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Florence Wood's Memories of her father
My father, William Henry Thompson, was born in West Hartlepool on the 31st March, 1894, the eldest of six children. He left school at 14 and went to live and work on a Yorkshire farm.
When the First World War broke out in 1914 he volunteered immediately and joined the Green Howards. He was in the second contingent to arrive in France, when the first army arrived, the Kaiser, when informed of the number of men in it, said 'that contemptible little army', these men then became known as the 'old contemptibles'.
The second army was much bigger so no comment was made about them. The second army marched across France to the front line, with full pack. They became tired and thirsty and so stopped at street pumps for water, only to find that some of the French had chained these pumps so the British army could not get water. They continued tired and thirsty until they reached their camp for the night.
Sometime in 1916 my father was wounded in the leg and after being sent to the field hospital was sent to England to recuperate for a few weeks and then sent back to France. In 1918 he was wounded in the arm and while he was lying semi-conscious in a shell hole with his arm outside it, a stray bullet hit him in the wrist. This time during his recuperation in England the war ended, so he did not go back to France.
At some point during the war, the Germans sent gas over the British lines which badly affected my father's lungs . In later years because of his weakened lungs, he developed pleurisy every winter and pneumonia a few times. The doctor informed my mother that his body was at least 20 years older than his age because of what he went through during the war.
It was then found that his arm, wounded at the elbow, had not been set properly at the field hospital, so the ends of the bones did not join completely. The ends of the bones not joined together began to decay and so he had inflammation and great pain for the rest of his life. The wrist and leg wounds healed completely but bits of shrapnel worked their way out of his leg right up to the year he died.