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The group of five to Lt Col Scott sold yesterday for a hammer price of GBP 1,800. Total GBP 2,318. R 52,690. AUD 4,300. NZD 4,770. CAD 3,960. USD 2,900. EUR 2,650

Pictures courtesy of Noonan's

DSO VR;
OBE (Military, 1st);
QSA (4) iCape Colony, Johannesburg, Diamond Hill, Wittebergen (Capt. G. C. Lambton D.S.O. Worc: Rgt:);
KSA (2) (Cpt. G. C. Lambton. D.S.O. Worc. Rgt.);
1914 Star, copy clasp (Major G. C. Lambton. D.S.O. Word: R.);
British War and Victory Medal, with MID (Lt. Col. G. C. Lambton.)

DSO London Gazette 27 September 1901.

OBE London Gazette 3 June 1919.

MID London Gazette10 September 1901, 23 June 1915 & 1 January 1916.



George Charles Lambton was born at 45 Cadogan Place, Chelsea, London, on 10 November 1872. He was the fourth son of the Lieutenant-Colonel Francis William Lambton, then with the Scots Fusilier Guards, and veteran of the Crimean War, and Lady Victoria Alexandrina Elizabeth Campbell, the elder daughter of the 2nd Earl of Cawdor.

He was one of children who, in 1873 moved from their London residence to the extensive Manor house and estate of Brownslade in Pembrokeshire, which was owned by the Campbell family. The Lambton's and Campbell's possessed great wealth between them and had significant influence in the region. In addition, with political and social connections in high society London and beyond, the families were seen as "those with whom to be seen or associated".

As an illustration of their social standing, at 4pm on Wednesday, 20 August 1902, a telegram was received at Brownslade and opened by Captain George Lambton, on leave from South Africa - it read:

'Can you give lunch on Saturday, August 23rd to the Royal Party of about 14 people, including King Edward, Queen Alexandra and Princess Victoria and entertain them all afternoon.'

The telegram was immediately taken to their father, who at the time was attending to his sweet peas in a greenhouse, who very coolly simply replied 'Of course'. The visit took place and was indeed a grand event, attended by many local, national and foreign dignitaries and Cabinet Ministers, especially too, as the Royal Family arrived by the Royal Yacht at Pembroke Dock.

Educated at Wellington College, Lambton won awards for Cross Country, Running and Gymnastics and played in the Rugby XV and Cricket XI for his Dormitory and the School. He was commissioned 2nd Lieutenant into the 7th Battalion, King´s Royal Rifle Corps in October 1892, transferring to the 2nd Battalion, Worcestershire Regiment on 7 December 1895 and being first posted to Malta; then to Bermuda in October 1897.

Promoted Lieutenant on 2 March 1899 and Captain on 23 June 1900, Lambton, served during the Boer War with a section of Worcestershire men taken from the 2nd Battalion, to urgently form a company which formed part of the 5th Battalion, Mounted Infantry. Whilst the Battalion sailed to South Africa on 18 December 1899, the Mounted Infantry Company finally embarked from London Docks aboard the British Prince on 6 January and comprised of 4 Officers, 134 men and 117 horses, arriving in Cape Town on 27 January 1900.

Lambton took part in the operations in the Orange Free State, February to May 1900, including the actions at Thoba Mountain, Vet River (5-6 May1900), and Zand River; operations in the Transvaal, May to June 1900, including the actions near Johannesburg, Pretoria, and Diamond Hill (11-12 June 1900); operations in Orange River Colony, May to November 1900, including actions at Wittebergen (1-29 July 1900), Ladybrand (2-5 September 1900), Bothaville, and Caledon River (27 September-19 November 1900); operations in the Orange River Colony, November 1900 to March 1902; and operations in Cape Colony, February to March and September to October 1901.

A fascinating account of the action near Bothaville, in the Transvaal, on the 5-6 November, 1900, was recorded by R.S.M. 4430 Ernest J. Sullivan, in which Lambton, then a Captain, was involved:

'Early in November, 1900, after news had come in of a big Boer raid, which, according to the intelligence received, had been carried out by a considerable force under the personal leadership of the elusive General De Wet himself, I found myself, as a Sergeant of the Worcestershire Company of the 5th Battalion Mounted Infantry, ordered to form part of the centre force of three columns that were to operate under the command of General Sir Charles Knox our Column being led by a most energetic and valiant officer, Colonel Le Gallais.

We moved out of Kroonstad early one morning at the beginning of November, our objective being in the direction of the Vaal River west of the main Railway line, being fairly certain that we would get in touch with some of the enemy long before reaching the southern border of the Transvaal. And in this we were certainly not disappointed. On the march our usual routine of many months past was still kept up, viz.: a halt at mid-day for about an hour to feed and water both man and horse, more especially the latter the men getting on as best they could with whatever they might have saved from the menu of the first meal of the morning, known in civilization as breakfast. This would mean the hacking open of a can of bully beef, or hauling out a chunk of meat secreted in the depths of the haversack, amongst tobacco dust, broken biscuit, oil rags, etc. but, nevertheless, tasting just as sweet as ever to one who had become inured to this diet day after day, for months, on the same hard tack. Incidentally, if there happened to be a small brook handy, we all took fullest advantage of it, much to the distress of our numerous companions that carefully took cover in the seams of our nether garments; all of us knowing that a shrill whistle would warn us that half an hour was left in which to saddle up and get on the trek.

It was on the second day of this perpetual trek that we started out after the usual mid-day halt, not caring one iota what happened; personally, I was at peace with all the world, including South Africa, and was feeling that, so long as my little Cape pony kept going, all was well.

The reader must picture us, moving very cautiously, our Company (Worcestershire) forming the right flank guard, and my section about three miles away from the main body, on the extreme right, acting as the outer screen, riding in file, each horse being kept about fifty yards behind the one in front.

The sun, as usual, is scorching hot and beating down on our thighs and tops of our boots, and the glare from the yellow dry grass through which our horses hoofs move swish, swish, is very trying to eyes unshaded by any protection such as smoked glass. All around seems perfectly peaceful, the azure blue sky above, and not a habitation of any sort in sight, not even a native kraal, but, so far as the eye can see, nothing but the far distant horizon where earth and sky seemed to meet. Glancing inwards to make sure that we are keeping the appropriate distance from our other three sections moving between us and the centre of the Column, my eye catches the flutter of a red flag away off in the distance, a little to the rear of our advancing Column.

There is no mistaking what this means, nor who our visitor is, for often before we have seen this very same red flag, perched on this very same lance, and cannot fail to recognise the corpulent gentleman astride that same prancing pony, a little ahead of the flag, to be none other than our Force Commander a very sure sign of troublous times ahead.

Suddenly the flagged group breaks into a trot and are quickly approaching a similar group where Colonel Le Gallais with his staff are eagerly perusing a map, evidently unconscious of the presence of the Force Commander, General Sir Charles Knox. As the General passes our battery of twelve pounders, we notice a proof of that never-slackened discipline for which the British Army has ever been renowned. The gunners and drivers of the Royal Horse Artillery stiffen up and sit perfectly erect on their horses or limbers, ready to accept and act on any orders that might have to be passed to them. And there we see also, even at this distance, another proof of that perfect discipline as our General returns the salute as though on parade on the barrack square of the Guards Depot.

Now the Commander of the Force and the Commander of this Column have met you'd think they were in the hunting field, so happy do they seem, neither knowing that the morrow would see one of them passed on to the unknown, in that death in action which is the true soldiers wish.

The day is drawing on. None of us has any idea of the exact time or of the date for that matter but the sun has an inclination towards the west, and from our own shadows we judge it to be about 2.30 p.m. The two Commanders are still in earnest conversation, and I am beginning to feel that odd but familiar feeling that I shall be called on with my little section of fine men to be up and doing, and that whatever we do must be right no one must blunder!...The signal is passed for us to halt, but before doing so I needs must send a corporal and a file further to our right, just over that rise, the other side of which is not very clearly visible to one dismounted. Then our horses seem to appreciate us better as we transfer our weight from the saddle to the ground.

In a very few moments some of my men have gone off to sleep, for the heat and the continuous riding have produced a weariness that can only be relieved by just a little period, however small, of partial unconsciousness. Fifteen or twenty minutes soon pass by; then a short low whistle from the Major commanding the Company is the signal to get mounted, followed by the usual sign to advance. My three men out to the right soon rejoin the section, and we resume our original direction. Now an orderly leaves the Headquarters group in the centre, hands a note to our Major Holland, and returns to the C.O. with his receipt.

Suddenly from our flankers comes word that a very suspicious cloud of dust is visible a long way off to our right front from personal observation I would estimate it to be about fifteen or twenty miles off, distances being very deceptive in South Africa, where visibility is so very clear. My intention to report this is not carried out, for I see our Company orderly approaching with an order from the Major. "Hello! Dick, what's the good news?" "Read that, Sergeant! and put your monica (signature) on that!" - handing me two slips of paper torn from the well-known field pocket book, on one of which is the following, signed by Major Holland :

To: Commander (No. 4 Section) Right Flank Guard: 3.15 p.m.

Fifteen minutes from now, at a signal from me (waving my riding crop over my head from front to rear), the whole force will move to the right. This will make the Worcester-shire Company the advanced guard, and your section (No. 4) the scouts, supported by two sections under command of Lieut. Lambton. Make all necessary dispositions at once. Your direction will be N.E. and move energetically in that direction. You should meet slight opposition within an hour. Cover your advance with not less than four men in sight ahead.

As I read and re-read this short note, something thumping inside my chest is positive proof of the excitement I feel, and am trying to suppress. But the whole manoeuvre is very simple and, after detailing four men to gallop off as soon as we alter our direction, nothing is necessary but to await the arranged signal.

Major Holland has turned his horse's head towards us and has given the signal.

Our Battery of twelve-pounders with one pom-pom are wheeling round, and what had been our advanced and rear guards have become the left and right flank guards respectively.

We are now heading in the north-east direction, the whole movement having taken place like clockwork. My four men are still maintaining a steady gallop to get a sight of some dead ground a couple of miles ahead.

The country around is just the same as in all quarters of the Orange Free State flat and slightly undulating in places, with here and there a small hill known as a kopje. Away in the distance, however, there is what appears to be a hill that stands out more noticeably than others, being considerably higher. We know those hills: in most of them after ascending one side, seemingly so precipitous, you find that the top is quite flat and the ground slopes off very gradually down to the open veldt. Just to the right of this hill there are unmistakable signs of movement. The dust is coming up in clouds, and we can guess that it must be caused by the trek of a rather formidable column. Besides that, the information given by our friend the Boer has been sufficient to make us certain that we shall soon locate the enemy; and it won't be long before the enemy locates us.

We are certainly moving energetically towards the point from which all this dust is ascending, as can be judged from the beads of perspiration that are visible on our horses necks and the froth that has settled on the outer ends of the bit; and there is good reason for our haste daylight is within a couple of hours of vanishing, and as twilight is unknown in these regions, night will then at once blot out the scorching beams of old Sol. Then we shall find ourselves up against the very condition we hope to avoid, viz.: darkness, under whose cloak the enemy is able easily to give us the slip, especially as he knows every inch of this territory, vast and deserted though it is.

Amongst all our men there is eagerness to get on, though who knows their inmost thoughts? In each of us there is an honest-to-goodness lack of anxiety and a most sanguine callousness; and after all these months of trek, trek, none of us seems to care whether the very next moment is his last or not.

Yes, amongst my men, I know, there is a positive callousness evidenced very clearly by the dare-devil acts they will get up to, in spite of, or even because of, the showers of bullets, where that shower was thickest. I wonder are these the real qualifications for bravery? Because if such they are, I have the bravest group that ever lived; and I know every one of them familiarly and the actual bit of land on which he first saw the light in his home in far-off England. Splendid men! For many and many a year to come I shall still cherish with pride my fond memories of these gallant men.

We have temporarily lost sight of our four scouts, but, no, there is one visible, galloping to what appears to be a slight rise in the ground ahead, and now the other three appear; evidently there is a considerable dip in the ground such basin-like places are very common as we ride over the veldt. Yes, and there is also the unmistakable double report of the Mauser rifle. Our scouts are being fired on. We have got in touch with the enemy and, by the usual signal, our two sections in support are notified. Our scouts keep riding on. The firing is only spasmodic, just a few sighting shots. Neither horse nor man is yet hit. Our extension is at once increased and we break into a trot, so as to gain shelter in the hollow just traversed by our scouts. There we halt until Lieut. Lambton can catch up with us.

In a few moments he is with us and, after dismounting, he and I, with binoculars in hand, walk deliberately up the slope ahead, lie down on the ground and take a look at the side of the hill whence the firing is coming. We can plainly see the flash from the rifles at each shot, which is fired at about a minute's interval. We are getting very interested now, and it reminds us of our peace time manoeuvres when the opposing force, like ourselves, were only firing blank cartridges; and so the enemy now might well be doing, for we have not as yet located the bullets drop. There is no flying dust visible where they might be striking, nor can we gain any information as to the enemy's strength from the sound of his rifle fire.

All that we are painfully aware of is the fact that our Column musters not more than five hundred rifles, four twelve-pounders, and a porn-porn, and that the enemy Commando is said to be easily double that number so far as rifles are concerned. Our job is simply to try and keep in touch with him as soon as sighted, so as to give our flanking Columns time to close in and make the necessary dispositions.

Here is Major Holland's orderly again. He hands Lieut. Lambton a note, which he reads and passes to me. The gist of it is as follows:

"Don't get closer than 500 yards from the kopje in front, and after drawing fire, return at once to where you are now, if possible. On no account are you to get seriously engaged. H."

Having thoroughly explained this order to the N.C.O.s, I order those who had dismounted to get into their saddles again. Meanwhile the firing seems to be getting a little heavier, and it looks like some dirty work ahead.

At a signal we are off, joined by one of the supporting sections, the other keeping a respectable distance so as not to lose touch with the Major further in the rear. We are still keeping a walking pace, but I notice the extreme left of our line is lagging behind a little, so I touch my little grey pony's flanks with a spur and gallop off to correct it, and so get them up into the line again. Now we have no doubt as to what is the enemy's target. Some of his shots are going high, we hear them whistle by overhead, others are striking up the dust in front, and the flashes become more visible as the sun begins to disappear.

The enemy is using black powder, and the appearance of the side of the hill about midway up is like a pyrotechnic display. We break into a steady gallop, the fusilade increases, but there are no casualties yet. We keep going on, until we get to another dip in the ground which discloses the foot of the hill, and we can tell then that there is a stream (The River Valsch) not very far off. This we only guess in the approaching darkness from the sudden greenness of the grass around and distant clumps of trees. We have got quite close enough to the enemy, and Lieut. Lambton decides to retire. He blows his whistle for us to file about. In a flash we have complied. This seems to have incited the enemy to increase the volume of his fire, and the rattle is perfectly deafening. The whistle of the bullets about our ears and the whack of others as they plough up the ground has a tendency to make one lean over the horse's neck, by way of minimising the target. Just then I glance back over my shoulder and see that the smoke from the rifles is very thick, drifting right up to the top of the kopje. It reminds me of pictures illustrating the battles of a century ago, before the days of smokeless powder. Then my horse shies or stumbles, I don't really know which, and the next second I make a side somersault as I am thrown from the saddle, to land with a thump on the ground in very close and dangerous proximity to a large boulder, on which I bump the back of my head. There I lie stretched for about a minute, the only sentence I utter starting with a big D, when, lo and behold, looking down at me from his horse is Lieut. Lambton. "Are you hit, Sergeant?" "No, sir, I don't think so", I answer, "but for heaven's sake get back, or they'll wing you". He tells me to get hold of his stirrup-iron, but I say that I'll be with him in a few minutes if he'll just get away himself. With that he canters off, and I struggle to my feet. With long strides, I run after him, the bullets flying everywhere except into me. (I have often wondered since how such marksmen as the Boers were reputed to be ever missed me, as I was well within four hundred yards of them, and my be-putteed and be-britched short legs could not propel me very fast.) But there goes one that a bullet has struck a riderless horse, which has been hit in the belly, by what must have been an expanding or explosive bullet, as its very entrails are protruding and dropping so low that its hind legs are almost treading on them. A most horrible sight and quite enough to take my mind off whatever danger I may be in of a similar fate, as I watch the poor faithful beast fall forward and kick its last.

My chief concern is the terrible thirst that has come over me. My tongue seems like a piece of leather, and I can scarcely swallow, my throat is so dry. This run up the slope is beginning to tell on me and, not caring much whether they hit me or not, I start to walk very casually, when I see ahead of me Major Holland's orderly leading my horse and it isn't very long before I am into that saddle again.

It was a simple matter soon to forget the last fifteen minutes since my horse and I pasted company, but I shall never quite forget the fifteen minutes after I rejoin my section. Not a very good example, says Major Holland, for the Sergeant of a Section to dismount without orders, aggravating that offence by doing so in the immediate vicinity of the enemy ! Needless to say, I promptly plead guilty. "Yes", he continues, "the Manual of Military Law reads that for such offence you are liable, if tried by Court-martial, to suffer death or some less punishment. I think, however, we can safely forego the Court-martial, and consider the latter part of the sentence as having been carried out, as, from personal observation, through my field glasses, I think you got as near to the brink of eternity as any firing squad could put you, short of actually killing you. Accidents, however, will happen, and your becoming dismounted under the circumstances was probably beyond your control, as I am well aware that your equestrian abilities are positively rotten, so I think I can only congratulate you on escaping with a whole skin". This harangue seems greatly to amuse all who listen to it, and though at first greatly embarrassed, I thoroughly enter into the joke of the whole proceedings, realizing that there is a lot of truth in what the Major has said, though a rebuke is wrapped up with his usual jocularity. (I heard later that Lieut. Lambton got something similar for risking his life by returning to find out if I had been hit or not.)

The Company is now back in the hollow, which we had first left to draw fire, and our gunners are busy making their twelve-pounders bark as they put over a few shrapnel shells, by way of making the enemy's position behind those boulders on the side of the hill uncomfortable; and now we are resting awhile, awaiting orders.

By this time it is quite dark, and the occasional burst of shrapnel on the hill does not appear to be doing much harm, though it lights up the place like a Verey light. The rifle fire has practically ceased except for a shot now and then; though goodness only knows what anyone can see to shoot at.

Major Holland has just got fresh orders, and we hand over our horses to our Number Threes. (In Mounted Infantry each group of four men are numbered 1, 2, 3, and 4, and the Number 3, on all occasions when the Company is to be used as infantry, holds the horses and follows behind with the horses of Nos. 1, 2, and 4 and his own.) We get together in some sort of formation and are ordered to fix bayonets, moving off very cautiously over the ground we have just retired from, our orders being to take the hill at bayonet point at any cost.

Nothing happens, even when we get to the foot of the hill; all is silence and we cross the little stream over numerous small rocks and boulders, as it peacefully glides babbling on. We eventually get even to the top of the hill, meeting no one to impede our advance; and then we find that the hill, as usual, slopes gradually down to another wide stretch of open veldt. We halt to enable a few mounted scouts from another company to pass through, while arrangements are made to bivouac for the night. Our horses are watered before they catch us up, so having unsaddled them and pegged them down, we slip on their nosebags and they are fed with mealies, salvaged from some farmhouse en route. No fires are allowed to be made, so we have to be satisfied with plain unadulterated water, some biscuits, and jam that eternal pozzy. It must be about nine p.m., perhaps later, and soon we try and find a soft spot on the ground with a saddle blanket or numnah for a pillow, and in a very short time most of us are sound asleep, greatly soothed by a gentle breeze that is just coming up so different from the scorching heat of an unusually hot day.

And now it seems opportune to leave our tired warriors to take their rest on the hard ground with the starlit sky for a canopy, and try and describe the extraordinary position that exists between these opposing forces a position, of which none of these weary sleepers, excepting probably only those in charge of operations, could possibly have even the remotest idea. When we lay down to rest, we all were of opinion that the enemy must have vanished altogether, with extraordinary swiftness, that they were trekking off along the dark and lonely veldt, hurriedly making the interval between us and them greater and greater.

But as events turned out on the morrow, we were very soon to be disillusioned. We had stopped to bivouac and sleep. Yes, and within five miles the Boers had done the very same thing ! Within five miles ! Our part of the job had been carried out to the letter, in that we were keeping in touch with him but, owing to our numerical weakness, were avoiding being too seriously engaged with him.

The fighting part of our force was over the stream and well in front of the top of the hill, but the few mobile Cape carts, carrying our scanty food and stores, and also our guns, had been left on the other side of the stream, which we had crossed, and at the foot of the hill.

At break of day, about 3.30 a.m., we are aroused; and with just about time to stretch ourselves, without bothering, to feed our horses or water them, we saddle up and stand by. Another Company has been detailed as advanced guard to-day, and our Company (Worcestershire) are in support. After allowing that other Company sufficient time to get through our outpost line, we mount and move on. It is very irksome to us to be moving a few yards and then having to halt, though there is sufficient reason, since our scouts have not gone more than one mile, very cautiously, before they come upon groups of Boers here and there, apparently on outpost duty, but all of them absolutely sound asleep, their horses wandering aimlessly about, grazing and knee-hobbled.

These are aroused, made prisoners, and quietly passed back, horses and all, and further progress is continued. Having got through the enemy's outpost line, the scouts are then joined by the rest of the advanced guard and break into a trot, passing out of our sight over rising ground in front. Our Company are now sent up with orders to support them, but after going forward at a canter we came to a halt very suddenly on a small rise, where we find ourselves in full view of the Boer laager. Immediately we dismount, and after handing over our horses, lie down and pour a steady fire into their camp.

To our left is a red-bricked farmhouse with a wire fence all round it, and just behind that farmhouse is a cattle kraal. Beyond the kraal the ground slopes down into a very deep basin-like hollow, the distance from our rim of the basin to the opposite rim being approximately eight hundred yards.

Only about thirty yards to our front there stands up very prominently a square outhouse, which in normal times would have housed a couple of pigs, a pig-pen, built of stones and boulders, the four walls being about eight feet high and four feet wide. Unfortunately, however, in our necessary haste to make the most of the element of surprise, no one has thought of reconnoitering this pig-pen.

Our rifle fire has now aroused the enemy, and we can see them rushing to get hold of their horses, which they mount barebacked, leaving their saddles on the veldt for anyone who had use for them. Our men have not quite encircled the laager, leaving a gap on the further side, and brer Boer is never slow to take fullest advantage of a means of escape. We keep up a rapid fire directed towards their one visible way of exit, until the numbers we drop there are sufficient to convince them that it must be folly to try to escape through that unhealthy place. But soon it is clear that there must be other lines of retreat available, because not many horses remain visible near the laager, so we direct our special attention to their wagons, which have still the covers rigged up on them which have served as shelters during the previous night. We conjecture that there must be one or two men there who think, possibly, that invisibility means safety.

We are not, however, allowed to have things quite our own way; the special attention we have given to those trying to escape has caused us to neglect the steeply sloping ground under our very noses; and by crawling through the long grass up this slope towards us, the wily Boer has been gradually establishing himself in a position that now enables him to get in accurate shots at anyone who even shews the brim of a slouch hat; and it is difficult to avoid the risk, for the presence of this same rather tall and thick grass has forced us to adopt the kneeling position in order to make effective use of our rifles. Up to now their only reply to our fire has been coming from the direction of the walls of the cattle kraal; but now the number of the enemy taking shelter behind those walls is getting greater, and they are certainly making the position I find myself in anything but comfortable. This is forced on my notice by a loud shout from my Corporal, who, in the midst of doing a little musketry practice on his own, as though he were on the Bisley ranges, has suddenly adopted the prone position and howls that he has been hit in the arm. I immediately crawl up to him. After hacking open the sleeve of his coat, I find that a bullet had gone through the fleshy part of his left forearm, which I proceed to bandage up with the little that remains of his first field dressing, supplementing this by removing one of his puttees and completing the bandage with that. Having fixed him up, I tell him to make himself scarce and try and get back to wherever our horses have been sent.

Prior to this incident I have already sent two of my men off to my left to try and locate our C.O., Major Holland, but as neither of them have returned with any information, I presume that either they have got in the way of a Mauser bullet, or having reached the Major, have been made to stay with him. In any case, it is of no material good for us to remain where we are, as it is positively suicidal to fire into the laager now, since to do so we must either kneel or stand; either position meaning a risk of speedy death. In these circumstances I decide to go off to the left myself, leaving word with the four of my men that are left with me to follow me, one at a time, at about a minute's interval.

First of all I make tracks towards the spot where one of our twelve-pounders has started firing; but when I see the gun I realise at once that it will be necessary for me to get to its rear, which I proceed to do at a lively run, noticing in passing that two of our gunners are lying dead or wounded close to one of the wheels. As I pass behind I find that the gunners do not consider me a very welcome visitor. They yell at me to lie down since I am drawing fire on them, so I think it best to drop, and accomplish thereby two good results, viz.: my own safety and that of the gunners, and also a very welcome rest for myself, which enables me to regain my breath. There I lie for what seems about five minutes. The thought uppermost in my mind is, that, come what may, I must locate the Major, as I am, at this time, the only sergeant in the Company. Meanwhile, I take a good look round, and can see that our poor gunners are having a very rough time of it. Rifle bullets are whistling and screaming through the air and even ricocheting off the barrel and shield of the gun itself, besides flicking up considerable dust as they plough up the turf all around it. Our pom-pom is in action away on our left, and from where I am I can see that those gunners also have suffered many casualties from fire directed at them from the windows of the red brick farmhouse. Suddenly I sight Major Holland, and jumping to my feet I rush off in his direction. Before reaching him, however, I cannot resist the temptation of taking a good swig at some water, which lies, in a hollow through which wheels have recently stirred up the mud. I am so desperately thirsty that I am quite indifferent to the bullets that are evidently intended for me bullets that sizzle as they go plunk into and around this puddle. Then I heard the Major's stentorian voice shouting at me. Sergeant, are you insured? or have you nine lives like a cat? Get up here by crawling unless you are fed up with life! This is enough, and using the Australian crawl stroke, as if swimming, I manage to reach the remainder of the Company. There I find that the Major's orderly has been killed whilst in the kneeling position, and is still in that position, though dead! A couple of Boers have occupied the pigpen before referred to, and it is mainly from there that all the damage is being done. All we can see are the barrels of their rifles, shining in the sun, sticking through loopholes. Rifle fire against them is useless they are quite safe; the only thing that could upset them would be a direct hit of a shell from the twelve-pounders, but that is impossible, because even if a shell could by any chance be made to hit the pig-pen, it would be as dangerous to us, only thirty yards away, as to the Boers who are holding it. There we must allow them to remain, in the hope that they may very soon fire their last round of ammunition.

Two of our men have offered to rush the pig-pen at the point of the bayonet, but the Major will not allow them, holding that the risk is too great to hazard the lives of two such gallant men; and we need every man.

Suddenly we hear the muffled clatter of horses hoofs as Colonel Le Gallais and his Brigade Major come galloping up. They are making straight for the farmhouse, relieving us of a little of the rifle fire as the Boers switch their aim on to them. They are hoping to reach a suitable place from which to get a better idea of how the battle is progressing; but the Brigade Major becomes very suddenly and most involuntarily dismounted, by his horse galloping straight into the fence that surrounds the house, pitching its rider head first clean over the fence. After the horse has recovered itself it gallops madly between us and the pig-pen right across our front, literally dripping with blood, which pours out from numerous wounds from bullets that had passed through its body. It is a sickening sight, and such a splendid steed.

Our gallant Commander dismounts quite coolly, and walks casually up to the entrance to the farmhouse, but in a moment falls dead as he enters the passage-way, being shot through the throat from a window on the other side of the house. So is snuffed out the valuable life of a very gallant officer and most capable Commander, whom everyone in our small force deeply lamented.

The command of the Column thus devolves on Major Taylor of the Gunners, who manages to get up to our line without accident, and promptly settles himself near Major Holland, where he can soon realize and appreciate the position. He brings us the news that the enemy, after vacating their laager in the first surprise of the morning, have rallied and have practically surrounded us; that we are already cut off from our transport and horses, and that there is quite a lively engagement going on at the other side of the hill. Our pom-pom gunners have all been killed or wounded, the drivers of the gun-team having taken their places, while some men of another company of Mounted Infantry are bringing up the ammunition. All this is indeed bad news, and shews that the tables have been very effectively turned on us. However, the Major tells us that the Column under Colonel Butler on our left will soon be with us, for our dispatch rider has returned, having got through safely with our late Commander's message. This Column was ten miles away when he reached it.

Major Taylor is not long in deciding that something very drastic has to be done to remove those two men in the pig-pen, who have certainly been responsible for the casualties amongst his gunners.

Just at this moment the Boers manage to get a gun into action from the far side of the wall of the cattle kraal, and start blazing away as rapidly as they can, their shells dropping harmlessly to our right rear where there is no important target.

We get orders to fix bayonets and get ready to charge. Every man of us gets up into a kneeling position and fires as rapidly as possible, some at the kraal where the Boer gun had appeared. There is, however, no necessity for the charge, for suddenly someone hoists something white on a rifle, a shirt or some other white garment. We immediately cease firing, leaving one cartridge in the chamber of our rifles, and lie down again. Major Taylor stands up and shouts that if they want to surrender they must come out into the open we will not fire at them. The sign of surrender is still held aloft, and presently, one at a time, the Boers come out, just as a party of New Zealand Mounted troops come up, charge straight into the laager and clear every one out of the kraal. Two of our men go round to the rear of the pig-pen, whence they bring out those two snipers. After removing their bandoliers we find that they had just three more cartridges left between them.

Our haul in prisoners, that is those who had not managed to escape from the laager in the rush of the early morning, was ninety-nine Boers and four Kaffirs, together with five guns and one maxim. Two of the guns were twelve-pounders which once belonged to "Q" Battery and one to "U" Battery Royal Horse Artillery. "U" Battery Royal Horse Artillery was the Battery now with us. These three guns were some of those captured by the Boers during the recent disaster to our forces at Sanna's Post.

The number of dead Boers, which we collected at this point, was sixteen.

As the prisoners came in, my Company, only thirty-five men, formed a ring around them, still keeping our bayonets fixed, while the New Zealanders got busy taking stock of what the enemy Cape carts and wagons contained.

We managed to secure some picks and shovels out of the farmhouse, and dug a hole in the ground about fifteen feet square and about six feet deep, and when all the Boer dead had been collected we placed the bodies into the pit in two layers, ten at the bottom and the others on top of them. Our Chaplain delivered the burial service, all of us, including the prisoners, standing bareheaded reverently around, and at the conclusion of this service we filled in the grave, leaving a cross at the head with just the number of the bodies buried there inscribed upon it. Then we started off back to Kroonstad to await instructions to carry out some similar operations, but meanwhile enjoying a little respite from action.

But ever afterwards I shall still retain fresh memories of those hours, so close to that pig-pen, during which I, at least, prayed for the sun to go down, reversing the plea of Joshua who prayed that the sun stand still arid the earth cease to revolve!'

Mentioned in Lord Roberts´ Despatch, (London Gazette 10 September 1901), he was appointed a Companion of the Distinguished Service Order in recognition of his services during the Campaign on 27 September 1901.

Two of his brothers who also served in the Army in the Boer War, did not return home:

Captain Alexander Frederick Lambton, 1st Battalion, H.L.I. was killed in the battle of Magersfontein on 11 December 1899, aged 22 years.

Lieut. Ronald Robert Lambton, 1st Battalion, Durham L.I., attached 24th Mounted Infantry was killed on 17 September 1901 at the Battle of Blood River, aged 30 years.

Lambton completed a Veterinary Course in South Africa in 1904, returned home and was posted to the Worcestershire Regimental Depot on 26 October. He accompanied the 2nd Battalion to India on 7 December 1906 and was made Adjutant of a Indian Mounted Rifles Volunteer Unit on 16 October 1909. Whilst in India, he received a Distinction at the School of Musketry and became a Mounted Infantry Instructor. Promoted Major on 4 May 1912, Lambton was posted to the 1st Battalion in Egypt on 22 January 1913 but returned home on 16 July 1914, presumably on leave.

Great War

On the outbreak of the Great War, the 1st Battalion had been stationed in Egypt, but embarked for Home shores from Alexandria on 30 September, arriving at Liverpool on 16 October and entraining for Winchester the following day. Two weeks of training followed and then the Battalion, (part of the 8th Division), sailed for France on 5 November, arriving at Le Havre the next day, but being retained on ship for two days. Major Lambton was 'C' Company Commander.

The 1st Battalion finally took up front line trenches facing Neuve Chapelle on 14 November and on the morning of the next day, in quite exposed positions, (the Trenches were very primitive at this time and not well constructed and were really not more than sunken depressions), with very little shelter, came under a heavy bombardment. The Battalion received its first casualties, (13 killed, 1 Officer and 26 ranks wounded).

The extreme cold also played a big part in the casualty listings - acclimatisation proved difficult, having moved from Egypt to northern France in deep winter and took its toll, with many suffering from severe frost bite. Lambton was one of these casualties and was invalided to England on 30 November 1914, suffering with Bronchitis.

Fully recovered, he returned to France on 23 January and was posted to the 2nd Battalion on 26 January 1915. On 6 March 1915 he was appointed to the Command of the 2nd Battalion, Worcestershire Regiment, with the rank of Temporary Lieutenant-Colonel.

Lambton´s first major action with his Battalion was at the Battle of Festubert, as part of the 2nd Division´s 5th Brigade. The unit were detailed to form the front line of an attack over a 320 yard stretch of the line. At 2330hrs, on 15 May 1915, following a preliminary bombardment, the 5th and 6th Brigades launched the first British night attack of the Great War. The sky was overcast, it was raining heavily when the leading companies went over the top. As a distinguishing mark each man wore a white patch on his chest and back. Just beyond the British trenches and parallel to them was a dyke, 12 feet wide, which contained 4 feet of water. Beyond this lay 300 yards of No Man´s Land to the German trenches. Crossing the dyke by means of light bridges the attack of the 6th Brigade on the right was entirely successful, reaching the enemy trenches almost before a shot was fired, and securing them without serious opposition. Unfortunately, the 5th Brigade, with the 2nd Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers and the 2nd Worcestershire Regiment in front had no chance of surprise. By means of light-balls the enemy detected the parties laying the light bridges over the dyke, and as the advance moved into No Man´s Land the enemy opened heavy machine-gun and rifle fire, which raked them from flank to flank, inflicting huge casualties. In addition, shell fire from the German artillery broke some of the bridges over the dyke and prevented the immediate advance of the supporting lines. The Worcesters were unable to reach the German trenches, and eventually the 5th Brigade´s advance had to be called off. Lambton´s Battalion lost 6 officers and 305 other ranks killed, wounded or missing, (upsettingly, 127 men's bodies were never found).

Lambton had reportedly shown great personal bravery during the battle, '...personally directed the re-organisation of the remnants' of his Battalion under heavy fire. For his actions he was promoted Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel on 3 June and again 'mentioned' (London Gazette 23 June 1915)

Lambton´s Battalion was next in action at the Battle of Loos, 25-26 September 1915, where despite capturing the German front line trenches at Givenchy with minimal casualties, the 5th Brigade came under heavy machine-gun and rifle fire from the German communication trenches, and was eventually forced back across No Man´s Land to their own trenches, achieving nothing. The following day the 2nd Battalion - who had been held in Reserve - and the 1st Battalion, King´s Royal Rifle Corps, formed a composite brigade and began a desperate renewed attack on the Quarries, a commanding position held by the enemy along the top of a low crest, and safe from artillery fire in the caves and recesses. At 1600hrs on 26 September, Lambton´s Battalion moved out into No Man´s Land, guessing the direction of their objective by the fall of the shells of the ongoing artillery bombardment. Suddenly they found themselves faced by an old German front trench, very deep with very few places where it was easy to scramble out. They had to navigate around many wounded men, some suffering from the effects of gas. The men could only emerge a few at a time, and were further delayed by enemy bombers working down the communication trenches from the Quarries to meet them. Lambton together with his Medical Officer, coolly walked up and down the parapet under heavy fire directing the reorganisation of the attack and giving the signal for the companies to advance. After considerable loss of time the attack was resumed, with the two Battalions advancing by alternate platoons and sections, so as to ensure the ´fire and movement´ of pre-War training. In spite of heavy casualties they reached a partly dug communication trench, 200 yards short of the Quarries, where they were ordered to consolidate their position. Reserve forces arrived during the night to provide reinforcement, and Lambton´s Battalion remained in the Quarries sector until 29 September, mostly in heavy rain, when it was relieved.

During this battle, they lost 13 Officers and 300 men, over half its strength. For his bravery and command ability during the battle and the subsequent period, Lambton was again 'mentioned' (London Gazette 1 January 1916, refers).

Lambton's Command of the Battalion last over fourteen months, many of which were spent in the trenches and under fire, finally had its toll on him, adversely affecting his nervous system, (probably shell shock) and he was relieved of his command of the Battalion and returned to England on 4 May 1916.

Capt. C.H. Pigg, O.B.E., M.C., wrote of Lambton's command:

'On May 5th we returned to the Auchy sector on a fine and dry evening. We were very sad to loose our Colonel Lambton who now went home on sick leave after commanding the Battalion for the past 16 months; his place was filled by Major L.M. Stevens.

Colonel Lambton was a true father of a highly disciplined and united family. I felt his going deeply as I had benefited much by his wisdom and friendship. I recalled my first meeting with him on reporting, as he sat up in bed with a bad chill just after the Battalion had attacked the Quarries at Loos. They told me how he and the Adjutant, who were ordered not to advance, had stood on the roof of their H.Q., under a deadly fire and urged their troops forward.

I recall many pleasant hours with him, particularly one dinner in a house near "Harley Street", under a ridge, which had miraculously preserved it from destruction by shell fire. Here it had seemed, was the true romance of war. We had sat, five of us, in a room bare of furniture save for a table and chairs, so close to the enemy that the bullets whistled and cracked outside. The windows were blocked by sacking, but the place was spotless and there was a goodly white tablecloth. We enjoyed a simple but excellent dinner and we drank what the Colonel always called "Drunk for Ninepence" - a whiskey costing 18 pence the half bottle - with port, coffee, rum for those that wished it, good stories and a good cigar.

I recalled too, his frequent visits in and out of the line. Very often in the trenches he would come around before dawn, about an hour before stand-to, and I would be summoned from the front or roused from sleep to offer him a cup of strong tea and a rum on his journey. Sometimes he was near exhaustion; yet after such a tour he would return to the days work at Headquarters.

He was the happiest when the Battalion was in the 2nd Division and he was among friends with whom he had always served in the Army; he was then one of a larger family and could speak intimately and directly to anyone. He was not so happy in the 33rd Division, who did not always relish his blunt and experienced language. We felt that in his going we had lost a great leader and a friend; but we had seen enough of his successor to know that we were in good hands.'

On 14 July 1916, Lambton was appointed to command the 29th Battalion, Royal Fusiliers in Scotland, until 1 September, where he took command of the 105th Battalion Training Reserve.

On 23 March 1917, he returned to the Western Front and was given command of the 1st Battalion, Norfolk Regiment. During May 1917 , his unit were involved in the Battle of Fresnoy. Lambton's report on this battle states:

'Although owing to the failure, partially of the troops on our left not being able to make progress, and the hostile shelling and machine gun fire, and the difficulties attendant on a night attack over unknown ground, Fresnoy was not retaken. However, valuable ground and observation was secured east of Arleux. Great credit, in my opinion, in due to all ranks of the battalion for the manner in which they manoeuvred into an unknown position and attacked. I personally feel it was a great honour to have been in command of the 1st Norfolks on this occasion.'

During this battle, Lambton experienced intense shell fire and became a victim of shell shock. He was invalided home on 28 July 1917. He received rest and recuperation, but took no further part in active service during WW1, being appointed to command the 52nd (Graduated) Battalion, The Sherwood Foresters on 18 January 1918.

Lambton was posted to Germany on 2 March 1919 to join the Army of the Rhine, being given the command of the 11th Battalion, Leicestershire Regiment, 23 May, which he relinquished on 8 August. He returned to England on 10 August and was conferred with a richly-deserved O.B.E. for his fine work.

Lambton assumed command of the 3rd Battalion, Worcestershire Regiment on 4 January 1920 and was posted with them to India on 10 February. He was invalided home on sick leave on 6 January 1921 and retired from the Army, as a result of ill-health contracted whilst on active service, with the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel, 8 April 1922.

It is interesting to note within Lambton's record of service that his obvious outspoken, forthright approach, based on wide expertise, coupled with leadership and command experience, was highly valued by some of the hierarchy and despised by others. In addition, it is most telling that the intense strain of Battalion Command certainly took their toll, and whilst it was felt that he could, and indeed, did do excellent training and instructional work at Home, he reached a point where his nervous system, mental health and energy levels were no longer conducive to active service Battalion command.

He was a Fellow of the Meteorological Society, London. Lambton died on 29 August 1927, aged 54, at his home at Brownslade, Castlemartin, Pembrokeshire from Cadiac Failure, Locomotor Ataxy, retention of urine and Cystitis. He was buried in the family vault at Flimston Chapel, with his Mother and Father; sold together with uniform riband bar, assorted photocopied service papers, a copy of The Lambtons of Brownslade by Denis Alderman, and a quantity of photocopied research.

Thank you, David.
What a fascinating story of both family and Royal connections and verydetailed accounts of life in the field. Coming from a large family, it is a shame that these Medals are not remaining with a family member.

Clive

Picture courtesy of Spink

DSO VR with second award bar;
QSA (5) Cape Colony, Orange Free State, Johannesburg, Diamond Hill, Belfast (Capt: E. Paterson. D.S.O. 6th Dragoons);
1914-15 Star (Major E. Paterson. D.S.O. 6/Dns.);
British War and Victory Medals with MID (Brig.Gen. E. Paterson.);
Coronation 1902;
Romania, Kingdom, The Order of the Crown of Romania, Commander's neck Badge, silver-gilt and enamel, hallmarked to ring.

DSO London Gazette 27 September 1901.

Second Award Bar London Gazette 22 June 1918, the original recommendation states: 'For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty. Owing to the neighbouring troops being driven back, his flank became exposed and a gap was made in the line. Though he had very few men, he at once extended his flank and maintained a most gallant and determined resistance for an hour against largely superior numbers, closing the gap at a most critical moment until other troops were able to advance and restore the line. His tactical handling of the Brigade during successive withdrawals, often with one or both flanks exposed, was magnificent.'

Commander of the Order of the Crown of Romania, London Gazette 20 September 1919.

Ewing Paterson was born in Fife, Scotland on 8 June 1873, the second son of John and Jane Paterson of Kinburn House, Kinburn and Langraw, St. Andrews. Educated first at St. Andrews and later in Germany he was commissioned Second Lieutenant the 3rd (Militia) Battalion, Manchester Regiment in 1889. Transferring to the 6th (Inniskilling) Dragoons on 9 September 1893 Paterson was advanced Lieutenant with this unit on 1 January 1895.

South Africa

Posted to South Africa on the outbreak of the Anglo-Boer War the Regiment was heavily involved in actions at Colesburg, south of the Orange River. Paterson, distinguished himself at on this occasion, being mentioned several times in With the Inniskilling Dragoons notably during an Boer flanking attack at Arundel on 20 February 1900, it states:

'They nearly succeeded, however, in gaining a position commanding the camp, when Lieut. Paterson, with B Squadron Inniskilling Dragoons, who was luckily returning from a reconnaissance at the time, perceived their intention, With great promptitude he raced for the position, seized it first, and drove back with heavy loss the astonished Boers who were advancing up the far side.

Three days later it was Paterson who, again at the head of a reconnaissance patrol, captured Rensburg itself. Finding the Boer rear-guard was weak he led his small force into an attack and seized the town. They again caught up with the Boer rear-guard whilst reconnoitring towards Norvalspont on 3 March, this time Paterson was leading a mixed force of fifty men, the encounter was a bloody one:

'After proceeding twelve miles they fell in with the Boer rear-guard and a smart encounter ensured. Lieut. Paterson attacked boldly, inflicting considerable loss on the enemy, many of whom were seen to fall. The ponies of a Cape cart endeavouring to escape were shot, but the Boer coming on in great force affected the rescue of the occupants. It transpired later that one of these was an important officer of the Boer Artillery who was coming to select positions for their guns to retard our forces. On our occupation of Bloemfontein this same cart was found there riddled with bullet-holes and had been exhibited by the Boers as a curiosity. Lieut. Paterson's own horse was shot as he was mounting, and several others were killed and wounded, but, having made a useful reconnaissance, he brought back his patrol without casualty, the dismounted men riding in on donkeys they had captured.'

He was in action at Karee Siding and the Vet River from 5-6 May as well as the Zand River, fighting around Johannesburg, Pretoria and Diamond Hill in June and Operations in the Transvaal, including actions at Reit Vlei and Belfast in August. This was followed by fighting at Rhenoster River in the Orange River Colony. Paterson was at the forefront of these actions being mentioned often by Lieutenant-Colonel J. Watkins Yardley in With the Inniskilling Dragoons.

In one skirmish near Lake Chrissie, he had a face-to-face engagement with one of the Boer's leaders, Watkins Yardley takes up the story, stating 'Lieut. Paterson behaved with great dash, being slightly wounded as he galloped, unfortunately unarmed, alongside Commandant Smuts himself.'

Watkins Yardley himself was wounded in the same engagement and lay with Paterson, who had been shot in the thigh, and another Lieutenant while being treated. Unfortunately, while the wound did heal Paterson returned to duty too quickly and the resulting inflammation saw him invalided back to Britain. He received a further 'mentioned' for his services in South Africa alongside his D.S.O. (London Gazette 10 September 1901).

Return to Britain and the Great War

Having arrived back in Britain Paterson found himself seconded to the Yeomanry on 7 May 1901 as Adjutant of the Devon Yeomanry Brigade and advanced Captain in the role on 10 July. Holding that appointment until 1905 he was further promoted Major that same year on 14 October 1905. Having returned to his Regiment he enjoyed a period of relative calm in his life which he used to marry Jessy Rigden, the widow of one W. E. Rigden. On the outbreak of the Great War Paterson was still stationed with the unit and entered the war in France in 1915, his MIC notes his entitlement to the 1914-15 Star but does not note the date of entry to the war.

Appointed to command the Regiment in France with the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel which he was advanced to on 18 August 1915. It was while performing this role that he received his first 'mention' of the war (London Gazette 15 June 1916). Given command of the 6th Cavalry Brigade in 1918 he was to command it until the end of the war, receiving a further 'mention' (London Gazette 20 May 1918) to pair with his D.S.O.

Promoted as far as Brigadier-General by the end of the war Paterson was to earn two more 'mentions' (London Gazette 20 December 1918, 5 July 1919) for his work. The final addition to this was his appointment to the Order of the Crown of Romania which was presented to him during his time on the Staff. Posted to the Cavalry School, Netheravon as Commandant in 1920 Paterson received his medals there and served for several years before retiring in 1923

The Naval DSO group to Lieutenant Hunt of HMS Doris sold yesterday for a hammer price of GBP 11,000. Total GBP 14,168. R 322,590. AUD 26,630. NZD 29,640. CAD 24,240. USD 17,570. EUR 16,230

The group of five to Captain Scott, Paget's Horse, sold for a hammer price of GBP 1,800. Total GBP 2,318. R 52,790. AUD 4,360. NZD 4,850. CAD 3,970. USD 2,880. EUR 2,660

The DSO to Captain Lambton, Worcester Regiment, sold for a hammer price of GBP 5,500. Total GBP 6,820. R 155,180. AUD 12,950. NZD 14,410. CAD 11,720. USD 8,490. EUR 7,820

Picture courtesy of Noonan's

DSO VR;
QSA (5) Tugela Heights, Orange Free State, Relief of Ladysmith, Transvaal, Laing’s Nek (Lieut. B. P. Lefroy, D.S.O., Rl. Dub. Fus.) engraved naming;
1914 Star, with clasp (Capt. B. P. Lefroy, R. War. R.);
British War and Victory Medals, with MID (Lt. Col. B. P. Lefroy), both later issues;
France, Third Republic, Legion of Honour, Chevalier’s breast badge, silver, silver-gilt, and enamel

DSO London Gazette 11 October 1901: ‘For gallantry in the defence of Forts Prospect and Itala.’

MID London Gazettes 3 December 1901; 17 September 1914; 14 January 1915; and 31 May 1915.



Bertram Perceval Lefroy was born in South Kensington, London, on 18 May 1878, the second son of Thomas Charles Perceval and Isabella Napier Lefroy. His family, originally large landowners around Cambrai, had been driven out of France in 1569 and mostly settled in Ireland. Educated at Harrow (1892-96) and the RMC Sandhurst, he was commissioned in the Royal Dublin Fusiliers on 7 May 1898, and promoted Lieutenant on 10 May 1899.

Defence of Itala - ‘Popping Off’ with his Revolver and Killing Commandant Potgieter

Ordered to South Africa with the 1st Battalion Royal Dublin Fusiliers, Lefroy was present at operations in Natal between December 1899 and June 1900, including the invasion of the Orange Free State, the Relief of Ladysmith, and the action at Laing’s Nek (6 to 9 June). He joined 5th Battalion Mounted Infantry in August 1900. 5th MI was on operations in the Transvaal east of Pretoria until February 1901, when it was switched to the Zululand frontier of Natal.

The South African Military History Society Journal, Vol 2 No 1 - June 1971, ITALA - MONUMENT TO VALOUR refers: ‘Twice in less than 23 years, Natal was saved from invasion by the gallant stands made by two small, vastly outnumbered detachments of British soldiers. The first was at Rorke's Drift in 1879 and the second at Mount Itala in 1901.’
Early in September 1901, Louis Botha, Commandant General of the Boer Republican Forces, started gathering the biggest raiding Commando of the guerilla war. Over 2,000 tough, fighting men set out across the cold, rain-swept springtime veld to begin the second Boer invasion of the Colony of Natal. Botha's ambitious plan was to enter Northern Natal, disrupt and degrade British control, then penetrate Cape Colony and ultimately join up with Smuts, who had already succeeded in getting into the Cape with his small force. British columns sent to catch the Commandos got bogged down in the quagmires that passed for roads. Botha, with no wheeled transport, could manoeuvre with ease. Using pack animals to carry his supplies, he averaged 10 miles a day, whilst the British could barely travel three.

By 24 September, Botha had reached the Transvaal frontier. From his look-out on Babanango Kop, the rolling green hills of Zululand stretched south to the horizon. To his right he could clearly see Isandhlwana, where nearly 1,500 British troops had been massacred by Cetewayo's impis 22 years earlier. To his front lay Mount Itala, a commanding height, eight miles to the South. The route he planned to take was guarded by two small British military garrisons, at Itala and Fort Prospect, 14 miles apart. Botha wanted stores, fresh horses and, above all, easy victories. His spies reported that the two outposts were weakly fortified and undermanned, so he prepared to attack.

For over a year, Natal had been peaceful. Six months earlier, a detachment of 400 men from the 5th Mounted Infantry had been posted to Nkandhla as a frontier guard. Their Commanding Officer was Major Chapman, also of the Dublin Fusiliers. At 38 he was Botha's junior by three months, campaign-hardened like his men, with nearly two years of arduous veld warfare experience. Unlike many of his fellow-officers of that period, Chapman was astute, wide awake and extremely capable.

Early in September, Chapman decided to move forward to a new post at the foot of Mount Itala, almost at the apex of the Transvaal's southern enclave. The treeless summit of Itala, over 4,800 feet high, slopes gently down to its base in the east, 1400 feet below, along a ridge over a mile in length. This ridge terminates in a narrow, steep spur at the bottom, vital ground which concealing the outpost site below from the summit. Initially it appeared to be a weak position, but in fact it was not, provided the defenders were well led and courageous.
On 23 September, Chapman had learnt that he was in the path of Botha's southern thrust, and his able corps of scouts kept him informed of the ever-increasing danger. He must fight if attacked, but only great skill and courage could save his small garrison of 300 at Itala. The men worked feverishly with spades and picks, digging mutually supporting trenches about 4.5 feet deep, skilfully sited in the trees at the wooded outpost site. On the north side, a natural rock wall put the defenders on a platform overlooking all approaches. The Achilles heel of the position, the rock spur above the camp, was sangared (stone-walled) right across, and a machine-gun set up to fire upwards to Itala summit. Fort Prospect nearby had 68 men manning trenches within barbed-wire protection.

At dusk on 25 September Major Chapman sent 80 men under Lieutenants Lefroy and Kane to the summit of Itala. In modern terms his concept was to establish a fighting patrol, positioned in ambush along the most likely route of enemy attack, to give warning to the main body and to disrupt the Boer assault. Their move to the top of the mountain was unnoticed by the Boers. Crouching cold and stiff amongst the rocks at the summit, the small British detachment watched and silently waited. Full moon was two nights away and the clear sky was moonlit from dusk to near dawn. Towards midnight sounds of approaching Boers could be heard. Soon a large body of men approaching could clearly be seen. At 100 yards the first British volley crashed out, catching and annihilating the leading group of attackers. After an exchange of fire, the surviving Boers pulled back to regroup.
An account of Lefroy’s experiences that night appears in After Pretoria: The Guerilla War, by H. W. Wilson: ‘The summit of Itala mountain was a mile from the camp, bare and flat, and by no means a good position. It was not fortified in any way, and the troops despatched to occupy it had no other shelter than that afforded by rocks and boulders ... As the night advanced the enemy arrived and made dispositions for the assault. To the west of Itala, Christian Botha and Commandant Scholtz with 800 men drew up; to the south-west Opperman with 500; to the north Potgieter with 600. Yet another detachment 200 strong seized the point on the Itala ridge, to the east of the fort ... the total strength of the Boers in the vicinity was 2,600, against 400 British.

The enemy, after a momentary repulse, came on in overwhelming force, and though the soldiers fought magnificently, they were speedily overborne by sheer weight of numbers. Lefroy shot Commandant Potgieter with his revolver in the desperate mêlée that ensued. 14 men succeeded in making their way through the Boers and escaped to the south side of the mountain. The greater part of the little detachment, however, was killed, wounded, or captured. About two a.m. a message reached the main body to the effect that the outpost had been rushed by 500 Boers and annihilated.’

The following is an extract from a letter to his family written by Lieutenant Lefroy while he was lying wounded after Itala (he had been wounded in four places, the stomach, arm, leg and chin. two of his injuries only just escaped being fatal): ‘When we heard that we were going to be attacked at Itala, I was sent right up to the top of the Itala Hill with about 90 men, to try and hold it, and prevent the Boers from attacking the camp from that direction. At about 2 p.m., on 26 September, they attacked my post five or six hundred strong. It was fairly dark, and the ground was covered with little rocks, which made it very hard to distinguish people. We kept up a heavy fire on both sides. They worked right round our right, and then rushed the position. It was a very plucky rush, but as they were about five to one, we couldn’t keep them out, and it ended in a sort of grand mêlée.

I have a vivid recollection of popping off my revolver with Boers all round me, and then I got too full of lead to continue the operation. They took about 37 prisoners and held the position all day. We people with bullets in us had to lie all day on our backs in the sun, and we didn’t get down again till 3 a.m. next morning, when the people in the camp, finding the Boers had cleared out, sent for us. It was bitterly cold during the night and there was a damp mist. The camp held out splendidly all night and day, until the Boers didn’t think it worthwhile losing any more men. There were about 1,500 Boers, and about 300 of us, so we didn’t do so badly.’

The end of the affair

By first light (around 6 a.m.), all firing had died down and the attack seemed to have paused. Dr. Fielding, the British Medical Officer, decided that he must go to the summit to attend to the wounded up there. He, an orderly and two bearers left the sangars on the spur carrying a flag of truce. When he reached a wide hollow 600 yards up the ridge, he found a large body of Boers about to resume the attack. Dr Fielding was allowed to go on as soon as Commandant Opperman appeared. Fielding's work that day saved many lives, on both sides.
Almost immediately the Boer attack restarted. The machine gun on the spur was hopelessly jammed and the battle became Lee-Metford against Lee-Metford, for the Boers were nearly all equipped with captured rifles. The Burghers, with the edge on marksmanship, were at an advantage. The ground became covered with a shower of broken branches and chopped leaves, the screams and groans of stricken men and the unprotected horses filled the air; dust and earth flew in all directions. No cover could withstand this inferno, and men fell thick and fast, yet each attack melted away under the galling crossfire of the defenders.

Louis Botha, realising the importance of the sangared spur, ordered that it be taken at all costs. This was an almost impossible task, for 600 yards of open ground had to be crossed to reach it. The troops behind the sangars were no mean shots and disrupted each new attack before it got too far. By late afternoon, after 17 hours of heavy attack, both sides were exhausted. Major Chapman's force had taken a fearful toll on the attacking Commando, at a cost of nearly half his remaining men, including 81 killed and seriously wounded. The troops, bleary-eyed, with hands burned, shoulders raw and faces scorched, their ammunition nearly exhausted, could hardly withstand another concerted attack. Chapman himself, shot through the right leg, waited and listened as the Boer fire slackened and died away. After an hour he sent out scouts who returned with the news that Botha's men were withdrawing.
Chapman decided to fall back to Nkandhla. Leaving a small, unarmed party to assist with the wounded, he pulled out at 9pm and, completely exhausted, he and his men limped into Nkandhla at 4 am on 27 September. At Itala, the British losses were 22 killed and 59 wounded. Their artillery fired 63 shells, and the troops 70,040 rounds of rifle ammunition. The true fury of this fight can be gauged by comparison with the key battle of the Zulu war, where 2,000 British troops fired 66,400 rounds. 128 dead Boers were buried at Itala, and 21 others at the laager site at Gelykwater, making a total of 149 dead. These included two of Botha's best Commandants, Scholtz and Potgieter (shot by Lefroy’s revolver). At Prospect, 40 Burghers were buried. There were estimated to be about 280 wounded.

The British defence was considered one of the most brilliant affairs in the war, the attacking force being about four times the number of the defenders, and the Boer loss larger in proportion than in almost any other action. Botha's advance had been checked, his casualties were severe and his ammunition almost exhausted. But he was not the type of man to lose heart and was able shortly afterwards to capture a convoy of 30 British supply wagons. He cleverly outwitted every single column and blockhouse line to get his men back to the Transvaal.
Lord Kitchener himself sent in Lieutenant Lefroy's name for the D.S.O. and for his promotion to Captain a year after his epic fight on 2 August 1902. However, the promotion involved a transfer to 3rd Battalion, Royal Warwickshire Regiment, which was disbanded due to post-war military cutbacks. This caused Captain Lefroy a serious loss of seniority.

The Royal Warwickshires - Montgomery of Alamein’s Mentor

Having served in England, in Gibraltar and back in South Africa, Lefroy attended Staff College from 1911 to 1912. Field Marshal Montgomery of Alamein - then a young subaltern in the Royal Warwickshires - later wrote: ‘The Battalion returned to England in 1913 and an officer of our 2nd Battalion was posted to it who had just completed the two-year course at the Staff College at Camberley. His name was Captain Lefroy. He was a bachelor and I used to have long talks with him about the Army and what was wrong with it, and especially how one could get to real grips with the military art. He was interested at once, and helped me tremendously with advice about what books to read and how to study. I think it was Lefroy who first showed me the path to tread and encouraged my youthful ambition. He was killed later in the 1914-18 War and was a great loss to me and the Army.’

When Lefroy departed to take up a new post at the War Office in April 1914, he had sown the seeds of a deep and lasting ambition in his young protégé.

The Great War - Battalion C.O., mortally wounded at Loos

At the outbreak of the Great War, Lefroy went out to France in August 1914 on the staff of the First Division. After seven months, he returned to England to serve on the staff of the 26th Division at Warminster until July 1915, when he went out again to command the 2nd Battalion Warwickshire Regiment. Lefroy was three times Mentioned in Despatches and received the Legion of Honour. He was made Brevet Major in the King's Birthday Honours List, 1915; Major on 8 August the same year; and Lieutenant Colonel on 1 September. At 37 years old, he was one of the youngest battalion commanders in the Army.

The regimental history states: ‘On 25 September came the battle of Loos. The 2nd Battalion went over the top at 6.30 in the morning. In the face of terrific fire they reached the first line of trenches to find that the wire was not cut. Private Arthur Vickers on his own initiative and with the utmost bravery ran forward in front of his company, and standing up in broad daylight under heavy fire cut two gaps in the wire. His gallant action contributed largely to the success of the assault, and was justly rewarded with the Victoria Cross, the first that had been won by a soldier of the Royal Warwickshire Regiment.

Continuing to advance through the Quarries the Battalion carried the second line also without much difficulty, but on reaching St. Elie at 9.30 were checked. Nevertheless they held on till dusk, when owing to the retirement of the 9th Division on their right they were compelled to fall back. When the Battalion was mustered at midnight there were present no officers and only 140 men. Lieutenant-Colonel Lefroy and two of his officers had been mortally wounded, seven other officers were killed, seven were wounded and one was a prisoner. Of the men 64 were killed, 171 wounded and 273 missing.’

As confirmed in a letter of condolence sent to his mother by Captain Hyde, his Quartermaster, Lefroy personally led the attack at Loos. He was much beloved by his men. Captain Hyde wrote: ‘General Landon told me a few days before that he was coming to take Command. To those who knew him, the news seemed too good to be true. Though we have lost him, his name will live in the Regimental records for all time, as the colonel who so gallantly led the Battalion into action on September 25 1915.’

Lefroy was mortally wounded that day and evacuated to a Field Ambulance where he died two days later on 27 September. The dying message he left for his men was made a Battalion Order: ‘Tell them my last thoughts are with them. I pray that their bravery in the hour of severe testing may win them through to success. Would to God I had been spared to serve and lead them a little longer. But as it is I trust that the men of the Warwickshire Regiment will pull together, work together and uphold the credit, the good name and the traditions that the Regiment has so nobly won. May God's blessing rest on them in their hour of danger or peace, and may the heroic self-sacrifice of their officers, non-commissioned officers and men who have fallen inspire them to deeds of unfaltering and unfailing bravery.’

As stated in Harrow Memorials of the Great War, Lefroy managed to send his old school house a final message: ‘Play up!’ The Colonel was buried in Fouquieres Churchyard Extension, near Bethune, France. His obituarist noted that 54 members of his family were also serving, and that he was the fourth to be killed.