The Bellewaarde 1915 Memorial Appeal

Going, Going, 'Gong'!

Besides old boxes of play-worn Dinky and other toys (a subject for another day perhaps), one thing to be found in most homes, lurking at the back of a bureau drawer or in the bottom of a jewellery box, is the odd military medal awarded to some distant ancestor. As Great Britain built it’s now long gone empire, or indeed fought for the liberty of its allies in two World Wars, it recognised the sacrifice of its soldiers by awarding medals, and most families won’t have to climb far into their respective family trees in order to find an ancestor who served King and country.

To the untrained eye one ‘gong’, a term coined by soldiers to refer to their medals, looks much like another. For this reason we auctioneers are commonly presented with inherited family medals which turn out to be Royal commemoratives or school attendance awards of relatively little collector value. However, find the right medal in that pile of old papers and it could prove to be rather valuable indeed. Just recently a client did just that, arriving at our saleroom with their late uncle’s Second World War group, or more specifically a SOE gallantry group with Military Medal, later selling for £12,100 at auction. 

So what does one look for to help identify and value those dusty old family medals? Well, the good news is; aside from campaign medals issued for the Second World War, the British generally struck the recipient’s details around the edge of the award. Get a magnifier, take a look and you will most likely identify the rank, name and unit of your ancestor. While the medals themselves are generally self explanatory, their design incorporating the monarch, date and campaign, or reasons for the award. All of these factors contribute to the medal’s value; those for obscure campaigns, or to ‘sought after units’ such as the SAS or Special Forces commanding greater values than those say to the ubiquitous artillery Gunner of the Great War. Take for example a pair of First World War medals, issued let’s say to an artilleryman. At auction they would cost around £20-30 to purchase due to the large number issued, reflecting the tens of thousands of soldiers fighting. 

Medals can further be categorised as either campaign or gallantry awards. The former were issued to all soldiers serving in a given war or campaign, while the latter were issued for specific acts of bravery and generally command the highest prices. The first officially issued campaign medal was done so retrospectively by Queen Victoria, to those still alive who had fought at Waterloo, prices for these start at around £2000. However the aforementioned campaign medals for World War Two, not individually named as an economy measure, and indeed a great source of hurt to those who received them, can be valued at around £10 per medal.

So there you have it. Take a closer look at those old military medals; they’ll tell a tale and also have the potential to be very valuable indeed. 

Marked Most Secret: Operation Locksmith

After seventy years of silence, a humbling story of bravery by a Second World soldier, and indeed that of his team, is finally being shared this month at our saleroom. A rare SOE Gallantry medal group, awarded to signaller Sergeant Thomas Handley, is to be sold on Sunday September 6th, and is the result of a tale both as dramatic as it is tragic. For like many such awards, it was requested that no details should be made public, nor communicated to the press; leaving Handley’s family firmly in the dark for a lifetime. 

Serving with the Royal Signals from 1940, it is believed Handley was an early volunteer for Commando and operational paratroop training, before seeing active service in the Middle East, and ultimately with the Special Operations Executive’s Cairo office. Known as SEO, it was a British World War II organisation, officially formed by the Minister of Economic Warfare Hugh Dalton in 1940. The directive was simple, its forces were to conduct espionage, sabotage and reconnaissance in occupied Europe against Axis powers, whilst also aiding local resistance movements. 

Whilst Handley’s service prior to 1943 still remains shrouded in mystery, what is clear is that in this year he took part in Operation Locksmith, a mission intended to block the Corinth Canal. The proposed method being that of a ‘blockship’, whereby a ship is deliberately sunk in order to prevent a channel being used. The four-man party led by Lieutenant Commander C M B Cumberlege, DSO and bar, disembarked in uniform, from a submarine on the east coat of Greece, near Poros on January 14th, laden with specially designed magnetic explosives. Within three days Handley had successfully opened up wireless communication with Cairo, which he maintained, despite their hideout being betrayed by a Greek fisherman ten days later. The group moved quickly by night, but were forced to make several risky journeys in order to laboriously carry the two tons of munitions and explosives with which they were burdened. 

Despite further interventions by both German and Italian forces, the team successfully  deposited their mines as intended, although it appears that the delayed action fuses failed to detonate, or where otherwise ineffectual, as no blockship came about. Thereafter, following treachery from hostile locals, and a fire fight with a German patrol, the unit’s radios, complete with secret code books were captured by German forces. What transpired next has never been fully explained, but what is known is that Handley received a message, purporting to be from SOE Cairo, although almost certainly sent by the Germans using the seized wireless set, informing the team of a rendezvous with a British submarine, though in fact a trap, which finally lead to their capture in April.

While his comrades were imprisoned, it appears Handley, under duress, was forced by the Germans to send false messages back to SOE Cairo. However Handley, at great personal risk, managed to insert covert ‘tells’ into these communications alerting Cairo of his compromised situation, right through to the month of June, despite knowledge that discovery regularly resulted in the immediate shooting of the operator. That it was Handley operating the wireless set was beyond doubt to the three operators at the Cairo end, who confirmed that all transmissions were in Handley’s own inimitable style. Furthermore, Handley, as usual, was doing the enciphering. The result was that excellent use was made of this contact with the enemy for MI9, where false information was fed out, and much made of the ‘smoke’ received in return. 

However it was not to last, and Handley was eventually ‘caught at his own game’. On September 24^th a reliable Greek contact who had been asked to attempt to secure the escape of the party, telegraphed to inform officials that the four men had been at Stalag VIII-B concentration camp in Lamsdorf since May. This was contrary to Hitler’s infamous ‘Commando Order’ whereby captured Allied commandos be summarily executed. For a time in 1944 it was believed the party had been moved to Stalag Luft III, before being last heard of at the POW camp at Sachsenhausen, Oranienburg, east of Berlin, toward the middle of February, 1945. From here Lieutenenat Jack Churchill, DSO, MC, brought home a message from Cumberlege, an extract of which read; All charges against us baseless.

The men were brutally treated during their time in captivity. Following the war, a full investigation was launched into the fate of the party. A former inmate of the camp, who was employed as an orderly, was interviewed, and provides the only account of the fate of the men. He remembered the Locksmith four, together with two other Allied captive soldiers. They had been denied Red Cross parcels and their health was poor, they were emaciated, suffered from skin and teeth complaints, and were kept in solitary confinement. The orderly, alongside other Allied POW’s on a better diet, were reduced to smuggling food to the six at night whenever possible.

He last saw the men on our about April 10th 1945 when they were all transported by ambulance car to the Industriehof where they were murdered. He was not a witness, but knew too well the procedure; in every instance when a prisoner left the Zellenbau in his prison garb, his fate was all but inevitable. In cases of normal release, prisoners invariably left either in their uniforms or civilian clothes. Following their departure he had been required to assist the Head Camp Orderly in packing their effects and taking them to the Komandantur, from where, it was said, they were despatched to the Gestapo HQ Columbia-Haus, Berlin. By chance he later also received the men’s prison uniforms, returned by accident, and forwarded them on to the camp boiler room where they were summarily burned. The uniforms had been unimpaired, which led to his assumption that the six may have been gassed or hanged, although it was also common practice for victims to remove their own clothing under pretence of a medical exam, before facing a firing squadron. Handley was 30 years old, and before the war he had been a librarian. 

Handley was awarded the Military Medal while a prisoner of war. An extract from the recommendation for the award reads ‘Without consideration of his personal safety, he took a grave risk the whole time in deliberately hoodwinking the enemy in a manner which has in other cases resulted in the immediate shooting of the operator.” 

Handley’s family only discovered his bravery, and fate, in 2000, when previously sealed documents, including a transcript of the above interview, were eventually disclosed. Finally bringing to light the work of these valiant few, and closing the chapter in a family, for too long left unwritten. 

- GN

The medal group will be included in an auction of military medals, arms and militaria, and carries a pre-sale auction estimate of £10,000-20,000.

May 25th Military Auction

Finding Fred & Nance

Arriving at our saleroom this week was a wooden writing box containing long-forgotten secrets.

Unassuming, and Edwardian in date it had been found at the back of an airing cupboard where it had slumbered, undisturbed for some sixty years. Having a faux-marquetry exterior, it opens to reveal a purple velvet heart, with ink jar and pen slide. A perfectly preserved portal to the past, containing a cluttered confetti of clues.

Comprising a 1930s broken brooch, a premature souvenir-pencil marking the coronation of Edward VIII in May 1937, a wax seal with the letter ‘M’ or ‘W’ depending upon which way you hold it, an ink pen and birthday candles. Together with an early 20th Century needlework sampler worked by ‘A. Wyles’ dedicated to the month of May (‘With sun and dew / And gentle showers / Welcome Welcome / Month of Flowers’), a Victorian velvet choker, and a small wedding bouquet of white paper flowers. In this context, and nestled beneath a secret stationary compartment, was a bundle of love letters between wartime sweethearts Lawrence Frederick Heald, and his beloved ‘Nance’.

“I hope you got my telegram O.K darling, it was funny we drew for leave out of the hat. How I prayed my name would come out and my prayers were answered. Darling, how happy I am just to think that in a few days time I shall be in your arms. I hope sweetheart, that you will be able to make the arrangements so we can get married as soon as possible.” Written in blue ink on official Catterick Garrison notepaper, dated Monday 5th August 1940, the above line is taken from a series of pages that span a four year period.

Each sheet in the cache is saturated with a full spectrum of distilled human emotion. From affection, in its most tentative and confident forms, to anguish, courage, desire and despair, mixed together in equal measure with hope and hysteria. And yet it is, perhaps, the generous dose of innocence, combined with a heady-mix of fear and absolute, immediate danger, that are the most unknown elements to a modern heart. In a world where information is omnipresent, and safety a relative given, it is the lost quality of guileless love, combined with ever-present peril that make these letters so potent, and indeed important.

The letters were saved, smoothed out and placed in an alternating fashion, like layers of an onion or faded wallpaper. Within the fold are a number of newspaper cuttings featuring a swimmer called Annie Wilson, pointing to the identity of our mysterious ‘Nance’. In a teasing fragment of a letter, Fred writes; “I will not put TWO TON ANNIE on your envelope, but do not think I am afraid of a little mouse like you.” Fred however, we can identify fully, as in a charming letter confirming his wish for the pair to marry - at the beginning of his week-long leave, he adds a ‘P.S’ which includes ‘particulars’ that she may need to know in order to get a licence, informing her of his date and place of birth “23-5-1909, Stockton-on-Tees” and giving his profession as a “soldier”. Drawing to a close with one final; “P.P.S. I love you my own with all my heart”.

The pair met after a chance encounter at a county dance in Carlisle. Fred describes it beautifully; “Remember sweetheart, it must have been fate that got me to go to the county dance the night I met you. How I have thanked God for that meeting darling, and I shall always remember it because I met and fell madly in love with the finest girl in the world.” In the same letter Fred touches upon more current fears, he writes: ’You ask me if I would cry if you were killed. Although I am sure you will not be I would go mad if you were. You are the whole world to me and always will be. I could not live without you and your love. Never be afraid darling, even if the Raiders do come over remember you belong to a soldier.’

The knife-edge on which the pair’s love played out is all too apparent for the reader, and must have been excruciating to experience. Writing to each other every day, something as simple as a late post, or lost letter can stir up fraught emotions. Even Fred’s sudden telegram delivering good news about his unexpected leave, causes Nance distress when at first she receives it. She writes “… then came the telegram boy. I rushed round to open it, the only thought was were you both alright, had anything happened. Then darling I read it.” By both she also refers to her brother, who it seems has not been heard from in a long time. She also chastises Fred for failing to tell her how to arrange a wedding or indeed who his family or friends are. She complains “Freddie you didn’t say much in your letter. You didn’t say how many of your friends were coming, and you didn’t send me the addresses.” She is unaware that Fred’s friends are all also in the army and are therefore unable to attend. On the question of a best man he even writes “… could you get one for me darling?”

The build up to the wedding day is a torment, and as a reader you find yourself feeding off the fear falling from the pages. A few days beforehand Nance sums it up by writing “Just think that if nothing unforeseen happens in the next three days you will be my own.” While Fred worries about being seen as cowardly by turning down work in the run up. “I know you would agree with me for not putting in for that special job. I was a bit worried because I was thinking a lot of the fellows would think those who did not put in for it were cowards. Darling, although we are not yet married I consider it my duty to remain as near to you as possible.” He also reflects on Nance’s brother and their predicament “I am sorry to hear you do not know where Bobbie is. I wish he could have come. I think it will be best to have a quiet wedding darling. After all, it is the Wartime, and quiet weddings are fashionable.” He signs off with “Take care of yourself until I can take care of you.”

Thankfully a gap of one week here falls, and in this spot the happy couple were also rewarded with a telegram from the illusive Bobby. Confirming our girls name, being addressed to a Miss A Wilson, he writes “Sorry cant get home wishing you all the best for your future happiness = Bob” [sic].

If the letters before the wedding can be summed up in a desire to belong to one another, to be joined before the worst happens, then the letters following can be defined as a desire to begin again, the promise of a future together, living together, sharing a home and a family. All these things seem such a fantasy in their words. The prospect that they may not meet again, looming, ever present. First to break the wedding silence, Nance writes “I am here doing the same old things but this time it’s different, we belong to each other now, and will belong to each other forever. You took every bit of me and my love as I lay there, close beside you in your arms. The happiness those thoughts gave to me as I walked home alone from the station. As we stood there by the train how I wanted to tell you to take care of yourself but I just couldn't speak. Rather sweetly, and innocently she further alludes to their time spent together, writing “I thought I’d come back looking a wreck, as Jean said I would, but on the contrary I’ve never felt better in my life.” Jean’s experience must have been a little different!

The fear of the war is now met with a new strength, brought about by their joined force. Nance writes “you needn't worry my own, if the Jerries do come over I shouldn't even be afraid of anything so long as you are beside me Freddie. I don’t care if a dozen bombers come over. We’ll just stay in bed together, in each others arms.” Although she does have a plan of action for when his is not around; “they are over almost every night now, but its not often I hear them, I always sleep too well.  […] I told our Helen that from now on she’ll have to sleep in decent jarmas, and you know what she said, she said ‘I sleep in my undies nearly every night ready to run’. What a laugh for anyone who might see our skinny Helen in her undies, she’s about as fat as a match’.

However the real and ever present danger of wartime is never far from the surface, with Fred being scrambled suddenly, and prepped for a departure abroad. He writes to Nance in the December of 1941 to give her the bad news, and her reply three days later is a testament to the strain. She writes “I got your letter on Friday night and my stomach dropped through me and my world nearly crashed down. […] I prayed as never before, all night long I prayed and the night seemed endless. And I held your letter so tight to me as I prayed. And when the morning came for me to go to work I was still on my knees.” Finally Fred manages to reach her by telephone to say the skirmish has been called off, it was a false alarm. Nance reflects on this, writing “Then oh my darling when I heard your voice I nearly cried with relief, did you hear me? Darling pray and pray hard that all is going to be well, I am Freddie.”

The letters between the pair, end as abruptly as they began, with a note from Nance dated Sunday 16th April 1944. Relaxed in its style, she informs him of her Easter weekend, what she has been eating and how a grouse claw that Bobbie sent her looks fine in her Harris suit. She also talks of a photograph Fred is having taken; “I am looking forward to having your photo with me. Now Freddie, get yourself planted in the middle and don’t let yourself look serious darling will you. Just relax. I do hope it comes out lovely, I’m looking forward to getting it Freddie, so keep smiling.” She signs off with “Oh I don’t half wish this war was over Freddie, and you were back with me again darling. […] Take great care of yourself for me, and heres all my love and kisses to you until we meet again. Goodnight and God Bless you, keep you safe now and always, yours forever and ever, your own loving wife Nance.”

There is no more. We do not know what happened to our pair. Did Nance ever get that photograph, and did Fred suppress his frown? The biggest question is did he ever return? Did they finally get their own home, start their own family and see out their years together? Did they enjoy the 50s, the swinging 60s, right through to the 1980s, and beyond? Did Nance forget their letters in her old writing box, being too busy making happy memories? Or did she choose to close the lid on that chapter in her life, and tuck it away, hidden from view. Their whole lifetime is now behind us, gone in the blink of an eye. A mystery, from which all remains is the memory. Brought back from the brink by a chance encounter with an old writing box.

I would love to hear from anyone who could help us close the final chapter on the story of Fred and Nance.

Georgina