Page contains a photograph of a memorial commemorating soldiers of the 22nd Battalion Royal Fusiliers killed in action between February 16 and 18, 1917, including Paul and Guy Destrubé, erected on the battlefield at Miraumont, France. Above the photograph, Georges Destrubé has written the dedication, "�� la m��moire de nos bien aim��s." Page also contains an inscription by Georges Destrubé.
[top]
�� la m��moire de nos bien aim��s
[photograph of cross commemorating the battle at Miraumont, France]
[caption below]
---this spot, sacred to us, where our dear ones left
this life so bravely because it was the only noble way.
They had to leave us without a message of good-bye,
but we know that the unsaid thing was a message
to "carry on" and be of good cheer.---
And so we lose the best of our best and now
we may only know them from the past, but in the
depth of our pain we shall cherish their memory with
such pride fro we know, as all who knew them, that
they lived and died like sportsmen bringing honour on
their name which is also ours.---
Georges.
Page contains a memorial card for Guy and Paul Destrubé and two photographs. The card memorializes the deaths of Guy and Paul Destrubé, of the 22nd Battalion Royal Fusiliers, during the attack at Miraumount, France on February 17, 1917. The central photograph depicts Guy and Paul as children. The lower photograph depicts, from left, Georges, Paul and Guy and was taken in England, possibly in 1916.
Page contains a typescript of a letter from A. G. Duthrie to Sylvie Destrubé, 11 March 1917, informing her of the deaths of her brothers, Guy and Paul Destrubé. The letter is a French translation of the attached English copy. Included in the English version is a note from "Ed. J." Page also contains a clipping with an image of the "ruins at Miraumont-le-Grand."
[start page 1]
[upper left] Copie Traduite
[upper right] 23 Battalion Royal Fusileers
[upper right] France, le 11 Marz 1917.
Chere Mademoiselle Destrube,
Ce matin un officier legerement blesse
est venu au poste de secours pour se fair . . .
[end trascription of page 1]
[start page 2]
March 6th 1917.
I very much regret to inform you that your two brothers, Guy
and Paul were Killed in action on the 17th of February.
I happen to be the Lewis Gun Officer and up to a few minutes
of their death I was talking to them and they were both very cheery.
It may be some consolation to you to know that they have
buried <del>them</del> together, and there is a cross in memory of them at Ovillers
----
Ed. J. --
----
11/3/17.
This morning a slightly wounded officer came in to the Battn.
Aid Post to be dressed. He had in his possession a letter, addressed to my
fellow Chaplain, I read it and find that I can tell you something about
your Brothers. I regret to say that it is the worst. I buried them both
together on the field on which the Brigade has recently been fighting.
I went out with a burying party at day-dawn on the 28th., and
we found both of your brothers lying dead within eight yeards of each
other, in close proximity of the German wire. They were both killed by
machine-gun fire and their features were not at all marred. One of the
burying party from the 22nd. Battn. recognized them before we found the
particulars.
We buried them side by side in a shell hole grave, together
with one of the 1st. Kings Royal Rifles and 23rd. Battn. R.F., all comrades
in the attack.
I took the service at the grave side and saw that a stout cross
was erected to mark the site. It is numbered 12, and particulars have been
sent to the Grave Registration Unit of its locality. -----
----
A.G. Duthrie. C.F.
[end page 2]
Page contains a typescript of a letter, dated 16 March 1917, from Lt. Col. Randle Barnett Barker of the 22nd Royal Fusiliers to Ernest Destrubé, about the deaths of Ernest's sons, Guy and Paul Destrubé. The letter is a French translation of the attached English copy. Page also contains two clippings announcing Barker's death on March 24, 1918. Clipping contains annotation: "5/4/1918."
[start page]
Dear Mr. Destrube.
I have received your letter of March 10th. I was in
command of the Brigade at the battle of Miraumont, and almost immediately
afterwards went home for 10 days, as I was rather seedy.
When I left I could not quite gather whether both your boys had
been killed or I should have written you before. After an action of that
sort <del>it take</del> when regiments and even divisions get intermingled, it takes
several days to ascertain whether men are killed, wounded or missing. In
this case however, I am afraid there is absolutely no doubt. Both your
boys were buried on the battlefield, with many of their comrades, by the
Chaplain. A cross has been erected at Ovilliers to all the gallant men of
the Regiment who fell in that action. They were both killed in the way
they would have wished, "Fighting their gun to the last". The Germans
made a heavy counter attack and if it had not been for their gallantry
and also Sergt. Brierley's, a very serious situation would have arisen.
As you know of old, I had always the admiration and
affection for your three boys. They were simply splendid, full of humour,
always cheery and burning for a fight. I had only three day (sic) before the
attack recommended them for commissions. I think we always understood
each other, and had therefore, the mutual confidence which a Commanding
Officer always tries to get with his men.
No men will be more missed in the whole Regiment. I can only offer
you my sympathies, - but what are they to a heartbroken father! I
can't replace them - their example alone was worth anything.
There are only myself and one officer and about 40 men now left of
Regiment. I suppose my <del>1 word</del> will come soon - it's overdue!
With my deepest sympathy,
Yours sincerely,
(signed) R. B. Barker, Lt. Col. 22nd Royal Fus.
[end page]
Page contains a typescript of a letter, dated 20 March 1917, from William H. Davison, Mayor of Kensington, to Ernest Destrubé, about the deaths of Ernest's sons, Guy and Paul Destrubé. The letter is a French translation of the attached English copy.
[start page]
COPY.
From Mr. W. H. Davison to
E. Destrubé.
-----
Mayor's Parlour.
Town Hall.
Kensington, W. 8.
20th March, 1917.
Dear Mr. Destrubé.
I have this morning heard from Colonel Barker
in reply to my previous letters, which were not answered for the
reason I anticipated when I saw you last, namely that he was away
from duty.
He writes with regard to your sons as follows: -
"Yes, both Destrubés were killed. There [sic] were the most gallant
fellows and I was fonder of them than anyone else in the Regiment."
You may well be proud at such high testimony to the
gallantry and personal character of your two sons from the Commanding
Officer of their Battalion.
I trust the universal esteem in which your boys were
held by the men and officers of their Regiment, as well as by myself and
others who met them in private life, may be some consolation to
you in the heavy sorrow which their splendid sacrifice has brought upon
you.
Believe me, dear Mr. Destrubé.
Yours very faithfully.
(signed) William H. Davison.
Mayor of Kensington.
Raiser of Battalion.
[end page]
Page contains a typescript of a letter from William H. Davison, Mayor of Kensington, to Ernest Destrubé, dated 10 April 1917. Davison writes to return copies of the letters of Paul Destrubé, sent to him by Ernest following the deaths of Guy and Paul at Miraumount, France on February 17, 1917.
[start page]
Mayor's Parlour, Town Hall, Kensington
W.8.
10th April 1917.
Dear Mr. Destrubé.
I beg to return herewith the copies of your son Paul's
letters from November 1915 to February 1917, which give such an interesting
and graphic account of the experiences both in training at home and before
the enemy of a private soldier of education in the present tremendous
war.
My Secretary has, with your kind permission, made a copy of them,
so I need not retain the copy you so kindly sent.
I think you will be interested and gratified with the opening
words of a letter which I received this morning from Col. Barker. He
says:
"Thanks for your letter. Enclosed is a further list of honours
I think now with our V.C. the 22nd. have individually and collectively
proved the good stuff of which they were made. Had the
Destrubés and several others lived, they would have got the D.C.M."
Again expressing the hope that the splendid record which your
two sons left behind them may be some consolation to you in your grief,
I beg to remain,
very faithfully yours,
(signed) William R. Davison.
Mayor of Kensington
Raiser of the 22nd Bat. R. F.
E. Destrubé Esqu.
141 Adelaide Road. N.W.S.
[end page]
Page contains a clipping with an image of "The Great Investiture in Hyde Park." Clipping contains images of the four recipients of the Victoria Cross, awarded by the King on June 2, 1917: Major Henry Murray, Capt. Archie White, 2nd Lt. Fred Palmer, and Capt. William Allen. 2nd Lt. Fred [Frederick William] Palmer of the 22nd Battalion Royal Fusiliers was awarded the Victoria Cross for his actions during the battle at Miraumont, France, February 16-17th, 1917. Handwritten annotation reads: "Daily Mail 4/6/17."
Page contains a clipping and a letter. The letter, sent to Ernest Destrubé by Lt. W. H. Tomkins on 3 May 1916, addresses Georges Destrubé's recovery from wounds sustained in battle and Tomkins' wishes to see him returned to the 22nd Battalion Royal Fusiliers A. Coy. with his brothers, Guy and Paul. The clipping announces the list of officers to be decorated during "To-day's Investiture" on 2 June 1917, according to handwritten annotation. 2nd Lt. Frederick Palmer of the 22nd Battalion Royal Fusiliers was awarded the Victoria Cross for his actions during the battle at Miraumont, France, February 16-17th, 1917.
[start page]
May 3rd 1916
Dear Mr. Destrubé,
You will have heard by now from your
sons about L. G. being wounded -- I hear he is going on well --
I would like you to know how sorry we are to have one of
the three away as the trio are one of the features of A.
Coy., and its nothing short of disaster to have one away.
All three are so keen and willing to do anything (except
drill perhaps). Anyway we shall hope to have him back
one day -- although he will doubtless go to England first.
With kind regards,
Yours truly,
(signed) W. H. Tomkins Lt.
O.C.A. Coy.
22nd R. Fus.
[end page]
Page contains a typescript of a letter from Private Allan Miles to Sylvie Destrubé, dated 24 March 1917. Miles describes the events that lead to the deaths of her brothers, Guy and Paul, during the battle at Miraumont, France on February 17, 1917.
[start page]
PRIVATE MILES TO SYLVIE
------
COPY
France March 24th 1917
Dear Miss Destrubé,
Got your of the 18th yesterday, and having a
few minutes to spare, will try and answer your questions. It is, I know
very painful for all of you at home, and can well understand your all
being anxious to hear all details.
I knew your three brothers well, but had heard that Georges
had left the Base, else I should certainly have sent him a few lines.
I was not in this attack, being the first time I have been
left out, so have had to gather what little I know from other boys.
Regarding the man you mention named Forbisher, afraid he could
not know very much about Guy and Paul, for it I remember rightly, he left
this Battn. last October.
Well, the attack was made on the 17th Feby. and it turned out
very misty, and unfavourable for any observation, and parties got separated
from one another. We had 18 Lewis Gunners from A. Coy., and only 3 returned.
Sergt. Brierley also was killed; Sergt. Hennessey and several others were
taken prisoners as far as we know. Guy and Paul with their team, five
of them, including an extra man for carrying purposes, had a special
objective. Two of the others were hit first, Guy and Paul and the Carrier
went on, and poor Guy was hit in the neck, and the last seen of Paul alive
being a few minutes later; he told someone that Guy had been killed, and of
course, was very much upset. He sent the man back who was carrying for their
team, and must have been hit very soon afterwards, shot through the head.
One consolation is that they both died instantly, and practically had no
pain or suffering.
The Germans made a strong counter attack, and our boys had to
fall back a short distance, but several days later we were able to advance
again and the bodies were all recovered and given proper burial. Guy and
Paul were found about one hundred yards from each other, Paul being in front
which clearly shows poor Guy was the first one hit.
Afraid this is all I can tell you, and of course they don't
allow us to say much, but if Georges does not know where they lie and
where it happened, I can tell you a few days later.
Guy came to see me just a few minutes before they went in, and
I have the three books by R.W.Service, which they have carried whilst
being out here, told me where to get them in case they didn't return, and of
course we only laughed over it, for I felt sure they would return. It
seems such a shame, for it was about the last time they would have gone it,
for they were both to have returned to England for a three months course
in the O.T.C. for Commissions.
I feel their loss very much, for I slept next to Paul at the
White City, and also came from Edmonton, and we had many good chats over
people and W. Canada, can assure you they are a great loss to A. Coy., and
very much regretted by all.
Their team were a very happy crowd together. I am not a
Lewis Gunner, but very often visited them in the trenches, and of course
we were very often together whilst out on rest, and they were always happy
and made the best of everything, and have both done their duty as soldiers
in a splendid manner.
I must not dwell too long on this, for it is very sad for you,
so must conclude thanking you for your kind wishes. Kindest regards to
yourself and your Father,
Yours sincerely
(signed) ALLAN MILES, 367, A.Coy. R.F.
[end page]
Page contains a typescript of a letter, dated 24 March 1917, from Georges Destrubé to Sir Newman Chambers, thanking him for his condolences for the deaths of Guy and Paul Destrubé. Georges also writes about familial love and affection, patriotism, and his father, Ernest Destrubé.
[start page]
GEORGES TO SIR NEWMAN CHAMBERS.
-------
COPY
France, March 24th, 1917.
Dear Sir Newman,
Thanks so much for your very kind letter of
sympathy. - I knew you would be shocked <del>to</del> the awful news of the death of my
poor brothers. Briefly as you knew, Paul, I know you had a genuine affection
for him, as he indeed, had for you.
Do you remember <del>how</del> me telling you how keen I was
that you should know Guy too? - I am sorry you didn't.
I was so proud of Guy and Paul - I mean I am proud
of them, for I can only think of them in the present - not in the past. -
because their memory will always be with me, an actual living thing.
I know you would have liked Guy as you did Paul; it
always seemed to me that no one could help loving my brothers! - And they
were well loved! And I know, better than any man may know, how well they <del>dese</del>
deserved it.
There could have existed no stronger bond of trust
and affection between men than existed between us three, and their memory
will be to me and my people an ever present, glorious, and bright shining
memory, which will influence me and sadden me - yet help me, I hope - all my
life.
I am so glad you have met, and are to meet Father. I
know your sympathy and friendship will help him in his sorrow. We are
rather an unusual family, family affection amongst us is abnormal, and what
Father feels in his cruel bereavement, is simply terrible. - But my Father
is a man of deep passions, and his love of his children is only equalld by
one other love - his love of country - of France, hihs native land, and the
cause of the Allies. He accepts the great sacrifice in a wonderfully
patriotic spirit, and I fear that had Guy and Paul died for a cause less
noble it would have killed him.
Guy and Paul were patriotic, but Father's patriotism
was always a bit beyond us; - I remember we used to speak of it in the trenches
and admit between ourselves that Father's love of country was a thing deeper
than we could ever understand!
- But one faith they did understand, ay, to its fullest
was that of "playing the game"! And I think that of all the things that can
be said of Guy and Paul, the greatest is this - that throughout their lives
and to the very end, they "Played the Game"!
In my own trouble I have been apt to forget your own
sad bereavement - the very cause of your chance acquaintance (sic) of Paul. The
death of poor Hector was deplored throughout the Battalion; he had a fine
courage and the loss that was felt in the Battalion could only be equalled
by that of my poor brothers.
There was a very strong bond of affection and a fine
understanding between Hector and ourselves, - I could only wish that there
might be a place in the Unknown Beyond where our dear fallen ones might meet
together again.
Father will no doubt show you Col. Barker's letter
which speaks so highly of my brave brothers, and how terribly the old Battn.
suffered.
If anything should come of my application for commission,
I shall see you comparatively soon, if not, - then after the war. I am
sure I am very, very grateful for the trouble you have <del>taken</del> again put yourself
to in again calling upon Col. Bovill. I sent him the particulars 2 days
ago. Thanking you again very much for all you have done for me.
I remain, dear Sir,
(signed) GEORGES Destrubé. Yours very sincerely
[end page]
[start page]
FRANCE: May 2nd 1917.
Dear Folk,
I have alrady written you explaining that I am near the
line but not actually in the Trenches. The Battalion has been in
the Line again and we shall join them when it comes out - that is
in a few days. I so happens (sic) that we are stationed in the neighbourhood
we occupied this very time last year. During the day we are
not idle and our time is occupied much the same as usual, knocking
about the billet or strolling down into the village for a <del>chat</del>
change, doing the same old things, but Oh how different now -
without Guy and Paul. I knock about with two chaps - decent chaps
- but who could replace and supply the want I feel for Guy and
Paul.
How many delightful afternoons and evenings we spent together
in these aprts, stopping at estaminet or farmhouse, chumming
up with the good old folk: and just here is a pleasant part of
rural France - (good old France), - and the weather is as glorious
as it was here this time last year, which all helps to make
memories more real and vivid.
How keenly I miss them. When I come out of the billet I sometimes
stop instinctively, stop and turn round half expecting to
see Guy and Paul following - as of old. But now I go alone, and
even should I go along with a chap or two, I feel alone, as it
amounts to the same thing.
I still laugh and still rag with the other chaps on every
possible occasion, but my laugh is not from the heart: I create
[end page]
[start page]
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as much laughter as I can so as to carry on as of old and forget,
but it is an empty laugh these days, followed often by bitter recollections;
we have to joke to go on living. --- How glad I shall be
to meet Minty again - the last and perhaps the best of the old pals.
What delightful company were Guy and Paul: what a resource of
conversation had Paul and what a depth of understanding sympathy had
Guy. We never got stale of one another, not in all those months,
each was indispensable to me to an equal extent. Ours was a fine
union, it gave one a sense of confidence and strenght, it gave us an
established place in this battalion and gave us freedom, not to say
license, to do things others could not dare to do, - we could always
get away with it.
May 3rd 1917
Yesterday we shifted to another village not very far away, and
to-day we went on parade again as usual. I have two or three decent
companions here which make life much pleasanter: unfortunately we
shall not be together long, for they will belong to different companies
when we rejoin the battalion. The Officer commanding this
little unit has been with our battalion but knows me very slightly.
As I said before, we have been on parade every day and I am afraid
he knows me well now on account of my laxity on parade. The fact
is we three have always been the same: it was a noticeable fact that
we were always making mistakes through inattention or some breach
of rules. We used to be called the Rag-time trio and were a by-ward
on parade, but they shook their head and gave it up as a bad job and
[end page]
[start page]
- 3 -
perhaps as often as not were secretly amused. This, and our bolder
escapades in Englad was part of our reputation. In spite of
the trouble we gave him our Colonel didn't really seem to mind. Perhaps
he knew that the most undisciplined and irresponsible at home
are not always the least responsible and dependable abroad where
such matters really count, perhaps he realised that some, even the
most untamed, would yet do him and his battalion credit, perhaps
he foresaw in Guy and Paul men on whom he could count one day, even
to death, and saw in them that element of high devotion to duty
which, alas, was to cost them so great a sacrifice and leave us
bereaved.
May 5th 1917
I have joined the battalion again - alas, what a remnant. It
is pitiful to see: the Battalion has been made upt to strength time
after time and yet but a handful remain, and of the old hands -
practically nil. I have spoken to you of poor Minty, the last of
my close pals, and now he's gone too. His people will be terribly
upset and I think of the loss he will be to me personally and how
I shall miss his good humour, his perpetual smile and jolly good
company.
Poor old Minty, - such a reliable, such an excellent fellow.
I told his people that he died instantly but I am told he lived two or
three hours and suffered much, but they say he was very brave.
Something he says comes home to me now, that he said a few
weeks before when we were last together and had supper in a cottage
[end page]
[start page]
- 4 -
He said he was getting very weary of the War and could hardly see
how his luck could last. "I feel like a cocoanut (sic) on one of those
cocoanut shies (?)," he said, ""that ahve remained unhit for days and months
and whose turn must surely come." Poor old Minty, how deeply we regret
him, he has gone the way of his pals, Munroe and Guy and Paul, and like
them he played the game in the highest sense to the end.
May 7th 1917
The Battalion is back in a rest area. Had I been coming out of
the line with Guy and Paul how I should have appreciated this rest.
Coming out on rest in those days always caused an agreeable reaction
on our spirits: hardship and danger were over for the time at least,
so we were invariably merry an bright. Such happy hours we thus spent
on rest. We seemed to go naturally to the same places and did everything
together by natural choice, for we had the same tastes and interests
and our ideas dovetailed. And what we loved best of all was laughter:
we went in for the same line of humour, it was our mainstay, we
always fell back on it. We could always spare time for a joke and it
would break out frequently in our most serious discusssions. In the
trenches too, in spite of much exhaustion, and uncertainty of life
and the mud and the cold of winter we often had our laugh: besides we
had so many good pals in those days - there was Robinson and Minty,
Spikesman and Munroe, and a host of others and we were on familiar terms
with each and every and the Heads as well.
Many a joke and drink we had with sergeant and sergeant-majors,
and many a plan and scheme we made to dodge parades while on rest.
While on rest we were always breaking bounds, wandering out and spending
[end page]
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- 5 -
whole afternoons and evenings in villages or towns more or less distant.
There were the sentries and military police to doge and sometimes we ran
slap into our own officers who were also out for their bit of fun - the
difference being they were allowed which we were not. The heads had a
good idea that these things happened but we usually managed to keep to
the 11th Commandment - "Thou shalt not be found out" - which is what
chiefly counts in the Army.
May 9th 1917
When I got back I heard a funny yarn about poor Guy when he was at
the base (Etaples) on a Machine Gun Course. There the police are ver
strict and there are so many that it is hard to dodge them.
Guy managed it alright however by putting up a crown on his arm
(the bade of a sergeant-major) which he got from a sergeant-major of
the 22nd, who was at the base at the time and they spent many great
evenings together down town, Guy remaining unchallenged. But there
came a climax, for one day Guy being a bit tight had lost his hat and
his clothes were in an awful condition, also he had on a pair of topboots
he had got from a dead German Officer. In this guise and with no
hat He cut a strange figure, especially in so regimental an area as the
Base, and so far from the line, - result that he was followed by the
police and when they heard his chatting in French they promptly arrested
him for a spy, thinking no doubt they had made a grand find. He was
released the next day however, but a complaint followed him back to the
Battalion, which needless to say Colonel Barker duly overlooked.
[end page]
[start page]
- 6 -
May 10th 1917
The last rest we got before I got wounded was I think the happiest
we had yet had. It was pretty rolling country, so different from the
flat muddy stretches on much of our Front, also we found some very nice
people, poor cottagers, and it was glorious Spring weather, such as it
is now.
And after I left them what terrible trials they went through, such
engagements are terrible and finally it seems to have stripped them of
some of even their nerve. Poor Paul admitted to me things that shocked
me concerning the havoc it had played on their nerves, making me realise
what terrible things they had been through. The strain had at last
almost broken them, and the awful sights they saw, the butchering of
their pals and awfulness of War had made them and the bravest dread the
line. I've seen pals knocked out beside me but have never witnessed
anything on the awful scale that Guy and Paul have. Poor Guy and Paul -
it must have taken a good deal to make them say these things.
May 11th 1917
Strange how such small things change so the course of events in
life, changing Fate at fancy - Would I not have shared the same fate
as poor Guy and Paul at Miraumont. I am sure I would have. Yet with
ordinary luck I would have been with them long before Miraumont, the last
thing preventing me being a chap who developed mumps in my tent causing
us to be placed out of bounds. I was fearfully annoyed and remember
trying to bluff that I belonged to the next tent, with an old 22nd pal
of mine ("Bronko Bill" a Canadian of A Company). Like me he had managed
[end page]
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- 7 -
to get on that draft, and, not being kept back he joined the Battalion
some weeks before the Miraumont affair, - but it also cost him his life.
Poor chap. He was one of the bravest fellows and best in the Battalion
and they say he got killed through sheer recklessness. He was one of
the characters of the battalion and a real volunteer.
Did I ever tell you how I had planned with Paul in London, while
he was on leave to desert from Dover and run away with Paul back to
France and join the 22nd. I could easily have managed it. It might have
casued a little trouble but I am sure Colonel Barker would have protected
me as far as he was able. The only thing however that made me give
up the idea was the R.F.C. business that I was sweating on at the time.
May 12th 1917
How sorry I am that Guy did not get his leave with Paul. I hear
that Paul volunteered to wait a week or so for him and that Guy would
not hear of it. It would have been such a consolation to poor old Papa.
Still, I am thankful I had my leave the same time as Paul, it made it a
very happy four days for me. It seemed like another of those leaves we
spent at home while still training in England.
What happy week-ends we spent at home, the three of us together, <del>T</del>
The Saturday night of the week-end we usually spent <del>in</del> on our own, mostly
in the West-end. Those familiar places - Adelaide Road, the Tube Station,
Charing Cross and the Strand Corner House will always remind me of
them: - how many bright little suppers after the theatre, listening to
the Orchestra, laughing and planning and enjoying life generally. And
then would come 12 o'clock (closing time) and a swift run home by Tube,
our hour's chat with you all in the dining-room and off to bed.
The Pondepeyre's little home must also bring always bring to our mind
[end page]
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- 8 -
pleasant Sunday afternoons. We so often went there (taking up considerable
room I believe) and enjoyed ourselves so much, and also the pleasant
walk there and back.
Also what a number of happy week-ends wwe spent with you Pumps at
Horsham and Roffey. I shall always remember them as happy days and we
managed several agreeable outings and had such luck with the weather.
May 13th 1917
A few days ago I was billeted in one of the villages where we were
out on Rest a year ago - How painful it was to pass thro' these same
streets alone, - on the same cobble pavement where we three were wont to
stroll with perhaps Minty Munroe or Robinson. How painful, too, I found
it when I entered Estaminets where the good folk recognised me and asked
me why I was alone, making necessary the sad explanation.
We shifted again last week to a part new to me, but I found within
walking distance a certain other village which I referred to before as
being the last Rest place we were in before I got wounded.
It was a long walk but a grand one and just such lovely weather
we had here last year. It was a cross-country walk over kilometres of
plowed high land unravaged by war, with great distances in view and the
views were peaceful and gorgeous and I was glad to be alone, - alone to
think.
But I had reached a lane a kilo from the village, a lane we had trod
many times before, my recollections of them became so vivid I stopped, -
picturing them so clearly strolling up the road to meet me, - for it so
happened too I had reached a cross-roads where once before I had thus
waited form them at this very spot and at just such an evening hour 13
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months ago.
I was well received by the family I intended seeing, very good people
[illegible] from the invaded part of France (I received letters from them
when I was wounded). --- Yes, how vivid and real was the picture at the
cross-roads which Guy and Paul had once trod. I could see so plainly
Paul's dark intelligent look, and Guy's frank open face, so smiling and
so strong. What a tremendous satisfaction and constant joy it was to have
them. --- What a powerful support our close union meant to one another, it
inspired us with confidence and strenght and a wealth of quiet happiness
was in it. We had such interest in one another and respected and understood
one another so completely. Our's was a union too good to last: we
might have guessed it, yet I never did. --- At least never thought about
it. ----- Poor Guy and Paul. Poor Paul the "Sticker" and Guy with the
hear of a Viking. -- --
And so we lose the best of our best and now we may only know them
from the past, but in the depth of our pain we shall cherish their memory
with such pride for we know, as all who knew them, that they lived and
died like sportsmen, bringing honour on their name, which is also ours.
FRANCE May 15th 1917
Dear Ones,
I still have those books of Robert W. Service that belonged to poor
old Guy. The poems expressed to the full the spirit of Guy's beloved
"North Country" which was so much part and parcel of Guy's life.
In that life he found an outlet for his exceptional courage
and born love of adventure and found expression for his big generous
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mature and idealistic temperament. He was born to be a man of the
frontier and found himself in tune with in in every possible way, ---
And wh owould want a better partner. He was a "Sticker" on the trail,
game always, and he always chose for his share the heavier burden of
the work. --- And how Guy loved that North land. --- Its countless
lakes and rivers made their call, its silent forests awed them with
their vastness. He loved it, and he loved its freedom and its farness,
and its mystery urged him ever onward. He revelled in its Winter
hardships and gloried in its swift Summer, and the haunting beauty of <del>th</del>
that land filled his heart with joy and great peace. - --- How many
times had we not blessed that country of our adoption during those many
years, and Guy could never say too much on the subject.
To him a pine tree was almost a thing of feeling, they were his
companions just as the landscapes were his pictures. Forest sounds, --
the whir and scream of the wild-fowl, the twitter of the birds, the
rush of alling water - all were music in Guy's ears, and te beauty
of it all suggested to him a lang invested with a spirit or a soul.
The rivers were Guy's highways and the hills his landmarks, and
whether the country was covered with its winter canopy of snow or its
velvet green of summer he loved it just the same, well and worthily.
May 16th 1917
Of those many happy <del>[illegible]</del> years spent alone out there with Maurice
and Maggie and Syl and Guy how many recollections will I not always have
of happy dreamy days spent more or less alone with dear old Guy. We
used to work so often together and alone while Maurice looked after
the store and Maggie and Sylvie kept the home going. --- The hundreds
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of days we went out together with Nell and Jack or old Dan and Jerry
for a lead of wood or a lead of hay, - and the stacks of hay we put up
together with Nell and the loads of logs and firewood in Winter and the
fences we put up. --- Endless are the memories: and then there are
the days of tramping and hunting, hunting moose in the Fall (tho' often
so unlucky), and the trips we made on Beaver River and the Sandy, such
as the trip we made with you Syl, by the Beaver to Cold Lake. I see
that dear old Banga Valley again - how many hundred spots in its wooded
landscape will remind me of him. We both loved the Bush so well, every
spot of beauty we saw together and loved together, and there will be
even single trees or pictures of bend of creek, or view of lake, that will
bring back to mind the very words exchanged in our enthusiasm and zeal.
Never to be forgotten also, is the journey we made, the Winter of
1912, far above Mosquito Lake to the headwater of the Sandy, - a real
little trip of discovery, and Guy has always said it was the happiest
journey of his life, tho' so much shorter than his great trips up into
the Arctic.
For my part I can safely say it was my happiest journey, and shall
I ever forget the little nightly camps we made as we pushed on further
northward and northward into that lonely, silent, mystery land and the
joy of discovery that was ours, --- the toboggan we pulled so many miles
and the little tin store and wee wedge tent, --- what satisfaction we
found in it all. --- And those many nights we put in together leaving
our outfit behind, so as to travel more rapidly --- nights spent round
an open camp fire, right out of somewhere in the hear of the Bush. ---
And the long, long talks we had, Guy on the one side of the fire and I
on the other, and we talked of the trail, and everything, and of home.
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And what enthusiasm was ours and joy. We wished we could continue that
trail life all our lives, and plan after plan we made and none could <del>hav</del>
have guessed what dreams were ours as we broke our trail back again to home.
Of the things I shall never forget is that unlucky Winter of 1913
(when Maurice and Maggie were with you in England) which led up to several
unfortunate events, chiefly poor Guy's illness. There was that
chronic drive to St. Paul de Metis on our way out to Chicago with poor
Guy wrapped up in the sled-box, and so bad, that bitter cold night:
and shall I ever forget those moments of agony and suspense when Guy,
with a certain name constantly on his lips, called on me to stop the rig
and sat suddenly bolt upright and said he was dying, and I had my hand
on his chest in a second counting the heart-beats, for it was little I
understood his illness and my fear was great, for Guy was never the sort
of chap to imagine things and was exeptionally strong headed, and
couragous in every sense of the word. --- Yes, those were trying anxious
days, and it was harrowing to have to sit by his bed and answer
his disordered questions and listen to wonderful ravings and hardly
know what to do to help him.
Speaking of that trip north a picture is still vivid in my mind. It
was on a lake, we called "Lone Lake", where we made one of our last and
furthest camps north. I had been away from Guy two days on a tributary
to Lone Lake (Goose River we named it) and was collecting in a long
lline of traps we had laid there, and had reached the Lake on my way
back just before sunset, and I can remember my sense of great loneliness
and my eagerness to rejoin Guy. Our camp lay on the further shore
and I had another four miles to do and soon I knew I would eventually
<del>discern first the tent which was on the margin of the Lake, and then</del>
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discern first the tent which was on the margin of the lake, and then
perhaps Guy himself, working close by. I suppose I remember it because
it was one of those beautiful sunshiny evenings of Winter, and I was feeling
lonely, --- anyway, I remember ever so well trudging across the lake
through the snow, scanning the distant shore for a pin point indication
of the camp, and then came the discovery of it which gladdened me so, and
then another hour, and I thought I could make out Guy's figure moving
about, and a bit later I could see it was him sure enough, and what I
remember so is the surge of feeling that came over me - a realisation of
the enormous affection one has for a brother - a brother such as Guy.
And upon such occasions it comes home to one more strongly perhaps, than
any other time.
It was also on that trip on the journey home that we struck
a very bitter spell of cold weather, and Guy with his greater capacity for
fighting the cold was just able to strike a match to light the last camp
fire we made on that memorable trip, all use had been frozen out of my
hands, I couldn't hold a match to strike it. Guy found it enormously
difficult, but finally suceeded and so saved our lives, for ewe
couldn't have lived through that night without a fire.
May 18th 1917
I have not mentioned Paul much, but though he was not out in the early
days he is just as much in my mind and my memories are of Rife (sic) are inseperable
from him. He and I worked together daily and constantly. He
helped me get the logs out for the new house, many, many days we put in
down in the woods, cutting, sawing up and loading logs for the most part,
the largest trees we had ever yet handled out there. Needless to say,
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- 14 -
the building of that house was a real labour of love, no work ever
appealed to us more than working among logs in the heart of the woods.
And we got on together so great. --- Day after day with saw and axes
we drove down on the bob-sleds with Jack and Nell to the end of the
Lake, scouted out the straightest trees, felled them, had lunch, ladded
up and back with our load at nightfall, and we chatted always, all
the time we worked too - for it all interested us so. --- What happy
days those. It was then that Paul properly became one of us, and we
learnt to appreciate him thoroughly: such splendid company was Paul.
That was a memorable meeting we had that time at Edmonton where I
met Guy and Paul together. I had come to Edmonton to meet Guy before
he went North and to appeal to Lessard and the Government Authorities
for a settlement of the Eldridge affair. In this we were fortunately
succesful. We were together a week, what a great time we had that
whole week. Theatres, Pictures and little suppers and at special
places Paul knew, and long, long talks at night at Paul's bright and
comfortable boarding-house, and we met Paul's friends, among others -
Fatty Byron (whom Maggie would remember). We <del>ask</del> schemed a great
adventure too, - a big trip that was to come off after the House was
built and after Guy had come back from his journey North and the
Eldridge business was settled up. It was a journey by canoe, to last
about 4 months, the route would cover numerous lakes and rivers in a
very interesting country, to the north-east and one we wanted so much
to know. We were enormously enthusiastic about it.
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May 19th 1917
---
What a splendid record of spirit and endurance is found in that
letter from Guy's friend, the Mayor cahp. What a list of adventures
Guy experienced on that memorable journey up to the Arctic. --- Hundreds
of miles by snow and canoe, hundreds of miles with pack on back
and weary feet. How eagerly Maurice and I listened to the outline of
his journey that night he got back and we sat round talking, in the
new house. How we hung on his words. Do you remember, Maurice, our
pleasure and surprise when he burst in upon us. I think we were in
the store at the time and we noticed how broad and strong he seemed
to have grown, --- he seemed to have developed in every way.
Of course Guy was very interested in the New House and itw as with
much satisfaction we listened to Guy's "wha-Wha-"ing as we took him
round the same night, lantern in hand, and watched the expression of
surprise and satisfaction on his face as we went from room to room. And
we talked on, long into the night, of Guy's trip and of the War and our
plans for the future, and made out our will the following day in a
joking way, and said good-bye and left poor old Maurice alone to look
after things and carry on (perhaps the hardest half of the bargain).
How fortunate we managed to see dear old Maggie on our trip out and
before we left for so, so long.
May 20th 1917.
---
There is no need for me, Pumps, to explain how I miss our poor,
poor Guy and Paul, for you understand so well: In one of your letters
that I was reading this morning you express it all to the uttermost in
these words: "Comme ton chagrin doit etre frofond, mon cher enfant,
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- 16 -
de penser a tew freres qui etaient pour toi plus que cela encore, des
amis intimes, inseparables, partageant les memes aventures, les memes
aspoirs. Vous aviez l'un pour l'autre la meme complaisance, le meme
besoin de la compagnie l'un pour l'autre, une inalterable bonne humeur
at indulgence reciproque," --- Yes, it is so true, Pumps, I do Miss
them simply terribly.
I know you must suffer more than any of us, and I hardly dare think
how broken-hearted you must be, I am grateful above all that you are so
brave and strong in the face of our awful sorrow, and I am grateful too,
that you have dear Maman Alice and are father of a large family and so
have others of your own to turn to in your <del>gride</del> grief.
Often I think, Pumps, what a satisfaction it would be to you to
see how well remembered and how deeply respected is their name in this
Battalion. There was nothing in the C.O.'s letter about them that was
over-stated: Guy and Paul were absolutely loved, nor am I allowed to
think otherwise, for the' (sic) allusions to their terrible fate are left often
half unsaid, it is quite obvious to me that Guy and Paul were held to be
the bravest of the brave in our Battalion and were loved and regretted
to an altogether exceptional extent: and their sympathy touches one and
it is plain that they understand that no man could suffer a greater bereavement.
So many yarns I hear from all quarters of the humourous things that
happened where Guy and Paul were concerned, and especially Guy: but of
their actual death no details are known, there is no one who now actually
survives who saw them killed. Still, it seems evident that poor Paul
fell first (not Guy), and all are convinced that poor Guy could have
saved himself and that he practically threw his life away in his grief
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by charging on ahead. All that we know is that Guy was spoken to after
Paul was killed, and that he was crying. Paul was killed by shrapnel,
in the forehead, and Guy was sniped by a bullet through the neck: both
without doubt died instantly.
Their names are inscribed on a large battalion Memorial Cross that
was erected to those who fell at the Battle of Miraumont - at Ovilliers:
I have a sketch map showing the exact spot of their burial
on the battlefield of Petit Miraumont: they are buried, side by side, in
a shell hole, with two other men (King's Royal Rifles) and not far
from Sergeant Brisley. One of their rifles, buried with them, with the
butt uppermost and projecting, forms the post of the cross and there is
a horizontal piece of wood wired crosswise on it with their names.
At present we are many miles from this spot which marks the tragedy
that has come into our lives, but I hope before very long to be
able to go there and live a few hours in close, close touch with them
and fix into my memory this spot, sacred to us, where our dear ones
left this life so bravely, left us, because it was the only noble way.
They had to leave us without a message of good-bye, but we know that
the unsaid thing was a message to "carry on" and be of good cheer.
Petit-Miraumont --- the last of many "somewheres" that headed
their letters home, -- at one time a peaceful country-side of dear
old France, which Guy and Paul had seen so much of during all those
months of the War, and there they fell, loving France so well, fell,
on French soil. Petit-Miraumont, --- one of the many "Somewheres",
but Oh, how dear, how TRAGIC to us to whom they belonged.
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) 18 )
May 25th 1917
---
We have shifted about many times of late: we have been in and
out of the trenches several times and now we are in reserve bivouacs,
and will be "in" again tomorrow.
It is a shell scarred area and the ground upon which we are cramped
must have been bought dearly, it is seamed with old trenches and the
shell-holes often touch, clay and white chalk, are uppermost and there's
hardly a blade of grass or anything green to be seen: --- looks like
a rough see. And from here my thhoughts go homing and I think of Guy and
Paul.
Here, in this roughly made shelter, I am alone and there is room
for three, and I can't help thinking that but for the bitter fortunes
of War I might even this moment be shifting over to make room for Guy
and Paul, who, crouching through the entrace would take a place in
either corner: and perhaps as of old we would talk of things that be
close to the heart, or remain silent, --- anyway the feeling of absolute
friendship would be there --- a real living thing, and affection
we didn't discuss and rarely referred to, and always roughly worded at
the best, an affection deep and satisfying.
I ache for their splendid company and I picture them ever so plainly
sitting here with me.
I see Paul's face, his deep intelligent look, and I see Guy's,
reflective and strong - a pleasing face that won him friends everywhere:
and Guy is puffing at his long Canadian pipe and there is an entire
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accord in our conversation. We are discussing someting rather serious
yet we often stop to laugh at bits of humour dragged in (mostly Paul's)
and I am wondering as I write this - did anyone ever have better brothers
than I.
Guy and Paul, so lovable, so brave, Guy and Paul often reflective
and sad, yet straight-lipped and strong, and so cheery and full of fun.
The manner of their death is our consolation and we must be thankful
that we still have left to us our brothers and sisters equally dear.
When I wander back to Canada and bound homeward I'll find everything
dearer there, if sadder: there will be Maurice and Maggie whom
I long to see, and there I will find ever the happier memories of Guy
and Paul, and every familiar place, dear to me, and every spot about the
homestead and down the lake and valley where we used to work or hunt.
And everything will speak to me of them - the paths we trod, the meadow
smells, the sluggish creek, the buzz of mosquitoes and the scent of
pines and all the innumerable things that make the colour of the country,
leaving impressions never to be forgotten, and will bring them
back to me.
--- And may that day roll on.
GEORGES.
[end page]
Page contains a typescript of letter written by Capt. B. L. H. Clifford of the 22nd Battalion Royal Fusiliers to the "O.C. 6th Batallion Royal Fusiliers," on 23 October 1916. Clifford writes on behalf of Georges Destrubé, recently wounded, and recommends him to the Flying Corps.
[start page]
From Capt. B.L.H.Clifford to O.C. 6th Batt.Royal Fusiliers.
COPY
23/10/16.
Dear Sir,
I am writing to you on behalf of Pte. Georges Destrubé, formerly
of my Coy., (who was severely wounded at Souchez) in order that I may
interest you in helping him obtain a commission.
Before the war he was ranching in Canada for some six years and
crossed to England to serve in the British Army. He enlisted in September
1914 in this Battalion.
He is an extraordinaroly (sic) capable soldier. He was at first a Coy Scout
afterwards a Coy. Machine Gunner. He is a very capable sketcher and is particularly
clever at executing the panomara (sic) sketches so difficult to do
really well and at the same time so useful to all branches, particularly
to the R.F.C. and Gunners.
Destrubé is above all a very brave man. He volunteered for all patroles
and raiding parties and was recklessly brave.
He has a good education and is a thorough gentleman; a quiet, unassuming
fellow whom anybody would be delighted to have in a Battn. mess. I
cannot say too much on his behalf.
Having been shot through the lung he is not fit to rejoin the ranks
and carry a pack or endure great hardships, but I think he would be invaluable
to the Flying Corps, where his fearlessness and knowledge of sketching
would be invaluable. Should he be too heavy for the Aeroplane Service
he would be bery (sic) useful to the Kite Balloon Section.
His father - should you wish to communicate with him - is Asst. Manager of
the Comptoir National d'Escompte de Paris, 52 Threadneedle St. London, E.C.
If, Sir, you can see your way to do anything to assist Destrubé, you
will provide the Service with a valuable Officer
I have the honour to be, Sir
Your obedient servant,
(signed) B.L.H.Clifford, Capt. Commanding A.COy, 22nd, R.Fusi.
[end page]
Page contains a typescript of a letter from George S. Hanes to Guy Destrubé, dated January 18, 1917. Hanes writes about their travels in Northern Canada., the war, and his re-election as Mayor of North Vancouver. Page also contains a typescript of a letter written by J. R. R. Creelman after the death of Guy Destrubé, dated 26 April 1917.
[start page]
GEORGE HANNS TO GUY.
COPY
Mayors Office
North Vancouver, B.C.
January 18th 1917.
My dear Friend Guy,
Creelman and I received your post <del>to</del> today and I can
assure you we were very pleased to hear from you, because we have often
wondered the past few months whether you had crossed the Styx yet. I have often
thought of you, and have at times been very anxious to get some idea of
what hardships you have been through.
We received your letter in which you referred to the
rivers of Northern Canada, and we agree with you that the three of us had a
wonderful trip through that practically unknown country, and as I remember it,
the scenery along the Hay was almost perfect, I eman it was very park-like
and an ideal place for a summer trip.
I often think of the sqaw on the Hay River, picking the
lice from the hair of one of her children, and eating some of them, and
allowing the kid to crack the balance of them with his thumb nail on a lard
pail cover. If I remember correctly, there was a dish full of entrails from
ducks or geese which I suppose they would have for desert at some meal.I am
sure it would be a pleasure for any of us to spend a few months in that great
Northland of ours, without any cares or worries.
I have often pictured you in my mind, sitting under your
little sheet of canvas (about 6 x 8), and warming yourself by your fire, or
eating your daily allowance of bannock and bacon, or rolled up in your blanket
under that piece of canvas, sleeping so sound that the devil himself could
not wake you.
I would suppose that our German friend John, who travelled
with us for a few days, must have been interned when he reached civilization.
If he were around here I would have him interned immediately.
One thing that always has, and always will stand out
foremost in my memory of you, is the fact that no matter whether we tried to
walk 30, 35, 40 or 50 miles per day (as you know we almost did), you never said
once that I was going too far per day or too fast, but you always showed
that, no matter how tough our circumstances, you were game and never complained.
That, to my <del>mind</del>, way of thinking, was an excellent exhibition of your true
worth. ----
When we came out that Fall in 1914 I came home to North
Vancouver, and in January 1915, I was elected Mayor of North Vancouver City
for 1915, also re-elected Mayor for 1916, and during September 1916 was
elected as a Liberal member of Parliament for B.C. to represent the North
Vancouver Constituency. My term as Mayor expired last week, and I did not run
again, although I was sure of re-election, but it would not look well to hold
the two jobs. --- So you will see that we made a clean sweep. I am
not boasting, but you will see that we had a duty here to save our own province
financially and politically. After our session is over I will probably feel
lost, and if Premier Lloyd George decides to fight to a finish, I may yet be
in the mix-up, because our sympathies are all with Great Britain and the
Allies, and we are prepared to stay with it to the end.
I still remember the day we were told about the war. The
Frenchman behind Vermilion told us about all the nations at war, and we
couldn't credit it. We had left the world so peacable when we paddled down
stream from Athabasca. The cows, chickens and the farm house looked good to
us, and the old Cayuse we had would not go into the stable. It thought that
a trap was set. It loved the fresh air too much. The Frenchman must have
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[start page]
(CONTINUED)
GEORGES HANES TO GUY.
---
thought we were a tough bunch. I remember that he offered us his razor, and
as I had not shaved for about 3 weeks, I guess I looked like a brigand. The
story the Sergt. told us at Vermilion about the great battle that was then
going on, is still fresh in my memory, and his story of the immense body of
troops at Vancouver, and the warships which were heading for Vancouver and
Victoria to shell the cities.
We certainly did travel some from there to Peace River Crossing,
and when I think of the hardship you endured when walking in those mocassins
on the stones. I am free to admit that it was the most trying punishment
that you could have been subjected to. I well remember the night we slept by
the fire on the wet ground after travelling all day in the pouring rain, and
you slept pretty well, although you were steaming like a hot pudding. We
travelled and tracked that 280 miles in 11 days, or an average of 28 miles
per day, when we figure we lost one day at the White Mud River when we went
inland and met that bunch of Indians. From Peace River to Gouard is called
90 miles and as we made it in two days, we averaged 45 miles per day.
Perhaps you remember that at the Horse Track, Hay River, where
you saw the dead Indian, you traded off a Jack-knife and a silver coin for
a few pounds of dried bear or moose meat, and that propelled us across the
portage of about 100 miles in two and a half days. Even with any hardships,
I still look back at that trip as a very pleasant one, and I only hope I can
take another some day.
Two weeks ago a friend of ours came back from Edmonton, and
had visited Peace River, as McArthur, the railway contractor, was reported to
have struck oil at Tar Island, Peace River on the one side. You remember
we came by an old post <del>off</del> I had set up, but someone beat me to it by a few
days. They have some oil, but not enough yet to make it worth while. The
Thomas outfit have been drillling all summer of 1916 at Peace River Chutes,
just below Vermilion, but have not as yet struck anything. Their manager,
Mr. (forget his name) is here in North Vancouver, and he says that next year
they may move their drilling rig to Great Slave Lake, because they expect it
there. As you know, Thomas sent in a party on the ice from Athabasca in
February 1915 to stake some claims at the same place that we visited. ---
----
Perhaps you will again have the privilege of roaming in the
vast North West as we know it, and I can assure you that I hope you come
through all right.
Creelman sends his best wishes, and you have my very best
wishes with you all the time, whether you hear from me or not.
I would be pleased to hear some of your experiences.
(signed) George S. Hanes
144-3rd St. West, North Vancouver, B.C.
[end page]
[start page]
North Vancouver, B.C.
April 26th, 1917.
---In Guy I have lost a very dear friend although our
acquaintance was short, it was under circumstances that were trying
at times and which bring a man's true worth, and at other times our
trip was very pleasant, but at all times he was cheery and light
hearted always willing to do more than his share and to make light
of difficulties, he did enjoy the free and easy life of the North,
its lakes and rivers and its grandeur, he would often praise the
wonderful work of nature, for many miles in the country in which
we travelled few white men ever saw, if any, the only inhabitants
were a few Indians, for days and days we travelled without seeing a
human being.
Of all the men that I have travelled with in my outdoor
life, Guy surpassed them all in courage, endurance and simplicity
he was so fearless of danger, he used to say to us time and again
that he would fight facing the enemy until the last. From the first
day we heard of the war, which was weeks after it broke out, his whole
ambition was to place himself at his country's service at the earliest
date. He spoke of his brother Paul often and I knew they were very
much attached to one another. ---
I must close now hoping and trusting that this awful
war will be soon over.
J.J.R.Creelman.
[end page]
Page contains three photographs depicting waterfalls and bodies of water, two identified as "Alexandra Falls" and "Grand Rapids." The photographs were taken during "Guy's trip North," when Guy Destrubé traveled and worked in Northern Canada.
Page contains four photographs of unidentified men near bodies of water, possibily Guy Destrubé during his travels in Northern Canada. Clockwise from top left, captions are as follows: "Eva Harbour"; "Slave River"; "Off the Athabasca"; and "Gas spring on Athabasca near [illegible] Rapids." Guy went exploring in Alberta and British Columbia during 1914. It was during this trip that he met J. Creelman and George Hanes. Hanes, a correspondent with Guy and other members of the Destrube family, later became mayor of North Vancouver, British Columbia.
Page contains four photographs of the Destrubé family at their homestead in Rife, Alberta in August 1909. Clockwise from top left, captions are as follows: "The boys loading a waggon of hay - View from the shack"; "A French Canadian, Georges, Slyvie, Guy"; "Georges, Slyvie, Guy, Maurice"; and "the Shack." The French Canadian is identified as Leo, a hired man, in "Pioneering in Alberta: Maurice Destrubé's Story.
Page contains four photographs. The top two are photographs of drawings by Georges Destrubé, one dated 1910. The center photograph depicts members of the Destrubé family in front of their log cabin, on the homestead in Rife, Alberta. From left: Georges, Sylvie, Guy, and Maurice. The bottom photograph depicts Destrubé family members and friends holding fowl hung from a string. From left: unidentified, Maggie, unidentified, Sylvie, unidentified, Ernest.
Page contains four photographs depicting life on the Destrubé family homestead in Rife, Alberta. From top left, photographs depict: Ernest ("Pumps") with two dogs, Yankee and Snap, during visit to Rife in the summer of 1912; Slyvie with milk pails; Geoges, Sylvie, Guy, Ernest, Maurice, and Maggie in front of the cabin, 1912; and Guy, Georges, Sylvie, Ernest, Maggie, and Maurice. Additional information from "Pioneering in Alberta: Maurice Destrubé's Story."
Page contains four photographs depicting life on the Destrubé family homestead in Rife, Alberta. Photograph in the center row, on the right, depicts Sylvie and a horse in front of the log cabin. The photograph below depicts Sylvie milking a cow.
Page contains three photographs depicting life on the Destrubé family homestead in Rife, Alberta, and a photographic postcard sent to Dan Destrubé in Calais, France in 1909. The top photograph depicts the original bridge at the bottom of the creek that goes into Moose Lake. Center left depicts "Rife 1913," a view of Maurice Destrubé's side of the valley. Center right depicts either Sylvie or Maggie, Maurice, and an unidentified man.
Page contains two illustrated letters from Georges Destrubé to his sister, Sylvie, with drawings of the homestead in Rife, Alberta. The first, dated 6 October 1908, contains a drawing of "our rustic old shack" and a view of the interior and the brothers' bunks. The second, dated 25 February 1912, depicts the construction of the storeroom.
Page contains an illustrated letter and a drawing, both by Georges Destrubé. The letter illustrations depict scenes from the homestead in Rife, Alberta. The drawing depicts a scene from a trip that Georges and Guy made up the Sandy (Sand) River in December 1911.
Page contains two drawings of scenes from a trip that Georges and Guy made up the Sandy (Sand) River in December 1911, both by Georges Destrubé. Drawings include a sketch of their camp on "Lone Lake."
Page contains a drawing by Georges Destrubé and two photographs of members of the Destrubé family at the homestead in Rife, Alberta. The drawing depicts a campfire scene. Left photograph depicts Destrubé family members standing in front of the log cabin after playing tennis. From left to right (standing): Maggie, Dan, Nora (Maggie's sister), Maurice, and Sylvie, (sitting) Paul and Georges. Right photograph depicts Destrubé family members gathered around a horse-drawn cart. From left, back to front: [two unidentified men], Paul, Sylvie, (standing) Georges, Maurice, [Maggie?]. Additional information from "Pioneering in Alberta: Maurice Destrubé's Story."
[South Wall, left side]
1 looking glass
2 comb
3 toilet bag
4 glove
5 wash basin
6 wash stand
7 oil can
8 padlock
9 axes
[South Wall, right side]
10 wood (firewood)
11 Maurice's chair
12 Guy's trunk (also his chair)
13 pictures
14 window
15 table
16 lamp
17 bookstand and writing things
18 needle work box
[North Wall,left side]
1 & 2 bed pans
3 & 4 sauce pans
5 & 6 frying pans
7 iron spoon
8 washing up tub
9 shelf for washing up things
10 & 11 pails of water
12 plates, teapot, cups, milk, butter, bacon, etc.
13 auger
14 cross-cut saw
15 rip saw
16 hammer
17 wrench
18 plane
19 rack for other small tools
[North Wall, right side]
20 wrench
21 brace
22 saw
23 broom
24 axe handles
25 sack of oatmeal
26 sack of flour
27 tin of baking powder
28 tin of lard
29 some empty tins we put bread in
30 box where we put the potatoes
31 "write and ask Maurice" [chamber pail]
[North Wall, on diagram]
32 bed
33 clothes
Page contains architectural drawings of Maurice and Maggie Destrubé's log house, built on the homestead in Rife, Alberta in the winter of 1913-1914; and a photograph of the completed house, with porch. The plans were drawn by Georges Destrubé on Allan Line stationary.
Page contains six photographs depicting post-war life on the Destrubé family homestead in Rife, Alberta. Page contains handwritten annotation: "Rife 1919-20." The top two photographs depict Georges, and Suzanne Fenouil and Sylvie. The center two likely depict the view from the log house. The photograph of the airplane is accompanied with the following note: "Georges crash landed after losing his engine. He broke his nose. (Georges dropped leaflets on London on 11th Nov. 1918." The two people standing on the porch of the log house in the bottom photograph are possibly Maggie and Maurice, if taken prior to April 1918, or Sylvie and Maurice.
Page contains two drawings: the first by Guy Destrubé; the second by Georges Destrubé in February 1916, during World War 1. Georges' drawing contains the following caption: "A billet some distance from the firing line, use when on rest."
Page contains drawings of billets during World War I by Georges Destrubé, two dated March 1916. Clockwise from top: "A billet close to trenches"; grave with gravemarker for "Pte. D. Williams, No. 13131, South Wales Bordereres [sic], killed in action"; and "A billet away from the firing line."
Page contains two drawings by Georges Destrubé, both of scenes from World War I. The first, dated March 1916, depicts "ruins within mile of firing line. The village church." The second, dated August 1916, depicts scenes from the "Red Cross Hospital Ebbwvale," in Ebbw Vale, Monmouthshire, Wales.
Page contains six photographs: four from World War I; and two of the Destrubé family's home and business in Rife, Alberta. Top left depicts Sylvie and Georges at the hospital in Ebbw Vale, during Georges' recovery, in June 1915. Date may be incorrect. Top right depicts Georges, Paul and Guy in uniform. The center two photographs are Guy and Paul's graves in Miraumount, France. Photograph on bottom left depicts the general store at Hairy Hill, purchased by Maurice in 1920 and run by Sylvie and her husband Bert Spencer in 1922. Bottom right depicts "Maurice's new house across the valley," according to note.
Page contains six photographs of the early years of the Destrubé family, in England and/or France. The top two photographs possibly depict Sylvie and Maurice (first two children in left photograph) and another child. In the center row, the photograph on the left depicts Paul, Georges, Ernest, Guy, an unidentified woman, and [Maurice?]. In the photograph in the bottom right, Paul and Guy (sitting) are wearing black armbands for mounring.
Page contains eight photographs of the early years of the Destrubé family, in England and possibly France. In the first row, the first photograph depicts Ernest Destrubé ("Pumps") and the third possibly depicts Maman Alice, Ernest's second wife. In the second row, first photograph depicts, from left: [unidentified], [Paul?], Ernest, Guy, Sylvie, and [Georges?]. Second photograph depicts: [two unidentified], Paul, Ernest [with Andr��?], Guy, Maman Alice, and [Sylvie?]. The third row contains potraits of Dan and Sylvie, and a photograph of the Destrubé family home on Adelaide Road in London, England.
Page contains eight photographs of the early years of the Destrubé family, in England and possibly France. The photograph in the top right corner depicts Elizabeth Farmery with her infant son, Dan Destrubé.
Page contains a typescript of a letter, dated 10 January 1908, from Georges Destrubé to his sister, Sylvie, written before Georges joined Maurice at the homestead in Rife, Alberta.
[start page]
10th January 1908.
My dear old Syl,
I was very surprised on receiving Maurice's letter.
I think that he is quite right in advising that I should
come out immediately, especially since by delaying I run the risk of
losing so desirable a piece of land. Do impress this upon Papa and
ask him to let me take the very first boat out.
It is a great pity that we did not get Maurice's letter
before my departure, as this return to France has turned out to be
a useless expense. Hard luck, Eh? ...
When I left you on Saturday night looking so charming and
winsome in your ball-dress, I little expected on seeing you again so
soon, but this next will be my last holiday and it will be the last
time I will see you for years, - perhaps for good!
It is comparatively easy thing to say good-bye on going
away for a few months, but it will be a sad heart-wrench to say farewell
for so long a time.
Of course I enjoyed myself very much at Christmas time,
what with our frequent "outings"and other enjoyments I had a very
good time of it. I only hope to enjoy myself as much on this last
stay home, so as to take away with me an agreeable recollection of
London.
In a former letter to me you complained of my not giving
you enough information and detail concerning my "doings" etc.
I find it very irksome hunting up the details on events,
but I will try and satisfy you by relating the minor details that
took place on our journey out here.
When leaving home Saturday night we got our luggage down
to the station all right. We missed the train to London-Bridge but
got one through to the Bank. We had some difficulty transporting our
luggage on changing at Oxford St. but we managed to do so without
mishap.
But in coming out at the Bank Station we were less fortunate,
for the stairs were long and steep and the baskets were very
heavy and poor old Paul was beginning to "give way" at the knees.
I was walking on ahead with the bigger basket, while Paul was staggering
along with the smaller one just behind me; we were just mounting
the last few steops when I caught the sound of a despairing groan &
heard a noise as of something collapsing behind me; I guessed what
happened, turned round and lo! I saw no longer Paul & basket but a
heap on the floor instead!
However I managed to disentangle him from cape, coat, &
basket & so we set off once more hoping for better luck.
So we struggled along the nearly deserted streets towards
the Bennett wharf, resting our loads at every 1/4 mile. The second halt
brought us (in streaming perspiration) to the middle of London
Bridge, where we rested our "belongings" on the parapet of the bridge,
just above the fast flowing tide beneath us. There were but one or
two people here, but lots of empty cabs were running past and they
all pulled up to know if we were in need of them. But of course we
did not want one, especially being at that moment so very near the
end of our journey. The cabbies evidently thought we had some distance
[end page]
[start page]
2
to go, for they insisted a good deal & some of them stopped to argue
matters, but we sent them all to the...
One of them seemed particularly eager & seeing that he
could not win us over by civil persuasion, resorted to making fun of
us and he cried out as he started his horse off again "Don't let
'em fall off the edge into the water 'cause them....great htings
won't float, I know!" and he ended up this friendly piece of advice
with roars od (sic) derisive laughter, while another cabman equally anxious
to oblige, was offering to lend me 2d. to get "alf (sic) a pint" to get
my "back up" for the task.
Both these remarks were greeted with roars of laughter
from the other passing cabs & for a moment the gloom round London
Bridge echoed with their screams.
Of course Paul & I did not care half a trouser-button and
although we appeared not to notice their merriment, yet we chuckled
inwardly as hard as we could go.
So we shouldered our load & started off once more to complete
our journey during which time, I encouraged Paul on by suggesting
to him how very much worse it would have been, had we had to
haul them all the way from Harrow. He evidently seized the logic,
justice of what I said, for I heard a deep grunt come from underneath
the basket.
Here are the details of a part of our journey but I see
that your request has carried me too far & will threaten you if I
continue, with an over-weighted letter; will therefore pull up sharp.
Best of love to you & all
(signed) Georges.
P.S. So I have written this letter as I had promised, that is to say,
the day after I sent you many p.c. Wonderful is it not? I remember
when on looking through the "Salad Bowl" (which at home is used
for "vide poche") at Xmas, I caught sight of these words on a P.C.
"Will write to-morrow without fail"! There was no need to examine
the handwriting nor to enquire whether the writer did write the next
day. But I have been up to the mark this time, though I think that,
even now, I shall not be able to post it. - have no stamps!
Yours (signed) Georges.
Page contains a humorous notice advertising the "Destrubé Bros. (Graduates of the University of Hard-Knocks): Expert advisors on wangling matters." Handwritten annotation indicates that it was created at Tidworth Camp, Wiltshire, England.
Page contains a pen and ink with watercolour, drawing (loose), depicting Georges Destrube, dressed in RFC uniform, holding a bomb. It is signed by Tony [Royce?], 1918.
View of ScrpBk1_22 reveals 4 black and white photographs. Photographs depict: Paul Destrube at the Bank of Montreal, 1913; [Elizabeth Farmery Destrube?], ca. 1875; [unknown?]; and family group portrait that includes Dan, Sylvie, Maurice, Georges, Guy, Paul and Ernest.
Page contains 4 photographs depicting: Sylvie Destrube in Red Cross Volunteer Aid Detachment uniform, 1916-1917; Arthur Fleming, Sylvie's fiance during the war, killed in action in 1916; Georges Destrube in RFC uniform, 1917-1918; and family portrait of Ernest and Elizabeth Destrube with 3 children, ca 1890.
Page contains 8 photographs of the Destrube and possibly Farmery families. At center is Maurice Destrube and to his left, Elizabeth Farmery Destrube. Some of the children in the top two photos could belong to Ernest and Elizabeth.
Page contains 5 photographs depicting: Sylvie, ca. 1893; Maurice, ca. 1893; Georges, RFC, 1917-1918; and 2 photographs taken in Alberta - [Georges?] in sponson canoe,1921 and cattle, 1919.
Page contains 4 photographs. Top photo is captioned, "Guy & M [Harras?] at May River on the Great Slave Lake - this is a Hudson Bay P[ath?] - the [Canvass?] you see are made of birch bark", 1914. Center photo is Sylvie and Ernest Destrube, c. 1900. Bottom photos are Georges, RAF, 1917-1918 and Sylvie, c. 1900.
Page cotains one of a series of drawings by Georges Destrube showing different stages in the process of a building the new log home at Rife, Alberta between 1913-1914.
Page cotains one of a series of drawings by Georges Destrube showing different stages in the process of a building the new log home at Rife, Alberta between 1913-1914.
Page cotains one of a series of drawings by Georges Destrube showing different stages in the process of a building the new log home at Rife, Alberta between 1913-1914.
Page cotains one of a series of drawings by Georges Destrube illustrating different stages in the process of a building the new log home at Rife, Alberta between 1913-1914.
Page cotains one of a series of drawings by Georges Destrube illustrating different stages in the process of a building the new log home at Rife, Alberta between 1913-1914.
Page cotains one of a series of drawings by Georges Destrube illustrating different stages in the process of a building the new log home at Rife, Alberta between 1913-1914.
Page cotains one of a series of drawings by Georges Destrube illustrating different stages in the process of a building the new log home at Rife, Alberta between 1913-1914.
Page cotains one of a series of drawings by Georges Destrube illustrating different stages in the process of a building the new log home at Rife, Alberta between 1913-1914.
Page contains 3 photographs. The top photograph depicts A Company, 22nd Royal Fusiliers, Piquet - at training camp in England - Paul is in the front row and Georges and Guy in the back, 1914-1915. The middle and bottom photographs were taken when Georges transferred to the Royal Flying Corps. Georges is 5th from the left in the middle shot and 3rd from left in the bottom.
Page contains 2 photographs depicting: Georges Destrubé with fellow Royal Flying Corps trainees, and a studio portrait of an unnamed soldier. Page also includes a news clipping announcing the deaths of Guy and Paul, and wounding of Georges Destrubé.
Page contains 4 cartoon drawings and 2 loose items - photograph of soldiers and two pilots in front of a bi-plane [Georges, 2nd from right?] - and a typed form, "Ordre General No. 448" that commends the work of Rene Boinet, pilot.
2nd view of ScrpBk1_31 includes a pen and ink drawing--humorous cartoon, titled, "Lunch is Served Gentlemen!" by Georges Destrubé. It is likely that Georges created this drawing while training for the Royal Flying Corps from 1917 to 1918.
3rd view of ScrpBk1_31 contains 3 pencil cartoon sketches depicting Georges Destrubé in various scenes. In the top left, he is telegraphing. Georges likely created these cartoons while training for the Royal Flying Corps in England, 1917 to 1918.
Item is a scrapbook compiled by a member of the Destrubé family, possibly Georges, Ernest, or Maurice Destrubé, after the First World War. The scrapbook contains materials related to the deaths of Guy and Paul Destrubé, both killed in action during the Battle at Miraumont, Somme, France in 1917; correspondence; drawings by Georges and Guy Destrubé; plans and diagrams for the Destrubé homestead in Rife, Alberta; and photographs, including, family in England, Alberta homesteading, and the First World War in England and France.