240842 Pte. John Edward Trickett British Army 10th Btn. Sherwood Foresters from:Grassmore, Derbys My father, Jack Trickett, signed up in 1914 and was soon thereafter sent over to France with the Sherwood Forresters. Hit and wounded on 14 Feb 1916 at the Battle of the Bluff, he regained consciousness to see German boots running by the dead and wounded. He did not know whether to call out for help or to lay silent and decided on the latter. Soon, he was picked up by a German medical corps and treated on a stretcher (with no anaesthetics) to remove shrapnel from his body.
He was transferred to the prisoner of war camp in Merseburg, where he was to remain until 1919. He was made to work in a stone quarry nearby and survived the worldwide flu epidemic of 1917.
During those hard years, he kept a German diary, still in the family's possession. In the diary, he reported about the food and otherwise parcels that he received - sometimes with items missing. One entry states that he wrote to the commanding officer of the camp to demand an explanation. At the end of his entries, he would commonly add 'expect answer' - this one was no exception! He mentioned letters sent home and also received 'asking for cigarettes and clothing'. One such entry asked his mother to ensure that 'my brother Bill is not to wear my best suit'.
His entry for the 11th of Nov 1918 was 'fighting ceased this day' and every entry thereafter expressed his hope to be home by Christmas. That was not to be, as he finally was repatriated via Denmark and the North Sea in Jan 1919. His war was still not over as the North Sea was heavily mined. Finally he reached British soil and got to see a family he had not seen for over four years.
He eventually married the widow of his best friend, Harry Strawther, who had been fighting at the Battle alongside him and probably received the direct shell, from which the shrapnel hit my father and others. Hannah Strawther was left with two small children. My sister and I were born later.
As a small child, I remember discovering his blood-stained khaki uniform in an army kit bag stored away in a cupboard. He would never speak of the war and his memories until he was in his eighties.
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