My great uncle the war poet
WOODHOUSE author and historian, Michael Kendrick, has once again composed a special article for Remembrance Sunday. This year Michael has chosen to write about his great uncle Arthur Newberry Choyce.
Lieutenant Arthur Newberry Choyce 1917
This year, as we approach Remembrance Day, I am writing about my great uncle Arthur Newberry Choyce.
I was one of many that voted for him to have a Green Plaque placed in memory of his bravery and poetry in World War One.
Here follows details of the event and the unveiling that took place at Hugglescote Community Centre, once Arthur’s School.
On Thursday 29th August at 2.15pm, around 70 invited guests including military representatives were welcomed by Louise Richardson: a representative for the leader of Leicestershire County Council, Nicholas Rushton.
There followed touching comments by local councillor, Llynda Baugh and a speech by me.
I also recited a favourite poem of mine: Arthur’s: ‘Memory’. At 2.30pm, the Green Plaque was located on the once ‘playground side’ of the Community Centre and official photographs were taken.
At 3pm, refreshments were served and guests studied a pictorial display of Arthur’s short but eventful life. Finally, eleven years old Dan Arridge, a great, great nephew of Arthur, showed and spoke of his prizewinning school presentation about his famous ancestor.
Louise Richardson’s speech: “We are here today in memory of Arthur Newberry Choyce: exceptional poet, brave soldier and school headmaster.
“He was born in 1893 at 170, Central Road: one of the Breach cottages in Hugglescote.
“In his semi-biographical book: ‘Lips at The Brim’ , he wrote that they had long front gardens and little pig sties at the back that contained some of the finest specimens of curly tails and all being fattened for Christmas.
“Also, it was a favourite pastime for local male cronies to stroll from sty to sty on Sunday mornings to compare the merits of the progressing porkers.
“After leaving The Dixie Grammar School, he spent 1911-13 working at Bridge Road School and taking a prominent part in the social life revolving around his old ‘National School’ and nearby St. John Baptist Church.
“Arthur was an excellent amateur actor and took part in plays to raise money for various village organisations.
“He also wrote for the local press promoting socials and dances held in his old Church school rooms to aid the Church Lads’ Brigade. Arthur had a good sense of humour and on several occasions he was a popular Father Christmas and enjoyed training the school’s children in Morris Dancing.
“After studying at Nottingham University, he served in the 1914-18 War during which he was badly wounded. He then toured the United States of America to encourage their help in the war against Germany.
“Post-war he lived at 177, Central Road and became friendly with Father Degan whilst at his dance sessions. The good Father gave Arthur a pet monkey that ‘ answered’ to the name of Barbara and he kept it a shed at the bottom of the garden.
Michael Kendrick’s speech: “I am so proud of being a relative of Arthur Newberry Choyce and when he went to war, Hugglescote was only a village and it was not much larger when I was born there post Second World War.
“My grandmother, Hetty Hatter (nee Palmer) and my great auntie Florence lived at 168, Central Road, next door to Arthur in 170, Breach Cottages.
“I hasten to add they were Arthur’s relatives and could not be described by the jovial pseudonym: ‘Sarah Jane Pratt, a dirty, gawky redhead, all legs and teeth.’ in Arthur’s semibiographical novel: ‘Lips at the Brim.’
“Arthur was famed as Leicestershire’s Great War Poet, but he wrote poetry from an early age and had it published in magazines such as Nash’s, Country Life, Pearsons and the Midlander.
“I picture him as a boy leaving home, walking by his old school, down Station Road to catch a train for Market Bosworth Grammar School. I have walked that mile from Bosworth station to the town centre and his early poems clearly tell how he loved Mother Nature’s work, especially the Charnwood Hills.
“At times though, he opposed silly rules and whilst at Nottingham University, he took a dislike to the principal and so at the Fresher’s Ball, he wore pink silk socks made from his sister’s stockings.
“In 1914, his father died and this upset him so much he wanted to leave university, but his mother insisted he finish the course.
“In 1915, he left with distinctions in English, History and Mathematics. He joined the 9th Service Battalion of the Leicestershire Regiment as a 2nd Lieutenant and fought alongside Colonel William Bent V.C.
“Arthur wrote excellent poetry in the trenches and his 1917 anthology: ‘Crimson Stains’ was very well received.
“On 15th June 1917, near Arras, France, he was badly wounded whilst leading his men and spent nearly 24 hours in a shell-hole. First he was shot in the arm and then a bullet entered his groin and ricocheted into his stomach.
“After convalescing for months in Blackpool, he travelled with Lord Reading as: ‘Leicestershire’s Soldier Poet’, reciting his war poems to many audiences across the United States. He was very well received and copies of his books can still be purchased from that country.
“Returning to Hugglescote, he lived at 177, Central Road, opposite to my grandfather: ‘Famous Fifty’ soldier, Charlie Hatter, his wife Hetty, my mother and uncle.
“At Bridge Road School, Arthur taught my mother, uncle and father, Les. On 11th April 1932, he was appointed headmaster at Snibston Primary School.
“In 1937, he became ill in his stomach and developed pneumonia, dying on 2nd February 1937. His semi-military service was in his beloved and packed St. John the Baptist Church.
“Local streets were lined with folk as his coffin, draped with a Union Jack was taken to Hugglescote’s Cemetery. I visit that cemetery with pride and respect to see the graves of my grandparents, my parents and Arthur’s and all receive a poppy cross on Remembrance Day.”
Arthur’s poem: ‘Memory’ reflects his love for humanity:
I know a lone spot on the Arras road
Where I shall hardly bear to walk again
For fear of waking those great souls I loved
Who struggled to a death of piteous pain.
Ah! I should hear their laughter on the way,
And round my heart their boyish sighs would creep;
Till I must long to leave the rushing world
And steal away to join them in their sleep.
For only they who tread the tortured path
Of those torn roads where swaying poplars sigh,
Can dream how God could give no greater bliss
Than this hushed peace beneath the sad French sky.
I know a lone spot on the Arras road
That murmurs with the moan of Memory’s pain.
And I should grieve my heart with stifled sobs
If I could bear to walk that road again.
I am pleased to write that my great uncle had a close named after him a few years ago, so together with that and the plaque, I hope he will be remembered as a very fine poet, a brave soldier who also did a lot to educate and help those in need in his community.