and thankful to God that I had the chance of speeding many a brave fellow on his way to eternity. If the limit of you patience is not reached by this my time is, and hence I must make my bow and retire. The weather at present is very fine though much on the warm side, to which few, I think, object. Where the days go to I cannot tell, but there is big consolation in the thought that every day that passes brings one nearer home and all the loved ones there. As ever, dearest Father Your loving son Willie Melrose, Dalkey, County Dublin, Ireland Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 20 July 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 23 September 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 1 December 1915Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 10 December 1915Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 17 March 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 24 March 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 29 April 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 19 June 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 26 October 1916 8th Royal Irish Fusiliers, British Expeditionary Force, France Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 20 July 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 24 March 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 29 April 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 19 June 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J., 16 April 1916 Willie Doyle Letter from Father Willie Doyle to Hugh Doyle, 10 March 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 20 July 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 23 September 1916Letter from Fr Willie Doyle SJ to Provincial Thomas Nolan, 13 May 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Fr Provincial Thomas V. Nolan, 25 January 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Fr Provincial Thomas V. Nolan, 25 February 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 1 December 1915Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 10 December 1915Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Fr Provincial Thomas V. Nolan, 31 December 1915Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 30 December 1915Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 15 January 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Mai, 22 January 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 25 January 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 4 February 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 10 February 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Mai, 11 February 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 17 March 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 24 March 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 29 April 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 19 June 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Hugh Doyle, 26 October 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J., 16 April 1916Letter from Father Willie Doyle S.J. to Fr Provincial Thomas V. Nolan, 12 December 1915Postcard from Fr Willie Doyle SJ to Sister M. Anthony, 7 April 1916