Charles joined the Army - The Buffs Regiment - in 1900 (3rd Battalion) and served during the Boer War. In 1904, he war promoted to the rank of Captain.
In 1910, Charles married Alice Evelyn Feutrell Briscoe in Chelsea, London. They lived in Bouverie Road, Folkestone, Kent and at Coolamber Manor, Co. Longford, Ireland and had two children. Charles retired from the Army in 1911.
Charles and his wife were actors. They travelled to New York in September 1912, to perform 'The Whip' in the Manhattan Opera House.
Charles re-enlisted in 1914. He joined the First Battalion of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers on 4th December 1914, during a period when officers from several different regiments were posted in to make up for battle casualties. Promoted to Lieutenant-Colonel in December 1915, Charles was sent to command the South Staffordshire Regiment on the Western Front. Mentioned twice in Despatched, he was killed leading his men on 25th March 1918. He is commemorated on the Arras Memorial in France, Bay 2.
One of Charles’s poems was included in the WW1 Anthology
“From the front: trench poetry.” Edited
by Lieutenant Clarence Edward Andrews and published in New York by Appleton in 1918 - 220 pages, the royalties of which were donated to the British Red Cross.
And his own WW1 collection “Songs from the trenches” was published
by The Bodley Head, London in 1915.
(Catherine Reilly, p. 57). This is available to read as a free down-load on Archive: http://www.archive.org/stream/songsfromtrenche00blacrich/songsfromtrenche00blacrich_djvu.txt
NOTE: The British
Army Regiment “The Buffs” were the infantry regiment The Royal East Kent
Regiment, formed in 1572 and previously known as the 3rd Regiment of
Foot. They recruited men from East Kent
and were based at Canterbury.
“The Song of the Trench” December, 1914
This is the song of the blooming trench:
It's sung by us and it's sung by the French ;
It's probably sung by the German Huns ;
But it isn't all beer, and skittles, and buns.
It's a song of water, and mud and slime,
And keeping your eyes skinned all the time.
Though the putrid "bully" may kick up a stench,
Remember, you've got to stick to your trench —
Yes, stick like glue to your trench.
You dig while it's dark, and you work while it's light,
And then there's the "listening post" at night.
Though you're soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone;
Though your hands are like ice, and your feet like stone;
Though your watch is long, and your rest is brief.
And you pray like hell for the next relief;
Though the wind may howl, and the rain may drench,
Remember, you've got to stick to your trench-
Yes, stick like mud to your trench.
Perhaps a bullet may find its mark.
And then there's a funeral after dark;
And you say, as you lay him beneath the sod,
A sportsman's soul has gone to his God.
Behind the trench, in the open ground.
There's a little cross and a little mound;
And if at your heart-strings you feel a wrench,
Remember, he died for his blooming trench —
Yes, he died like a man for his trench.
There's a rush and a dash, and they're at your wire.
And you open the hell of a rapid fire;
The Maxims rattle, the rifles flash,
And the bombs explode with a sickening crash.
You give them lead, and you give them steel.
Till at last they waver, and turn, and reel.
You've done your job — there was never a blench
You've given them hell, and you've saved your trench ;
By God, you've stuck to your trench !
The daylight breaks on the rain-soaked plain
(For some it will never break again),
And you thank your God, as you're "standing to,"
You'd your bayonet clean, and your bolt worked true.
For your comrade's rifle had jammed and stuck.
And he's lying there, with his brains in the muck.
So love your gun — as you haven't a wench —
And she'll save your life in the blooming trench —
Yes, save your life in the trench.
Capt. C. W. Blackall
Sources:“The Song of the Trench” December, 1914
This is the song of the blooming trench:
It's sung by us and it's sung by the French ;
It's probably sung by the German Huns ;
But it isn't all beer, and skittles, and buns.
It's a song of water, and mud and slime,
And keeping your eyes skinned all the time.
Though the putrid "bully" may kick up a stench,
Remember, you've got to stick to your trench —
Yes, stick like glue to your trench.
You dig while it's dark, and you work while it's light,
And then there's the "listening post" at night.
Though you're soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone;
Though your hands are like ice, and your feet like stone;
Though your watch is long, and your rest is brief.
And you pray like hell for the next relief;
Though the wind may howl, and the rain may drench,
Remember, you've got to stick to your trench-
Yes, stick like mud to your trench.
Perhaps a bullet may find its mark.
And then there's a funeral after dark;
And you say, as you lay him beneath the sod,
A sportsman's soul has gone to his God.
Behind the trench, in the open ground.
There's a little cross and a little mound;
And if at your heart-strings you feel a wrench,
Remember, he died for his blooming trench —
Yes, he died like a man for his trench.
There's a rush and a dash, and they're at your wire.
And you open the hell of a rapid fire;
The Maxims rattle, the rifles flash,
And the bombs explode with a sickening crash.
You give them lead, and you give them steel.
Till at last they waver, and turn, and reel.
You've done your job — there was never a blench
You've given them hell, and you've saved your trench ;
By God, you've stuck to your trench !
The daylight breaks on the rain-soaked plain
(For some it will never break again),
And you thank your God, as you're "standing to,"
You'd your bayonet clean, and your bolt worked true.
For your comrade's rifle had jammed and stuck.
And he's lying there, with his brains in the muck.
So love your gun — as you haven't a wench —
And she'll save your life in the blooming trench —
Yes, save your life in the trench.
Capt. C. W. Blackall
Find my Past; Catherine W. Reilly “English Poetry of the First World War A Bibliography” (St. Martin’s Press, New York, 1978) and
https://archive.org/stream/fromfronttrenchp00andr/fromfronttrenchp00andr_djvu.txt
and with thanks to Nick Locke of the Royal Welch Fusiliers Museum, who sent me information
written by R. J. M. Sinnett, 26 October 2007 - Biog of\Blackall CW
Additional Note: The Royal Welch Fusiliers (In Welsh: Ffiwsilwyr Brenhinol Cymreig) was a line infantry regiment of the British Army and part of the Prince of Wales' Division, founded in 1689 shortly after the Glorious Revolution. In 1702, it was designated a fusilier regiment and became The Welch Regiment of Fusiliers; the prefix "Royal" was added in 1713, then confirmed in 1714 when George I named it The Prince of Wales's Own Royal Regiment of Welsh Fusiliers. After the 1751 reforms that standardised the naming and numbering of regiments, it became the 23rd Foot (Royal Welsh Fuzileers).
The Regiment retained the archaic spelling of Welch, instead of Welsh, and Fuzileers for Fusiliers; these words were engraved on swords carried by regimental officers during the Napoleonic Wars. After the 1881 Childers Reforms, its official title was The Royal Welsh Fusiliers, but "Welch" continued to be used informally until restored in 1920 by Army Order No. 56.
From Jonathon Riley: http://generalship.org/military-history-articles/llewellyn-wyn-griffith.html
