WAR MEMORIAL                                                            ROLL of HONOUR                                                            RETURNING SOLDIERS                                                            INDEX         


In Flanders Fields by

John McCrae


In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.


We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders Fields


Take up our quarrel with the foe

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.





 PRIVATE R BEAUCHAMP - Killed in Action - 28 Nov 1915

PRIVATE H BUNDY           - Killed in Action-31 Dec 1916

PRIVATE W GUMBLETON - Killed in Action-8 Oct 1916

PRIVATE F LIGHT         - Killed in Action-21 March 1918

    PRIVATE W COOMBS - Believed killed in action 4 July 1916




Killed on Active Service 21 March 1941


 Killed 5 May 1939


The Soldier by Rupert Brooke

IF I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by the suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.


It was French YMCA Secretary, Madame Guerin, who in 1918 conceived the idea of selling silk poppies to help needy soldiers. Poppies were first sold in England on Armistice Day in 1921 by members of the British Legion to raise money for those who had been incapacitated by the war


For the Fallen  by Laurence Binyon

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, England mourns for her dead across the sea.                                

Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,Fallen in the cause of the free.Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal. Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres, There is music in the midst of desolation And a glory that shines upon our tears. They went with songs to the battle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.They were staunch to the end against odds, Uncounted; They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;    They sit no more at familiar tables of home;                 They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;             They sleep beyond England's foam.                              But where our desires are and our hopes profound,       Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,                 To the innermost heart of their own land they are known As the stars are known to the Night;                              As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,    Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;                   As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,     To the end, to the end, they remain.