Elliot, Walter

Private Walter Elliot

Machine Gun Corps.

1918 - December 11.

ON the 11th December 1918 there died in the Military Hospital at Grantham, of broncho-pneumonia. Private WALTER ELLIOT, Machine Gun Corps, husband of Janet Stewart, and second son of Walter Elliot, Eddleston, formerly of Newby, Peebles. The deceased soldier was born at Benger Burn, Yarrow, and was a gamekeeper before enlisting. He was almost seven years with the late William Allan Woddrop of Garvald, and later he was in the employment of Lord Tweedmouth, at Hutton Castle, Berwickshire.

He attested under the Derby Scheme in November 1915, and when Lord Tweedmouth's estate was sold in April 1916 he went into a munition factory. He enlisted in the King's Own Scottish Borderers on 5th January 1917, and was transferred to the Highland Light Infantry, and later to the Machine Gun Corps. Private Elliot went out to France in June 1917. He was wounded at Spriet, north of Passchendaele, on the 26th October 1917, and the following letter

details his experiences in that engagement and in hospital:

"I was laid out about half a mile north of Poelcapelle, at a place called Spriet. We left Ypres Canal Bank at 3.30 A.M. on Thursday, the 25th October, and walked up to our position, which was about two hundred yards from Jerry's front line. Jerry saw us and started to snipe, killing one of our chaps. We lay on the top all day, and couldn't get any tea made or anything, as we could not dig in on account of water. Then it began to rain, and as we only had waterproof sheets with us we looked fine sights, and what with cold, rain, and mud, we were glad when the time came for action. I went over the top as cool as a cucumber, and feeling as if I didn't care whether I got killed or not. I was carrying the gun, and had advanced about three or four hundred yards when I got hit, and went down like a rabbit. Two of my mates picked up the gun and went on and I had a look to ascertain how badly wounded I was. I crept back to a newly made shell hole and dressed my wounds. The bullet entered my left leg, about half an inch from the knee cap, and came out at the big vein which runs down the side (and for a while I thought it was cut), then it went through the muscle of the right leg and came out three inches above the knee. I saw a spade lying, so I picked it up and started to make my way out, using the spade as a walking stick. I never expected to get out alive, as Jerry was counter-attacking by this time, and he was fairly sending over some stuff. But I was lucky, for I was only struck on the knuckle of the middle finger and it is healed up already. I had to walk about four miles to the dressing station, and was about a waster when I arrived, as my legs were that stiff I couldn't bend them. I was told to sit down, and if they had given me £100 I couldn't have done so, as my legs were like pokers. So they laid me on a stretcher, gave my wounds a dressing, put me on board a Red Cross car, and took me back twenty miles; carried me into a tent, cut boots, socks, puttees, drawers, and trousers off me, changed me to the skin, dressed my wounds again, and inoculated me. I lay there for a few hours, was then carried out, put on board a Red Cross train, and whipped right to the Australian Hospital, near Boulogne, and I have lain on the broad of my back with my left leg in splints ever since. I left France about 11 A.M. on the Monday (and I hope never to see it again), and landed at Dover about 1 P.M. From thence we travelled to Perth. The wounds on my left leg are bad. Three nights ago I thought I should go mad with pain. My leg swelled up from the foot to the groin, and in the morning they had to change my shirt and sheets, as they were absolutely wringing with sweat. However, they have been applying hot fomentations to try to open the wound, and the swelling has gone down on the thigh, but my knee is like a dumpling. It had to be opened four times in France, and I am afraid it means another operation, but they are waiting to see what the specialist says about it first. However, I am well looked after, and get plenty of good food to eat. This is my thirtieth day in bed, and it seems a mighty long time, as I have lain in one position all the time."

Private Elliot was keenly interested in football, but his main sport was shooting. He was a good shot, and won many prizes at clay pigeon matches both in Peeblesshire and Berwickshire. He was of a very cheery nature, and was much liked by his friends and acquaintances.

And so for me there is no sting in Death,

And so the grave has lost its victory:

It is but crossing with a bated breath

And white set face, a little strip of sea

To find the loved ones waiting on the shore,

More beautiful, more precious than before.

Source: The Book of Remembrance for Tweeddale – Peebles Book 2 - Pages 312 to 314.

Name: ELLIOT, Walter

Initials: W

Nationality: United Kingdom

Rank: Private

Regiment/Service: Machine Gun Corps

Date of Death: 11/12/1918

Service No: 98143

Casualty Type: Commonwealth War Dead

Grave/Memorial Reference: 1709.

Cemetery: PEEBLES CEMETERY