Ernest
Sykes (4th April 1855 to 3rd August 1949)
The cemetery was difficult to find, never mind the
headstone. I drove about five miles down Meltham Road
scanning for church spires. The surrounding countryside offered nothing up so I
drove the length again then again and stopped for a coffee from the flask to
wonder if my brain was melting. I drove into Meltham town
and nobody could help so I drove about five miles to Huddersfield end – a
church – yes but no cemetery – bum! A man who was even scruffier than me was
swaggering down the road swigging from a can of lager. He was a local and told
me where the cemetery was.
“I’ll be in
there myself within ten years,” he said with a smile showing teeth that could
have been painted with Ronseal fence paint (the green or brown version.)
I thanked him
and he said, “You haven’t got a couple of fags ‘ave yer?” I wish I had to thank him as I wouldn’t have found
the graveyard without his directions (I almost dipped in my pocket for 50p.)
It took about fifteen minutes to find the headstone
and all I had was a grainy photograph from The
Sun newspaper. They’d mounted a noteworthy campaign to restore many of the
neglected headstones of soldiers awarded the Victoria Cross. I matched up the
blurry trees in to the photograph with the real tress and stumbled on the
headstone – literally. Here is Ernest Sykes.
You’d think a man with a name like Ernest Sykes may be a shy
unassuming gentleman running a small pet shop or keeping an oven in a biscuits
factory. However aged 32 he was in the Northumberland Fusiliers fighting in the
First World War near Arras in France. On Easter Monday 9th April
1917 when families back at home were enjoying a day off with their families he
was under deathly gun attack with his battalion. The firepower from the front
and sides was so fierce the battalion couldn’t fight back and they were held
up. Many were bleeding, many had died instantly. Nobody knew if they’d get out
of this.
Ernest rushed
out into the blooded bullet-peppered fields and brought back a wounded man - five times. Normally someone would face death
under relentless machine gun fire but, for unknown reasons akin to kismet and
fortune, some people survived without so much as a cut finger. He had bandaged
all those too badly injured to be moved. Until help came.
He fought again in World War II in the 25th Battalion West
Riding Home Guard but died just 64 after working for many years for the railways.
I knew I’d find it as I’d read an
article about the headstone being cleaned up….
Meeting George V to pick up the
medal…
…and there it is…
