George Herbert Fowler

He was commissioned into the 4th Volunteer Battalion Sherwood Foresters (Notts & Derby Regiment) as Lieutenant 26th June 1901. He was promoted Captain 24th January 1903 and posted to the 8th Battalion Sherwood Foresters in1908. He was promoted Major 9th December 1912 and Lieutenant Colonel 19th February 1915. Lt Col Fowler served in France from 1st March 1915. He was killed by a sniper on 15th October 1915 at the Hohenzollern Redoubt, Auchy-les-Mines, near Loos, while attempting to rescue Major John Pickard Becher of the 8th Battalion who had been severely wounded 30 yards from the German lines. Major Becher died of his wounds at Abbeville Hospital, France, on 1 January 1916. (See record on this Roll of Honour)Lieutenant Colonel Fowler was buried in Fouquieres Churchyard Extension, France (grave ref. I.41).An account of his funeral is given in the history of the Battalion: 'The history of the Sherwood Foresters in the Great War 1914-1919, 1/8th Battalion', pp.96-97): 'At 5.0pm on the afternoon of October 17th, the whole Battalion and many Officers of the Brigade and Division, attended the funeral of our beloved Colonel in the English cemetery, under the Church at Fouquieres, the service being taken by his old friend Padre Hales. Some eighteen months afterwards the Battalion arrived in billets six miles away from this spot ... some officers rode over to see the Colonel's grave. Around the grave, which had been carefully looked after by the Cure and other kind friends, and was covered with snowdrops and daffodils just in bloom.''On October 14th 1915 Lieutenant Colonel George Fowler led 1/8th Battalion Sherwood Foresters forward thought thick mist. Their objective was West Face, part of the Hohenzollern Redoubt, a well fortified German stronghold amidst slag heaps and ruined mine workings near Loos. Despite determined and gallant efforts by the Foresters, the battalion's official historian described the attack as 'the more or less fruitless battle of Hohenzollern Redoubt. Though we held a portion of the Redoubt as a result of the fighting, it was of no tactical value, and indeed later on was evacuated or blown up... we can only look back on the whole attack as, through no fault of our own, a dismal failure. The battle caused us enormous casualties, all to no purpose. Our Battalion alone lost seven officers (including Lieutenant Colonel Fowler) and 35 other ranks killed or died of wounds, three Officers and 132 other ranks wounded, and 14 missing, all of whom were afterwards found to have been killed.’ Captain W C C Weetman MC, Croix de Guerre [The Sherwood Foresters in the Great War 1914-1919, (Nottingham: Thomas Forman, 1920 Chapter 4)] David Nunn

Christ Church, Cinderhill (WMA 27265). The stained glass window was installed in the church in 1919 by George Fowler in memory of his son. 'The left hand light shows St George in triumph, one foot on the slain dragon. The right hand light shows St Martin, the patron saint of soldiers, with sword partly drawn from its sheath. Above the lights is a quatrefoil window with the Royal Arms and the words ‘For King and Country’ (WMA). A bronze plaque by the window reads: 'To the Glory of God and in ever loving memory of Lieut Col George Herbert Fowler and the Officers and Men of the 8th Battalion, Sherwood Foresters, who fell in the attack on Hohenzollen Redoubt, Oct 1915'There are numerous references to Lt Col Fowler with photographs in, 'Family at War: the Foljambe family and the Great War', Brigadier Jolyon Jackson (2010), ISBN 978 1 84425 943 2). (See record of Hubert Foljambe on this website)On 30th October 1915 a detailed account by a member of the Transport Section, 1/8th Battalion Nottinghamshire & Derbyshire Regiment, appeared in the local press (Nottingham Evening Post dated 30th October 1915). He recorded the death of the commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel George Herbert Fowler “HOHENZOLLERN REDOUBT.“HOW THE 8TH SHERWOODS WON UNDYING FAME.“GRAPHIC NARRATIVE OF WEEK’S OPERATIONS.“A vivid account of the part played by the 8th Sherwood Foresters in the now famous attack on the Hohenzollern Redoubt is given in a communication from a non-commissioned officer of the regiment, whose parents reside in the vicinity of Nottingham. It is in diary form, setting forth the events of each day of the momentous week, and bringing out the valour of the officers and men, and the sad losses sustained. The narrative reads:“On Saturday morning, the 9th inst., we knew we were in for some big thing, when senior N.C.O.’s had been to divisional headquarters. In the evening a party of us in Bethune found the whole division excited at the evening prospects, many men getting through their money to go into action with empty pockets.“On Sunday morning there was brigade church parade as usual; the locality never matters. After parade bombers and N.C.O.’s were taken to divisional headquarters, where the whole scheme was laid out on the ground with grass, bricks, chalk, cinders, and branches, representing English and German trenches, main roads, standing and demolished houses, pithead and dump, quarry, and cemetery. Large scale map soon gave us the complete scheme. Before returning we were shown the conversion of German trenches to our own use. The remainder of Sunday was spent in quiet, homelike style, in the best “week end” weather.“On Monday there was the final inspection of smoke helmets, pay-books, identity discs, &c., and on Tuesday we left for the advance base. After three hours’ march we arrived at the most desolate village [Fouquières] ever seen by man, passing lines of recently used trenches, and wire, rough crosses dotting the intervening space, and field guns already at work “ranging.” The German reply, but disturb nothing. In the village itself every house is disturbed, broken, or smashed in a different way. This must be seen to be understood. Billets of famous regiments are chalked on some doors, for remember we are now among the cream of the army. Our guns are still at it as we pack rations.“In the afternoon an enemy shell results in a sad procession past us of brave dead, maimed, and wounded, a famous battalion, too. The battalion come in late in the evening and pick up rations, passing silently on to the trenches. Just a passing word with friends, then the journey to first-line transports, passing other units of the division going up.“THE SIGHT OF A LIFETIME.“On Wednesday we were up at 4.30, and away to our devastated dump to pack rations for the morrow. First we see the British cemetery, a large plot containing famous graves The battalion carry rations for the whole division, but cannot fetch them until 10 a.m. Then we hurriedly clear away, for the bombardment is soon to commence. Back with the transport again. Exactly at mid-day the artillery storm opens. We go right up to the 8in. guns and see the sight of a life-time. Every one of the gun crew knows his work, and goes through the whole operation as at drill – loading, stand-to, “No. 1, fire!” While the huge machinery is still rocking with the explosion the crew are clearing up for the next shell. Cannot stand more than six rounds before your ears feel the strain.“At three o’clock the noise grows less. We guess the men are up and over. For a long time all is quiet, except the drone of a dozen aeroplanes which have been over since the bombardment started. Cannot settle down, wondering as to results. The wounded start passing through, an “8th” man soon being recognised. Four German prisoners then take our eye. At dusk the road become a huge fair of transport, ambulances, artillery, munitions, &c., the relief’s going up. Truly a sight every Englishman should see and share. Got down early in my baggage waggon bed, with one thought above all, as to a brother’s welfare. Cannot get any news through.“On Thursday up again at 4.30 in the dark and October mist to find the supply column. Nothing on the road except ambulances, ambulances, ambulances, now closed because it is cold. Another party of prisoners arouse curiosity, that is all. Our only desire is news, official news as to casualties. Nothing up to dinner-time except the numbers have diminished. Almost wish I had seen our youngster among the wounded, knowing he would be bound for home and rest. Quiet day until 3.30 afternoon. Our rations must go up as usual. Soon away again to the battered dump, passing the busy advanced dressing station.“IN THE MAZE OF TRENCHES.“As we sandbag the rations a continuous procession of stretcher cases, wounded and gassed comrades, pass, we questioning those who look firm enough to reply. One poor chap with a smashed shoulder looked to have paid a price for the helmet he carried along. All the food and fuel packed, the carrying parties and guides arrived. We have our carried by spare artillery men. Orders come for us to go up and find out as much as possible about our companies, so now for some news.“Along the road we start in the dusk, and soon file into the communication trench, cut with hard work into the communication trench, cut with hard work into the hard chalk, crouching low as we passed places where enemy shells have disturbed its protection, now known to their snipers. Our guides do not quite know where to find the battalion, and we are soon lost in the biggest maze of trenches imaginable, catching wires overhead, tripping on the ground wires, crushing past returning parties, crouching to pass a stretcher on the shoulders of its bearers – how these men are working – studying the signposts for our destination. All this makes the journey ever eventful.“At last we stop in the trench left before the charge, and having deposited our loads look round for a rest. Am stopped just as seating myself on the firing step by a chum at my side, who has sat on a poor Tommy laid in his last, and I was going to sit on him too. No one knows where the companies are, so gather all possible information from guides, signallers, stretcher-bearers, and return. This time the communication trench is being shelled and heavily sniped, so we lose no time in making for “home.” Again I entangle myself in signal wire at every possible opportunity.“When we get out find that everybody of our party has seen my brother on both journeys except myself. However, am settled to know he is well. The summary of gathered information round the field kitchen fire is the most popular officer in the battalion, already with honours, is gone. His widow has to bear the loss of her two brothers in the same charge. A noted home county cricketer has given his “bat up.” In spite of this they continue to hold the redoubt, and reliefs are already on the way, a regiment famous in London for its ceremonial. What an eventful day, so now for another night in the G.S. [General Service] waggon and wait for the morrow.“A VISIT TO THE CEMETERY.“On Friday mist again, but not cold. No news down yet except minor details of their early morning change of yesterday. A terrible piece of news to hand through divisional staff which we hope above all is but a rumour. Our commanding officer has fallen. Have now been up to ruined village to find this latter news is only too true. News also that our second in command has been found in front of our parapet with broken legs, and may yet be saved to the battalion. Have also visited the British cemetery to see the rough yet tender internment of our comrades who have died at the dressing station. Pioneers and R.A.M.C. orderlies working busily together. A long row of hidden forms lay on the grass, in line in life, in line in death, covered by waterproof sheet, blanket, or topcoat; the chaplains assisting in the heavier work too.“Have a close walk round the graves, famous regiments, famous names in English households, all fallen since the end of September. The Roman Catholic Irish regiments have a corner to themselves. On some graves are monumental crosses, worked by their comrades from the very substance of the trenches. At the main entrance a French grave on the right of the path, a Scots on the left, both fallen in the same cause. Again we wait for news. Soon comes the order, pack up for more, and soon the brigade first line transport is streaming back a long rumble in the dark, to some strange village. A chat with the billeting officer and we examine our future abodes. If those at home could see them!“A signaller sent from the trenches brings the definite news at last that the colonel has gone [1], also a welcome surprise that his second in command has been located on our front and is still alive – two days out there and yet alive [2]. We wander out at midnight, to meet the companies; waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, at last falling asleep at the cross roads, awaking only at dawn. Soon comes the muddy stream of unshaven faces, tattered clothes, and here and there dangling trophies of the previous 72 hours. What tales each has to tell, and we learn of many gone – killed, crushed, or gassed, men brought right through from the old English training. Breakfast prepared, eagerly eaten, blankets issued, and soon everybody is in the land of peaceful slumber, perchance to dream of home, not of their doings.“Here these ramblings must cease, as we now settle down to re-equip, reorganise, and prepare for the next orders. People in the home counties will be surprised and grieved when they see the casualty lists, especially of the officers. They will never know the trying times those lads of the land have been through, what they have seen, and how they have behaved. These lines have been written at any opportune time during the last few days, with some attempt to convey to those at home the grooves in which we move during such a period. Close with prayers for the peaceful repose of those gone “west,” comfort for those bereaved at home, help for the wounded, and a quick return for the unfortunate prisoners.“BURIAL OF THE COLONEL.“In a postscript the writer adds:- This brief narrative would not be complete without reference to the most impressive funeral of our dear colonel. The tired and weary battalion woke up soon after midday on Saturday, and cleared up as well as possible. Marched away at tea time to a French churchyard, where his form already lay in a flower-lined grave, and blanketed the same as his men. All his divisional and brigade officers, and crowds of others who knew him so well.” [1] Lieutenant Colonel George Herbert Fowler, 1/8th Battalion Nottinghamshire & Derbyshire Regiment, killed in action 15th October 1915. Buried in Fouquieres Churchyard Extension.[2] Major John Pickard Becher D.S.O., 1/8th Battalion Nottinghamshire & Derbyshire Regiment, died of wounds 1st January 1916. Buried Abbeville Communal Cemetery. Son of the late John Henry and Alice Mary Becher, of Southwell, Nottinghamshire; husband of G. Veronica Becher, of The Elms, Southwell, Nottinghamshire. His son John Henry Becher fell in the 1939-1945 War.Above article is courtesy of Jim Grundy and his facebook page Small Town Great War Hucknall 1914-1918