IN the early 1900s warehouseman Benjamin Birchenough left his home in Burnley, with his family, for a new life in Canada.

He found work as a builder but with the outbreak of WWI he enlisted in the Canadian Army, joining the 58th Ontario — although he was 35, he had previously served with the East Lancashires.

As he sailed to France, via Southampton, on the Saxonia, his wife Janey returned to the family in Stoneyholme with their two daughters Minne, five, and baby Amy.

Benjamin had been in France for only four months, when he was blown up on June 16, 1916, only days before he was due some well-earned leave.

He was, by then, a sergeant.

His granddaughter Marlene Freethy, who lives in Pendle, still has letters he wrote to his wife and daughters, parents and sister, 98 years ago — his brother Walter was serving in Salonika.

One, written on February 26, 1916, from ‘somewhere in France’, says: “Just arrived here, though I am not allowed to tell you where, but it is very cold and everything is covered in snow.

“We are billeted in farms all around the country and we sleep in the barns, getting down in the hay.

“We can hear the guns booming all night and think it won’t be long before we get our share.”

March 3.

“We’ve just been put through the whole business of gas instruction, even so far as being closed up in a dug out and having the full force of gas turned on.

“It was surprising the effect the gas had on our clothing, especially the buttons, which turned green and black, but the helmets are splendid.

“We’ve had our initiation into the fighting, half the men stay in the trenches, while the others form as working parties and we swop round after four or five days.

“Thunder is mild to the sound of the guns, they were all around us while we were out working last night.”

March 8, sent from ‘hotel de la dug-out’.

“This is the first letter you will have had direct from the trenches and I am writing it from the bedroom of the above address, a 7ft by 5ft by 3ft space which has to accommodate us for sleeping, reading, writing and dining; we do not worry about a bathroom.

“There are three of us in this room and when one of us wants to turn round we all turn round!

“There’s not a lot of firing, just an occasional exchange to let each other know we are still here and we don’t need much telling to keep our heads down, that comes by instinct.

“Every morning we have to ‘stand to’ at daybreak; that is, every man has to line the parapet of the trench and that is the time that Fritz generally makes his attacks.

“We stand like that for about an hour and every man gets his little tot of rum.

“We ‘stand to’ again at sundown.”

March 27. “Tell the children I will be coming home back to you all before very long. All of us over here are very optimistic and think it will all be over sooner than most people expect.”

April 7. “We have been in a difficult section of trenches this time up, for there were only enough dugouts for half the men and some of the poor fellows had to get what sleep they could on the firestep.

“One thing you might send as soon as you can is a few Gillette safety razor blades.”

May 10. “Just to let you know I received your most welcome parcel and that I am still safe and uninjured.

“It didn’t take me long to dip into the parcel, it’s a long time since I enjoyed anything so good, the fresh apples were great.

“If you only knew what we had been through, you would understand how we welcome anything from home, just to make us think of home and help us forget for a time the horrors of this affair.

“Our last trip in the trenches was by far the worst we have yet experienced and we lost heavily in killed and injured, having no less than 79 casualties in the 16 days we were there.

“Our one consolation was that we got our own back on Fritz.

“One night, just before dark, the Germans tried to take us by surprise, but luckily our sentries saw them leave their trenches and form up in lines, with bombers in front, ready to attack.

“We just waited till they moved across, then set about shooting.

“I never saw anything like it. We just pumped lead in them so that our rifles got red hot.

“It was almost impossible that anything could live in front of that and only three of them got into our trench, but they will never be able to tell anybody about it, as they were soon polished off.

“We lost nine killed and 28 injured.

“We had a big treat today.

“We were marched to the baths, which are hot water showers and got a complete change of clean underwear – we get this treat every time we come out of the trenches.”

June 1. “This is just a short letter to say I am still safe and uninjured and that I am coming home on leave.

“I shall be leaving here either the 4th or 5th.”

But Benjamin never did and 15 days later was killed by a shell.

Even in 1922, six years later, the War Graves Commission, could only tell Janey that they believed her husband to be buried where he fell, a mile east of Zonnebeke, in Flanders.

The family were, however, sent his little dog tag and he is commemorated on the Menin Gate.