Frederick William Hedges (6^th June 1896 to 29^th May 1954)

Though I knew there was no grave to salute I still called at Harrogate’s main cemetery to see where a brave dude had been turned to ashes. I had a coffee and a cheese & onion sandwich in the motorhome before getting out and sauntering round the war graves section and crematorium. Soldier Frederick Hedges was cremated here after a committing suicide.

The crematorium will have been refurbished many times since 1954 but it was probably still inside this small building in the middle of the cemetery - 4700 miles away from India where Fred was born in June 1896. He was the seventh of nine children, all stationed in India while his dad served in the 12th Royal Lancers. By the time he was five the family had returned home to England and bought a home in Middlesex. By age eighteen he enlisted into the Queen Victoria's Rifles London to fight in the First World War. Within three months his platoon left for France to fight in the First Battle of Ypres. He was soon back in England though - in a hospital with severe frostbite from sitting in snow-covered trenches. He returned to France to fight but was hit by flying shrapnel and hospitalised again.

In July 1917 the 21-year-old was back in France and was lucky enough to survive fighting in three battles ((the Battle of Epehy, Selle and Sambre.) In the middle battle on Thursday 24^th October 1918 he was a Captain fighting north-east of Le Cateau. His orders were to advance the troops to a small hamlet on the south-western edge of Mormal Forest. They started at 4am, crossing difficult terrain and reaching the hamlet at 6am. To their dismay the Germans held a strong position in the woods and started firing to kill. Fred and his troops responded with their Lewis guns but as they emerged from the edge of the wood their way was blocked by more machine guns in a row mounted on the opposite hill.

At about 2 pm Frederick decided to clear these posts (as you do) and with a sergeant they surged ahead with the platoon behind them. Fred was carrying just a revolver and cane and he waved the former when he wanted his men to dash forward. Fred crawled up the hill behind a hedge then broke cover and ran ahead killing the first machine-gunner. He worked along the crest of the hill and dealt with three more machine gun posts (it’s not known if he killed them.) In total fourteen prisoners were taken (he removed the feed-blocks out of the guns to render them impotent.) Soon all the six Boche machine gun posts were captured and the line of German resistance collapsed.

The platoon swept forward to seize Renuart Farm, the French inhabitants emerging from the cellars to welcome them. There were smiles and excited shouts and hot cakes and potatoes for the soldiers that night. Despite this outstanding bravery Fred was wounded again later on in a fight at Mormal Forest, a bullet through the right shoulder and a three inch crack in his skull. Again he was taken back to a hospital in Southampton and it was in bed here he heard the war had ended.

At 23 he’d married Mollie Kenworthy but shortly after he smashed his leg while on-duty in a motorbike, colliding with a car (driven by the managing director of Leyland Motors.) The doctors said Fred wasn’t a well man probably after his experiences in the war. Frederick and Mollie had a son John, Mollie having such a difficult birth and they avoided her getting pregnant again.

Aged 43, as the Second World War raged, Fred was elected Chairman of the Teddington Branch of the British Legion. Sadly his son John went to a friend's birthday party and died. A friend rowed across the river to collect him in a dinghy but soon water was at their feet and it capsized in fast-flowing water. John drowned and his body was found a month later. This ruined Fred and Mollie’s lives and Fred started to drink more to cope with the loss.

Soon he continued his British Legion duties giving support for former Servicemen. On the tenth anniversary of John's death he got blind drunk and a magistrate fined him and suspended his driving licence for two years. He accepted an offer of private treatment in a local clinic, the doctors believing his drinking was linked to profound head injuries in the war (Mollie thought it was anxiety linked to their death of their son.)

Aged 56 he retired on the grounds of ill health but spent much of May 1954 confined to bed. One morning Mollie left the house but when she returned about 45 minutes later she found Fred had hanged himself. The coroner reported Fred had taken his own life while the balance of his mind was disturbed He was cremated here at Stonefall Crematorium. Mollie and her sister collected the ashes and scattered them over the flower beds of the local public gardens where Fred enjoyed walking.

While strolling around the cemetery I found myself in need of a poo (I never use the one in the motorhome.) I spotted a small brick building containing an ancient toilet. Nobody was around so I left my bag and keys on the window ledge outside. I sat on the seat that was so cold it would have frozen a penguin. Behind me was a frosted window. Suddenly someone knocked their knuckles on the pane, “Wouldn’t leave your keys out here mate.” Blimey can’t a man drop anchor in peace these days. I filled up the motorhome water tank, did at hearty salute at the crematorium and left.

There’s a little footage of Fred’s homecoming here…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmK_ZOHeuMM