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Illustration by Chelsea O'Byrne
On a wet, cool day in late April in Toronto, 60 members of my extended family attended a memorial service for a relative whom none of us had ever met. We came together from Canada, the United States and Europe because the Canadian military had informed our family that they had found Corporal Frederick Percival (Percy) Bousfield. Until then, all we knew was that Percy had been killed on June 7, 1916, during the devastating two-week Battle of Mount Sorrel, which took place outside the town of Ypres, Belgium, and that his exact gravesite was unknown.
According to military records, he was struck by an enemy shell while carrying wounded men to safety. And, according to letters received by family from members of his battalion, he was going back for another stretcher when he was hit. During that awful battle, some 8,000 Canadians died. My great-uncle Percy, 20 years old, was one of them.
According to a burial report at the time, Percy was buried “In Garden behind Cottage West side of road 100 yards North of Church” in Zillebeke, Belgium, and his grave was marked with a wooden cross. However, in July 1927, the family was informed by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission that all graves found in the area had been concentrated in cemeteries, but that Cpl. Bousfield’s grave had not been identified. They did not know how Percy’s grave came to be lost, although it was not uncommon for wooden crosses to be destroyed in later fighting.
And so, 10 years after he was killed, Percy was “lost” again. For more than a century, Percy remained lost and, with no known grave, his name was duly engraved on the Menin Gate Memorial.
And then, more than 100 years later, news arrived from official military channels – Percy had been found by researchers in the Canadian military!
Family stories of this much-loved son and brother had always been passed down by his siblings to their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Luckily, photos, drawings and letters written to, and by, Percy had been saved. Even better, one of our family members, an assiduous historian and record-keeper, had troves of documents and photographs, letters and memorabilia on hand, so it made “getting to know” Percy, and stories of his brief life, easier.
He was born on March 8, 1896, in Cotehill, Cumberland, England. Percy was the third eldest in a family of five boys and four girls, with my grandfather, Reginald, one of his younger brothers.
At 14, Percy apprenticed with the mercantile service out of Glasgow and travelled around the world working on sailing vessels. His family, including my then 12-year-old grandfather, immigrated to Canada in 1912, arriving in Québec City and eventually settling in Winnipeg. Percy joined them there shortly after and enlisted with the 79th Cameron Highlanders of Canada. On Jan. 29, 1915, Percy signed on for overseas service and was assigned to the Signals Section of the 43rd Canadian Infantry Battalion, Canadian Expeditionary Force. After training in England, he was promoted to corporal and sent to France in February, 1916. From there, he was sent to the front near Ypres. Four months later he was killed.
Two months after his death, Percy’s 15-year-old sister recorded in her diary: “Dear, darling, old Perce has done his last duty. He was killed at the front on June 7/16 while bringing in wounded. In death, as always in life, he thought of others. The dear boy never did take enough care of himself. …”
Percy was found thanks to painstaking research by both the Commonwealth War Graves Commission and the Directorate of History and Heritage, part of the Canadian Armed Forces. Three separate researchers came to believe that an unmarked grave at Bedford House Cemetery in Belgium could belong to Percy, and so war diaries, service records, casualty registers and grave exhumation and concentration reports were used to confirm his identity.
This news was delivered one grey April day with great care and empathy by Lieutenant-Colonel Jon Baker, the commanding officer of Percy’s regiment, the Queen’s Own Cameron Highlanders of Canada. Lt.-Col. Baker spoke as solemnly and respectfully as if Percy had been killed only recently, rather than 117 years ago. The news left us emotionally stunned and the room silent. Some people wept. I thought of my mother, my grandfather, the rest of Percy’s siblings, and his parents who never knew where Percy finally lay. “It seemed as if the world stopped for a moment,” said one of Percy’s great-great-nephews, himself now a captain in the Canadian Armed Forces. It seemed as if at the moment of announcing where he was buried, Percy became alive for us all, and so much more than just a name.
At the dinner following the service of Remembrance, Percy was honoured and toasted by everyone who had never known him personally but now felt a deep connection. His nephews and nieces spoke of their parents’ stories about their older sibling (”He was an expert swimmer!” “He wrote such beautiful letters!” “What penmanship!” “Did you see his drawings – marvellous!”). One niece, a daughter of Percy’s youngest brother, even had Percy’s dog tag with her, somehow retrieved from Percy’s body in the horror of the Mount Sorrel battlefield, and which had made its way through time to her left wrist, soldered onto a bracelet.
Percy was among family once again.
Alexandra Brown lives in Port Hope, Ont.