Birth

Enlistment Information

Military Service

Embarkation Information

Military Awards

Death

Biographical Notes

Cecil Frederick George Humphries was born on 27 October 1886 at Mataura, the son of Charles John Humphries and Ada Rebecca née Bond, later Mrs Rowse. Cecil’s father, a proprietor and publican of the Bridge Hotel, Mataura, died there in 1896; two years later his mother married Henry James Rowse. Ada and Henry had two sons born at Waimate. Cecil was educated at Mataura School and then for a few months at Kaikorai School in Dunedin. At Mataura School he gained a good attendance certificate in 1894, and again in 1895. When his mother remarried, he transferred to Waimate School. Young Cecil made his mark in rugby football while at Waimate. He was selected to play in the Waimate District High School first fifteen to play against Timaru High School boys on 11 August 1900; 12 days later he was in the wing position to play against Waitaki High School. In the 1902 match against Temuka High School, Waimate was successful and won by six points to nil, even though their team was thought to be rather weak. ‘Humphries, who played like a “Trojan” throughout the game, scored a try after a splendid dribbling rush.’ [Waimate Daily Advertiser, 6 May 1902] On leaving school he joined the staff of Guinness and LeCren; sometime after he left Waimate for Christchurch. In 1911 Cecil and his sister Alice were at the Excelsior Hotel in Christchurch where their mother was the proprietress and Cecil the manager. In Christchurch Cecil played for the Christchurch football team. In the match against Marist in 1911 he was in the forwards where he led a rush which put Marist under pressure. Christchurch ran out winners by 34 to 3. He became well-known in football circles in Christchurch as a “crack” player and a Canterbury representative. The next year saw him playing golf at the New Brighton Club, where he soon became one of the leading players of the club. Shortly after he presented a prize for first at the Red and Black Association’s indoor athletics tournament, he himself being prominent in athletics. And early in 1913 this noted swimmer and member of the New Brighton Surf Club was successful in gaining a bronze medallion and proficiency certificate in the Royal Life-Saving Society’s examination. Cecil was also selected in a team to represent the Licensed Victuallers’ Association in a friendly game of cricket against a club connected to an opera company, in Christchurch in February 1913. It appears that Cecil made a trip to New South Wales, Australia in mid 1913, when burglary was rampant. He and an Ashburton friend were staying at a house at Potts Point when housebreakers ransacked the place, carrying off £50 worth of jewellery and money among other property belonging to the two New Zealanders.

Cecil Humphries was holidaying in England when war broke out. He and his mother, and probably his younger sister, Esme, and his two half-brothers, Francis William Rowse and Henry Alwyn Rowse, had left Christchurch in mid-February 1914 on a twelve months’ holiday trip round the world. After three months on the Continent, they had gone to England.

He enlisted at Whitehall, London, immediately, simply as Cecil Humphries, and was drafted into the Army Service Corps in London with the rank of sergeant (Service Number SS/207). His nominated next-of-kin was his mother – Mrs Ada Rebecca Rowse, Hotel Madrid, Cromwell Road, Kennsington. Cecil was 27 years 284 days old, single and of Church of England affiliation. He was 5 feet 9¾ inches tall, weighed 170 pounds, and had a chest measurement of 42 inches with 3 inches expansion. His complexion was fresh, his eyes grey and his hair brown. His physical development and pulse rate were excellent. A pass was issued for travel from London to Aldershot, which included a Ration allowance and noted that he was travelling in plain dress. After a short time at Aldershot he went to the front about the middle of August. As of 27 August 1914, he was a clerk at Le Havre. Soon after going to France, he threw in his stripes and, at his own request, transferred on 15 October 1915 to the First Manchester Regiment, Indian Expeditionary Force, as a private (Service Number 14000). Cecil wanted to be involved in the front line. He considered that it was “too slow for a healthy young New Zealander who wanted to be doing things.” Promotion soon came, however, and he was made lance-corporal on Christmas Eve.

A most interesting letter written by Cecil Humphries “In the Trenches, 4/12/14” reached a Christchurch gentleman in response to his kind messages. Cecil gives a graphic account of fighting Germans and snow –

“I suppose I must tell you something of these awful places they call trenches. In fine weather they are not so bad, but in snow and rain, why, the mud is deeper than in some of the Christchurch streets after they have been pulled up a few times by the council and Gas Company. The enemy's trenches are only twenty yards in front of ours, and we can hear them talking and singing quite plainly; and all day long we ‘exchange cards’ by means of hand bombs, which, by the way, are made of ‘bully-beef’ tins and jam tins, filled with anything hard, such as metals, nails, and even pieces of grave stone. “All the fighting is done under the shadow of darkness, and it is generally ‘Stand to!’ most of the night, and sleep in the day time. My first experience of trench work was a sixteen days' spell without a wash or a shave; and you can understand what I looked like. . . . . .

“About ten days ago we had a big fall of snow, and two privates and a lieutenant of the Leicesters (next trench to ours) volunteered to go out and cut the enemy's barbed wire in front. So as to try and creep up they disguised themselves by means of sheets, and, dressed completely in white, they crept up and cut the wires, but had got back within 20ft of their own trench when a machine-gun killed one private and wounded the officer, who, stumbling forward, got caught in our own entanglements, and met a terrible death by wounds, barbed wire, and frost. “While I write, these poor unfortunates lie over the wires in front of us, their bodies rotting, and we are powerless to do anything, as it would mean certain death to anyone who dared to go out to bring them in and give them a soldier's burial. . . . . .

We are well looked after, and have plenty of warm clothing (including a fur coat, which I should think was New Zealand rabbit skins). The food is wonderfully good, and, from the amount of tobacco some of the boys smoke, I think they must be trying to make human chimneys of themselves. The people of England send luxuries to us, and sometimes most strange parcels arrive. In one I received was some turtle soup — and very nice, too. . . . .”

Some of his delightful, detailed, ‘racy’ and interesting letters to his mother were forwarded to his aunt in New Zealand. The first of Cecil Humphries’ letters, addressed to “My Darling Mother,” was dated “In the Trenches, Dec. 16, 1914 (noon).”

These extracts tell his story - Here we are again, still merry and bright; the weather conditions have greatly improved, and our feet arc not nearly so cold these last few nights. To-morrow night, all being well, we are off to the “cowshed” for seven days' rest, and well we need it, as we all, more or less, look the worse for this straining vigil we must keep up. My “little home” is nearly complete now, even to a cat. While I was looking through my loop-hole, I heard the pitiful cry of a kitten and coaxed it in. It is now sitting on my knee, playing, regardless of all this noise and clatter. I will take it out tomorrow night and give it to the old lady at the farm. . . . . . . , the enemy's trenches are but 25 to 30 yards off in one portion of our trenches, and we can hear them talking quite plainly, and you will hardly believe it, but we had some very fine music in a solo from “Tannhauser,” with a jolly good chorus. It does seem strange, all this. After they had finished, by way of our appreciation we sent over two well-directed bombs which stopped the singing. This is the eleventh night and twelfth day in these trenches, but we are all well, and are being relieved tomorrow night. Then for a wash, shave and a change. If you could only see me now, the dirt is well ground in, and it will need some digging out. This morning a tantalising sniper kept hitting the top of my loop-hole and knocking the earth into my cheese. . . . . . . Our greatest worry at present is bombs. We have men on the look-out, and you will hear them call “ducks” (stands for look-out) right or left, and then it is a case of into the little hole again. This morning some of the boys were sitting round their little bucket of glowing charcoal, when a bomb landed amongst them, but they were fortunate, as all the damage was done to the breakfast, and beyond having their hair singed, they are quite all right, but the language is quite unfit for me to repeat, and I am sure any bullock-driver would feel proud to have mastered such a flow. Tucker on this job is always the first consideration. . . . . . . I am going to make a “bully stew,” consisting of bully beef, a couple of onions the Indians gave me, some bread (allowed a round a day), and a canteen of tea. . . . . . , we were marched off to the village church, which is of the old Gothic style, with the graveyard round it. . . . . . The Germans here, as everywhere else, have found their marks with several shells, the altar and beautiful stained glass windows at the back were broken and scattered in ruins. . . . . . . The white-surpliced English clergyman stood beside the ruined altar, conducting service well within reach of shells. In fact, one could plainly hear the rapid fire of rifles, booming of big guns, the screeching of shells, and the buzz of an aeroplane overhead. . . . . . . “God save the King” was sung with feeling at the close.

December 7th —We had a rotten time of it last night; fell in at dusk, and had a seven-mile march with picks and shovels, and in the rain and mud, had to start digging a trench. I have done some hard work lately, but this was really hard labour. . . . . . with our equipment on, and extra ammunition, it seemed doubly hard. As the night was dark, we finished our work without being seen by the enemy, and I can tell you it was a weary, wet, and tired band who trudged those seven miles through mud and slush to our little haven of rest —the “cowshed.” No bath or change, but I fell into my bunk of straw, wet through and with the blankets over me.

A convent at X---, in reserve, resting, December 18th. — . . . . . . We landed dead beat, and spreading my oil sheet on the floor, and my pack for a pillow, I wrapped myself in my blanket, and all was blank until daylight. I am getting quite used to sleeping like this, but there is one thing I cannot master, and that is getting used to a half-wet blanket against one's face and neck. I often long for the feeling of a cold white sheet, and, in fact (you will laugh), some of the boys got some bedding, etc., from one of the rooms, and offered me some. I took a clean white sheet to just see what it will be like to-night—an oil sheet underneath on the floor boards, a sheet and blanket. Of course, we cannot take our clothes off -—just our boots, as we have to be always “in a constant state of readiness,” . . . . . December 19th. — . . . . . . “The order of the bath” was a very funny performance. We were all marched down to the English hospital, and on arrival met by the surgeon, who said, “First forty file on upstairs.” and we were conducted to a room with a pile of red blankets in the centre, and told to strip off everything, leaving all valuables and anything leather in your cap, then tie your clothes up and hand them to some of the natives, who marched off with them to the fumigator. We were then marched down a passage in “native uniform” to the baths. Two to a bath, and real hot, too—with a big piece of carbolic soap and a floor scrubbing brush, I had a glorious twenty minutes. Then we went back to our room, putting our red blankets round, and squatting a la nature to await the arrival of our clothes. Someone shouted, “Here they come.” and about a dozen natives filed in with a bundle of steaming clothes, and threw them on to the floor. We all started grumbling, as everybody thought they were wet, but it was a delusion, and after a good shake out they were bone dry.

[Press. 18 March 1915]

And some further interweaving extracts –

Your letter of the 11th I received this morning under most dramatic conditions. Sharp at 8 o'clock our artillery, accompanied by the French, opened up in great style, and the noise was simply awful. This is the first time I have been in reserve when anything startling has been on, so with the aid of a good pair of field glasses and a position well covered in but elevated I had my first view of a real battle in daylight (all the others we had had were at night). This morning it was just like sitting in a picture theatre and watching it all being played, but this theatre had the grim reality about it. After a big bombardment —the noise of shells whistling overhead, the report of the big guns, and the smoke of the bursting shells, earth and timber being blown skywards, the noise added to by the rapid fire or rifles and the incessant crack, crack of' the machine guns—made a din that one could never forget. The French on our right from the other side of the railway line appeared like a lot of flies, and at the double came on the enemy's trenches, which were situated in a mangold field, about one hundred yards away. I could just see the glitter of the bayonets and as they went the dark forms falling to the ground, but on they went and secured the trenches; just before they arrived a big party of Germans were seen using their legs to good advantage. Very few managed to get away after the trenches were taken. The French advanced in parties of 25 as a support to the firing line. I could plainly see them hop over the line, make a dash, and then lie down, and after a brief spell rush on again. The few seconds the men are down they work like madmen making what we call head cover. This is done with a little adze. I could plainly see five rows of supports, and while they lay there, those dark objects on that field, the enemy opened up with shrapnel, and the little clouds of smoke over the brave heads of these Frenchmen told all too well that the German gunners had got their range, and only those who know the horror of shrapnel could picture the Hell that must be over there. The gallant little crowd stuck to it well, and when they moved and made good the trenches you could see the dark forms still lying that told the deadly tale. Later on going round to my observation post and looking out at the battlefield, it appeared to me as if the brow of a hill had been cleared of trees and fern, and the black trunks of the trees left lying on the ground. This is the picture that met my eye, only the black trunks are those of the brave French who made that gallant charge. . . . . .

12-30 p.m.: I have just had another look out, and could plainly see the Red Cross men at work doing their best to relieve those poor creatures who are lying helpless in that little green patch. . . . . . . I have just heard that our artillery has blown up a bridge over the canal on the left, and a big party of Germans is thereby cut off. . . . . . The French have captured three trenches - word has just been passed along—the charge a complete success, so some body's darlings, who at this moment are lying out on that field, have paid dearly for those few yards of soil which they have won for France. . . . . .

2-30 p.m. —Things are much as usual again. . . . . . . In the trenches the boys are hard at work getting some onions and potatoes ready for the old bully stew, and further down two or three are singing (quietly) “Get out and get under,” and a real comedian is singing, “Take me back to Yorkshire.” Truly these trenches are funny places. I hope and trust the fates will continue to be kind to me. The experiences I have had could not be bought for bags of gold. . . . . . . Kind regards to all, especially New Zealand friends. All my love! Cheer oh! Still as fit as a fiddle. Your loving son, Cecil Humphries. In a Cowshed,

Having a Rest

Xmas Eve, 10 p.m.

My darling mother, —Your few lines at the back of Harry's letter told me that your Xmas was not going to be one of rejoicing. Mother, you must cheer up! My dear, I am quite all right, without a scratch, and as fit as ever. My diary I sent to you by a wounded London Scottish soldier. I had rendered him first aid. I said if he would do the greatest favour I had ever asked of any man, he would post this to your address. I do not know his name, but said to him that the name of his regiment would, or should, be sufficient guarantee that this little commission would be executed . . . . . . We were paraded to-day and given a very fine address by two generals. One old man fairly broke down when he ended his speech with this: “Men, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I am a Britisher, and thank God you are fighting for a noble cause, and 1 am proud of you all.” I sent you a wire saying “All well,” and wishing you a merry Xmas. I hope you received it. To-day I got your parcel of clothing, and 1 may say I wanted these things very much. If you could only see me now with the knees out of my khaki pants, and also out of my drawers, and mud right up to the eyes you would not feel very proud of your boy, but I got it honourably, and will feel quite happy when I awake on Xmas morning in these rags. I am to receive a new pair of khaki, and with your new underclothing will be all right again. . . . . . . . To-day has been one of the sad ones in my life. I acted as postman, and in going over the names in those bags full of letters the four piles told a most heart-rending tale, in short, here it is—dead, wounded, hospital, in billet. Well, I am sorry to say the three first heaps were greater than the post to be delivered. All my mates have gone, and I am left quite alone in my section. You will have read all about it, and when you get this letter just go down on your knees and thank God He has guided me as He has done. I am forwarding you a few souvenirs—two German helmets, cartridge cases, a French general's sash, and my own shirt with the holes in it, so you will see I had a most marvellous escape. . . . . . . When I joined this regiment, mater, I had to take down my stripes and go into the ranks as a private. Well, mother, I have won back the three stripes again, and not with a bread-knife, as in the Army Service Corps, but with a battle axe, and no one feels prouder, inwardly, to-night than I do to hear my promotion called out in orders. Outside the carol singers are singing away. Oh! how strange it all is, the French voices, . . . . . . Give my regards to enquiring friends, to you all my love. Your ever loving son, Cecil Humphries.

P.S. —I forgot to tell you that I had lost all my kit in this little “to do” the other day, so should like you to send me as soon as possible, a razor, toothbrush and paste, small hairbrush and comb, a scout knife and fork—knife and fork to fit into each other—shaving brush and soap, aluminium soap holder, folding cup and canteen, a Cardigan jacket. . . . . . A couple of handkerchiefs would be most acceptable. Xmas morning. The ground white with snow, the church bells ringing. I attended church this morning at 8 a.m. What a strange, strange Xmas! but never mind, cheer oh! Sorry to give you all this trouble. Hope I won’t meet this fate again for a while. — Cecil. [Wanganui Chronicle. 16 March 1915]. The little “to-do” occurred on 20th and 21st December 1914.

In January 1915 C. F. G. Humphries (27 years old) was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal on the battlefield in Northern France (Battle of Loos) for gallantry in the face of gun fire and, being promoted to Sergeant, he was again the proud wearer of the three stripes. The citation in the Gazette read: “For conspicuous gallantry and coolness at Givenchy, during the attack on December 20-21, 1914, and also for gallantry in endeavouring to bring into cover the body of his company commander, who had been killed in the engagement.” Brigadier-General Strickland assembled the men and decorated Humphries, right there in the battlefield. The distinguished honour which had fallen to his lot was the first of its kind bestowed on a New Zealander on the battlefield. He had seen quite a large amount of hard fighting and had experienced all the rigours of the winter campaign. He was, however, always optimistic and, as some reports said, a soldier's life seemed to suit him admirably. He had enjoyed a high reputation in Christchurch as a thorough sportsman, and, in 1915, a new reputation as a valiant soldier. Among the messages of congratulations sent to his mother was one from the Christchurch licensed victuallers – “As a member of our honourable trade we feel proud of him.” At a meeting of the Christchurch Rugby Football Club particular reference was made to the fact that Mr Cecil Humphries had been promoted and decorated. 42 of the club’s present members had gone to the front; over 100 past and present members were on active service. When the High Commissioner heard the news, he wrote to Mrs. Rowse: “You must be a proud mother that your son should, within so short a time, have come to the front. He is a credit to his family and an honour to his country.” The medal was awarded for gallantry at the Battle of Givenchy, on 20th and 21st December, when the Indian Force was hard pressed, but Sergeant Humphries only heard of his good fortune on 28th February, when Brigadier-General Strickland pinned the ribbon on his breast. The War Office record of the incident is: “For conspicuous gallantry and coolness at Givency in the attack of 20th and 21st December, and for endeavouring to bring into cover the body of his company commander, who had been killed.” On several occasions he had deemed himself highly honoured by being selected from his company to take part with other selected men in night raids across No Man’s Land.

A Waimate resident received the following post card-from Sergt, Humphries a few days ago (March 1915). It explains the occasion of the awarding of the D.S.O. It is as follows: —

January 9th, 1915.—Your letter of 17th November to hand. By the time this card gets to you the worst of this awful weather should be over. My word, it knows how to rain here, and the trenches are up to your knees in mud and water. Oh, the mud! I have slept in it, eaten it, and am living in it. It is wonderful what the human body can stand. Had a bit of a bust-up on December 20th and 21st last; got hit several times, but was lucky, and got through without a scratch. Have sent my shirt to the mater as a souvenir; it has eight holes in the tail (please don’t think I was running away). I happened to be leaning over a poor chap who had ‘stopped one’, when they turned the machine gun on me, and God knows how I am here with a whole skin; but it’s the way of the world, so there you are. Regards to all at home and my enquiring friends. Your old pal, Cecil. [Waimate Daily Advertiser, 13 March 1915] For full biography, see attachment.

Sources

Auckland War Memorial Museum Cenotaph Database [22 May 2018]; British Army Service Records [May 2018]; N Z Defence Force Base Records file (Archives NZ Ref. AABK 22525 W5725 B.R. 37/1344) [31 May 2018]; CWGC [22 May 2018]; British Army Medal Cards (ancestry.com.au) [11 July 2018]; NZ BDM Indexes (Department of Internal Affairs); School Admission record (Dunedin Branch NZSG) [22 May 2018]; NZ Electoral Rolls (ancestry.com.au) [22 May 2018]; Mataura Ensign, 25 December 1894, 24 December 1895, 10 October 1914, 13 March 1915, 24 August 1916, 31 May 1918, 30 August 1918, 16 March 1920, Waimate Daily Advertiser, 11 & 23 August 1900, 6 May 1902, 13, 20 & 23 March 1915, 27 & 30 April 1915, 4 June 1915, 14 July 1917, 24 December 1917, 4 June 1918, 4 September 1918, Lyttelton Times, 10 July 1911, 8 March 1913, Press, 19 & 25 June 1912, 12 February 1913, 13 February 1914, 13 October 1914, 13 & 18 March 1915, 23 June 1915, 10 December 1915, 17 January 1916, 16 March 1916, 28 April 1916, 19 June 1916, 11 July 1916, 9 October 1916, 15 December 1916, 14 July 1917, 21 May 1918, 16 October 1918, 10 January 1919, Sun, 3 February 1915, 13 March 1915, 17 March 1915 [x 2], 31 May 1915, 23 June 1915, 7 October 1915, 22 November 1915, 31 May 1918, 30 August 1918, Otago Daily Times, 8 March 1915 [x 2], 8, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28 & 29 May 1915, 8 & 15 June 1915, Star, 13 March 1915 [x 2], 15 & 18 March 1915, 28 June 1915, 10 July 1916, 17 July 1917, 22 January 1918, New Zealand Herald, 11 July 1913, 16 May 1916, 27 August 1917, 31 May 1918, Timaru Herald, 13 & 18 March 1915, 26 January 1916, 21 August 1916, 4 September 1918, 4 & 10 May 1920, Wanganui Chronicle, 16 March 1915 [x 2], 17 March 1915 [x 2], 27 December 1917, 31 May 1918, Hawera & Normanby Star, 16 March 1915, Otago Witness, 17 March 1915, 12 May 1915, 4 September 1918, Evening Star, 19 April 1915, 31 May 1918, 30 August 1918, 19 April 1919, Hastings Standard, 7 May 1915, Southland Times, 11 May 1915, Auckland Star, 26 July 1915, Evening Post, 23 April 1915, 21 December 1917, 10 August 1918, 9 September 1918, 11 February 1919, 2 January 1920, Lake Wakatipu Mail, 12 February 1918, Ashburton Guardian, 30 August 1918 (Papers Past) [21 & 22 May 2018; 01, 02 & 03 June 2018; 09, 10 & 14 July 2018; 07 January 2019; 20 & 21 August 2021]; NZ Electoral Rolls (ancestry.com.au) [22 May 2018]; UK Electoral Roll (ancestry.com.au) [22 May 2018]; NZ Probate record (Archives NZ/FamilySearch) [09 July 2018]; UK Probate Index (ancestry.com.au) [22 May 2018]; The Times (London, England), Monday, September 2, 1918 (The Times Digital Archive) [09/07/2018]; Shipping record (ancestry.com.au) [11 July 2018]; Lives of the First World War (https://livesofthefirstworldwar.iwm.org.uk/lifestory); London Gazette, 17 Sep 1917 (supplement); Edinburgh Gazette, 18 Sep 1918 (supplement); Kete Christchurch (Creative Commons — Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 New Zealand — CC BY-NC-SA 3.0 NZ) (Cecil Frederick George Humphries - Kete Christchurch (peoplesnetworknz.info)) [22 May 2018]; Mataura War Memorial (Mataura war memorial | NZHistory, New Zealand history online) [19/08/2021]

External Links

• Auckland War Memorial Museum Cenotaph record
• Military personnel file

Related Documents

• HUMPHRIES Cecil FG - newspaper clippings (pdf, 1.6 MB updated 24-Aug-2021)
• HUMPHRIES Cecil FG -newspaper clippings (diary) (pdf, 459.6 KB updated 24-Aug-2021)
• HUMPHRIES Cecil F. G - Full biography.pdf (pdf, 165.4 KB updated 16-Jun-2022)

Researched and Written by

Teresa Scott, SC branch NZSG

Currently Assigned to

TS