Geoffrey was educated at Leeds Grammar School before going on to study at Trinity College, Dublin, Ireland, where he gained a degree in classics and divinity in 1904. After a year's training at Ripon Clergy College, a Church of England theological college in Cuddesdon, Oxfordshire, Geoffrey became a curate at St Andrew's Church, Rugby, and then, in 1914, the Vicar of St. Paul's, Worcester.
When the First World War began, Geoffrey volunteered as a Chaplain to the British Army on the Western Front, where he gained the nickname "Woodbine Willie". In 1917, he was awarded the Military Cross at Messines Ridge after running into no man's land to help the wounded during an attack on the German frontline.
During the war he supported the British military effort with enthusiasm. Attached to a bayonet-training service, Geoffrey toured with boxers and wrestlers to give morale-boosting speeches about the usefulness of the bayonet. One of his inspirational speeches is vividly described by A. S. Bullock as "the most extraordinary talk I ever heard'. Bullock notes that the listeners 'were a very rough, tough lot, but they sat spellbound", and quotes a section of the speech, at the end of which "everybody sprang to their feet and cheered him to the echo".
Geoffrey wrote a number of poems about his experiences, and these were published by Hodder & Stoughton under the tittles “Rough Rhymes of a Padre” (1918), “More Rough Rhymes”(1919), “Songs of faith and doubt” (1922), “The Sorrows of God, and other poems” (1921) and a collection of his works was published under the title “The Unutterable Beauty” by Hodder & Stoughton in 1927.
Geoffrey also had a poem published in “A Treasury of War Poetry : British and American poems of the World War, 1914 – 1919” edited by George Herbert Clarke (Hodder & Stoughton, 1919).
THE SECRET
You were askin' 'ow we sticks it,
Sticks this blarsted rain and mud,
'Ow it is we keeps on smilin'
When the place runs red wi' blood.
Since you're askin' I can tell ye,
And I thinks I tells ye true,
But it ain't official, mind ye,
It's a tip twixt me and you.
For the General thinks it's tactics,
And the bloomin' plans 'e makes.
And the C.O. thinks it's trainin',
And the trouble as he takes.
Sergeant-Major says it's drillin',
And 'is straffin' on parade,
Doctor swears it's sanitation,
And some patent stinks 'e's made.
Padre tells us its religion,
And the Spirit of the Lord;
But I ain't got much religion,
And I sticks it still, by Gawd.
Quarters kids us it's the rations,
And the dinners as we gets.
But I knows what keeps us smilin'
It's the Woodbine Cigarettes.
For the daytime seems more dreary,
And the night-time seems to drag
To eternity of darkness,
When ye ave'nt got a fag.
Then the rain seems some'ow wetter,
And the cold cuts twice as keen,
And ye keeps on seein' Boches,
What the Sargint 'asn't seen.
If ole Fritz 'as been and got ye,
And ye 'ave to stick the pain,
If ye 'aven't got a fag on,
Why it 'urts as bad again.
When there ain't no fags to pull at,
Then there's terror in the ranks.
That's the secret - (yes, I'll 'ave one)
Just a fag - and many Tanks.
'Woodbine Willy'
THE SPIRIT
When there ain't no gal to kiss you,
And the postman seems to miss you,
And the fags have skipped an issue,
Carry on.
When ye've got an empty belly,
And the bulley's rotten smelly,
And you're shivering like a jelly,
Carry on.
When the Boche has done your chum in,
And the sergeant's done the rum in,
And there ain't no rations comin',
Carry on.
When the world is red and reeking,
And the shrapnel shells are shrieking,
And your blood is slowly leaking,
Carry on.
When the broken battered trenches,
Are like the bloody butchers' benches,
And the air is thick with stenches,
Carry on.
Carry on,
Though your pals are pale and wan,
And the hope of life is gone,
Carry on.
For to do more than you can,
Is to be a British man,
Not a rotten 'also ran,'
Carry on..
'Woodbine Willy'
Sources: Find my Past, FreeBMD, Wikipedia
Catherine W. Reilly “English Poetry of the First World War: A Bibliography” (St. Martin’s Press, New York, 1978). Pp 5 and 185 - 186
