When I was researching the names on the Southborough War Memorial I discovered many touching stories, a number of which featured men who lost their lives in training, no less poignant than those who were killed in action. George Jones died   in an air-crash 100 years ago this week, on a fine May morning in Kent.
 
George was born in Bolotwa, a town in Eastern Cape, South Africa. He came from a line of men who had served in the military. His father, WC Prime Jones, a Government Magistrate in Whittlesea, South Africa, had previously served with the Cape Mounted Rifles; his grandfather was Captain Richard Walker Jones, of Park Place, Sevenoaks Common, and his great-grandfather was Captain Richard Jones, RN, of Warehorn, Tenterden.
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George lived with his aunts at ‘Ampthill’, 46 Pennington Road, Southborough,  and he was educated at Skinners' School in Tunbridge Wells, where he had been a member of the Officers’ Training Corps. George was well-known locally, particularly as a sportsman. A keen cricketer and footballer, he had played for Tunbridge Wells, Southborough, and several times for the Rangers (his prowess as a goalkeeper was “envied by every custodian in the district. Standing 6 ft 4 ins, his reach is a great asset, and he knows how to make the best use of it”). He had been asked to play for Tottenham Hotspur, and soon after joining the Army he had turned out for Brighton and Hove Albion.

He obtained a commission as Lieutenant in the 8th Battalion of The Buffs (East Kent Regiment) soon after the outbreak of the First World War, and went to the Front on 31st August 1915. He was wounded on 26 September in the Battle of Loos and promoted to Captain the following day. The Courier of 8 October reported:

‘He had an extremely narrow escape, a bullet striking his belt and glancing off, inflicting a flesh wound. A few minutes after - before he had recovered from the shock - a shell burst just behind him and rendered him unconscious for half an hour from concussion.’

About six months later, in the early Spring of 1916, George was attached to the Royal Flying Corps, then in its infancy, having been formed just four years earlier in April 1912. The Courier of 2 June 1916 reported that he "entered into the study and practice of aviation with the same enthusiasm that he has shown in everything else.  He had gained his pilot's certificate, and in about a fortnight or three weeks would probably have gained his 'wings'."

On the morning of 28 May, 1916, George went up as a passenger with Lieutenant Tennant, who had 20 hours flying time under his belt, for a practice flight from a local aerodrome in Kent. A police constable was on duty at the field being used by the authorities as a landing site, and at the inquest held two days later he reported that at 11am he "saw the biplane descend with Lieutenant Tennant acting as pilot, deceased being in the observer’s seat. They got out, had a smoke and a chat, and were both very cheerful, commenting on the fine morning. They stayed about a quarter-of-an-hour, and then prepared to return. The machine was not more than 100 feet up, when it appeared to gradually turn to the left, and then side-dipped, taking a nose-dive to the ground. Witness got to the spot two or three seconds after the machine fell, and found that Lieutenant Tennant had been thrown two or three feet clear of the machine, and was apparently badly injured, but was still living. Captain Jones was still in the machine, but was quite dead. It took about three-quarters-of-an-hour to get him out. Witness described his injuries, and said death was absolutely instantaneous. His wrist watch was still going when he was got away from the machine."

George Jones was given a military funeral at Southborough Cemetery, his coffin borne from his home on a gun-carriage drawn by six black horses. The mourners included his uncle, aunts Florrie, Leila and Maud, and officers and men of the Royal Flying Corps, but sadly, several members of his family  were unable to arrive in time. There are several other airmen buried in Southborough Cemetery, but Captain Jones must surely be the earliest.
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As regards Lieutenant Tennant, this link indicates that he survived this accident, only to be killed one year later on the Somme.

His photograph can be seen here. 

For an account of the conditions encountered by RFC airmen in France, I can highly recommend this link, featuring Fighter Pilot Cecil Arthur Lewis, one of the founders of the BBC (unless the current Government's commands to the BBC have meant dismounting this section from the BBC's superb website!).

Until a couple of weeks ago, SATNAV was a technological development I regularly pooh-poohed. I like maps, and the first thing I do after booking a holiday to a new destination is to buy the DK Guide and start reading up about the region. I’m generally the tour-guide when we go abroad, as I love researching things and then winkling them out when we arrive! I remember my husband asking me, when we were walking through Prague, and I had a particularly purposeful stride, how I knew where I was going? I replied that having studied the city map, I was simply following a route I could see clearly in my head!

A young colleague with a university degree, about to start training as a teacher, told me recently that such was her dependency on SATNAV she would have had no clue how to make her way from Kent to Cologne with only a map for guidance.  I found that quite shocking.  I guess I took it for granted that any sighted person who has been through full-time education could read a map and simply follow the signs to a destination.

I also actually enjoy jotting down verbal instructions on the back of an envelope and following them - you know the kind of thing: “Take the A21 to Hastings, and just before the King George pub at Hurst Green, there’s a corner with a big oak tree and a red postbox on the left - take the little road and follow it until you come to a bridge, about a mile along....”.

Last time we went to Wales, however, even though we’ve driven along the M4 corridor literally hundreds of times to visit family, we got comically lost on every single drive around Cardiff’s surrounding country. It did, though, give us an opportunity to seek help from friendly locals, notably Phil, a Fish and Chip shop owner near Bridgend. Not only did he come out from behind the fryer, fire up his laptop, and search for the hotel we were trying to find, but went so far as to give us his mobile number and told us to call him if we got lost again and he’d direct us over the phone! Beyond friendly, as they say in the valleys of South Wales!

Another colleague recommended I use SATNAV when I recently had to visit seven coach companies in the Midlands and further North, all in unknown territory. It was, I admit, very useful, although I did end up in some odd places along narrow country roads when I inputted a postcode rather than the specific building number of the location. I was particularly grateful, when en route in Lancashire from Chipping to Oswaldtwistle, and I came across a closed road, to have the SATNAV’s re-routing facility to guide me on. Just popping in the address for the next stop, and the ‘time to your destination’ display, took all the stress out of the journey.
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On my final day, after my last appointment in Cheltenham, my little friend directed me in a bee-line to the M4 via a hilly country road, and, perfectly timed for lunch, I came across the charming Green Dragon Inn at Cockleford, first established in 1675. I tucked into a plate of smoked salmon and crusty brown bread, accompanied by a  glass of cloudy apple juice produced locally, together with a few pages of Patrick O’Brian’s The Mauritius Command (my other trusty travelling companion) - a perfect combination for the weary traveller! 

I think Mr Toad would have enjoyed SATNAV, and embraced it with something like my own newly-minted enthusiasm, but it’s not an unmixed joy - on our way back from a family funeral in Llanelli last weekend the OH, Honourable Son and I headed for the Toby Carvery at Pontprennau for a fortifying evening meal en route. The SATNAV led us round a long circuitous route to a spot beside a high fence enclosing a business park. We could see the Toby on the other side, but there was no way through. We had to drive back to the motorway roundabout and enter the business park that way, and got there finally after seeking human assistance from an ASDA petrol station attendant. So, useful though SATNAV is, I think I’ll keep my map/road-sign reading skills in regular use.
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An elderly lady once told me that during the Second World War all the road signs were taken down in order to confuse the enemy should they succeed in invading our sceptre’d isle. I like to think that both her generation and mine could still navigate our way using the geography skills we’re taught at school, and a good map (but then presumably so could roving spies!).

Dominick Tyler, in his beautiful book Uncommon Ground - A Word-Lover's Guide to the British Landscape (a Christmas gift from my son Tom), includes this reflection on Welsh landscape: "... I began to appreciate the descriptiveness of Welsh landscape language, and how well-suited it was to communication about places and routes. The fact that the bulk of the Welsh lexis predates mapping goes some way to explain this descriptiveness, since journeys must have been  shared in telling, rather than drawing, for centuries."

​I guess that famous uber-long Welsh ​place name must be a brilliant example of this: Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, meaning  roughly  "St Mary's Church in the Hollow of the White Hazel near a Rapid Whirlpool and the Church of St Tysilio near the Red Cave".

Some years back, when a Toby Carvery opened in the village where my mother-in-law lived in South Wales, we approached hesitantly. Perhaps  the word ‘Carvery’ suggested to us a caveman-style meat extravaganza - we were pleasantly surprised by the reality! Not that there weren’t other places to eat on our regular visits from south-east England, but even a Welshman and his (Honorary Welsh) Saxon wife can tire of fish and chips, Indian takeaways, and griddle meals at pubs.

We’ve never ordered a la carte at a Toby, or drunk a bottomless soft drink (it’s nice to have your own teeth!), but the main course carvery, always at an amazing price (generally around £6), is a wholesome  offering that can be relied upon. Mam was happy to choose a portion of food that didn’t overwhelm someone of her generation, and we were happy eating a variety of freshly-cooked vegetables with our gammon/turkey/pork or beef. There’s always a tasty and imaginative vegetarian alternative too.

It’s still a good deal, at a great price, a real boon for school groups out on trips, where it’s good to offer the kids something other than pizza, burger, chicken nuggets etc. (though a bone of contention, for me, is above-mentioned bottomless drinks - not great for anyone’s health, let alone our children’s). Whenever  travelling in the UK, for pleasure or work, I tend to look up the nearest available Toby. If you’re not sure what time you’re arriving, or how much time you will have to eat, it’s really convenient to know you’ll get a decent meal without having to hang around. Recently, venturing North, I located one in Bolton near my accommodation.  They usually seem to be housed in 20th century pubs, so I was knocked out when I drew up in front of a stunning Gothic building in Crompton Way - wowsers!

Apparently Watermillock House, a listed building, was originally a gentleman's country house, designed in the 1880s by Messr JJ Bradshaw and John Gass of Bolton (the architectural practice is still going) for Herbert and Thomas Thwaites (master cotton bleachers). It’s in Tudor Gothic style, with wonderful bat motif gargoyles and griffins as corner pinnacles, beautiful stained glass and arched doorways. Its interior is stunning  and includes a fireplace with de Morgan tiles.

The waitress told me that  in earlier incarnations the house had been a pub, an old people’s home, and was used as a military hospital during the World Wars, at one time specialising in the care of  pilots with horrific burns, among other casualties.  Between wars, in 1937, it had served as a hostel for refugee Basque children evacuated from Bilbao during the Spanish Civil War. I understand that local people did their very best to make the children feel supported and cared for, and funds were raised by colleges, schools and universities to help them. 

It occurred to me this would be a fab place to have a tour of in Heritage Weekend - and I see after a quick google that Bolton has many other wonderful sights to see - think I’ll aim for a repeat visit in the Autumn!

Finally - here’s my other Toby collection!  Two were modelled on my father James Hayter playing Friar Tuck, but my favourite is the hand-painted Kelsboro Ware version of him as Mr Pickwick, which I also think carries a better resemblance.