Merton Court History

Private Frederick Stead

SN: 10390 2nd Battalion Duke of Wellington West Riding Regiment

Case file written by Ellie Grigsby (Not an old Mertonian)

During World War One the execution of soldiers for desertion or what was then interpreted as ‘cowardice’ was intended as both an extreme punishment and a deterrent for others. But, the ‘justice’ system forged to enforce order, was calamitous and sent ripples through the First World War narrative, formidable, and contentious, even in our present day.

After fifteen years of campaigning, from MP Andrew Mackinlay, the Shot At Dawn organisation and historian Julian Putowski, and even the MoD being taken to High Court, her Majesty’s government in 2006 appointed post-humous pardons to 306 soldiers who were shot at dawn by British hand under Section 359 of the Armed Forces Act. The pardon stands as recognition that each man was too one of the many victims of the First World War and that execution was not a fate he deserved. Without challenging the British establishment’s  version of events regarding the segregation of the war’s victims (through the pardons), we would consequently fail to recognise this topic is a moral issue that needed the stigmatised families for over a generation who were made to feel as if their ancestor was a stain on the reputation of Britain and the army, could be included into the collective memory of fallen soldiers.

Private Frederick Stead was one of those young men, charged with: ‘when on actual service, deserting his Majesty’s service’ to which he pleaded not guilty, but Stead was found guilty by the court and convicted ‘to suffer death by being shot.’ Stead’s death charge was confirmed by Field Marshal D. Haig on the 9th February 1917; consequently, his execution was promulgated on 12th February 1917. At only 20 years of age, Stead’s story counts as a piece of the legacy of the shot at dawn boys which has left a dark stamp on the consciousness of British military history. Here is his story.

Frederick Stead enlisted into the Duke of Wellington Regiment in December 1913 and by the end of 1914 Stead had gone to France as reinforcement to 2nd battalion, which had been heavily engaged in the first battle of Ypres. In the middle of January 1915 Stead was struck with an awful bout of diarrhoea and was admitted to hospital, returning however, only four days later. After what would seem a brief period once reunited with his battalion, Stead was again hospitalised, but this time classified with NYD (not yet diagnosed). Despite Stead’s state of ill-health being undetermined at such time, it saw his evacuation back to Blighty. As the Somme offensive loomed, Stead’s convalescence ceased, and he was returned to France, re-joining his comrades towards the end of May 1916. However, before the end of the month he was admitted to no.10 field ambulance suffering from debility. Once again, the luxury of convalescence came to a halt and Stead was discharged from hospital, to return to duty the next day. 

Around two months later, Stead was again admitted to a field ambulance, this time with a sprained ankle. The injury resulted in Stead’s evacuation to no.9 general hospital at Rouen, before transfer to no.6 convalescence camp at Etaples.  By 26th July, Stead was considered fit for duty and was transferred to no.34 infantry base depot where he endured a weeks training in the ‘bull ring.’  Etaples was one of the main base camps along the coast of Northern France; being a port, a lot of men, thousands of them in fact, would have disembarked here. It earned a notorious reputation for its routine of rigorous military training and iron discipline. Although the main camp in France, associated with supplying the ‘final’ training of British troops before they went up to the front, the ‘bull-ring’ was also linked with men who had been injured in conflict and recovered, often being sent there for re-training before returning to the front. The latter, of course, was Stead’s reality. Intense re/preparation clearly inflicted great anxiety and stress; subjected to the psychologically brutal intensity of the training, both ‘raw’ recruits and battle-weary veterans were tested to their limits. Returning to his battalion after Etaples, Stead discovered his comrades had rotated into resting behind the Ypres salient. Peace, once more, was not to last, and by October, the unit now back on the Somme moved up ready for a final push towards Bapaume.

By October 10th Stead sustained his final injury before death while serving in the trenches near Lesboeufs. His admittance to a casualty clearing station was with an injury that arouses suspicion. During the First World War, it was a common belief and phobia of the medical profession and military officials that some soldiers were self-inflicting wounds in order to avoid battle. Such wounds often took the form of rifle shots to the hand and foot and the consequences for the individual concerned were ominous should suspicions of foul play be raised and confirmed. Of course, it was very difficult to determine the nature of such wounding, but military doctors were instructed to be vigilant in cases of malingering and it has been reported there was even a covert investigation into wounds and injuries at the Kitchener hospital in Brighton seeking to establish whether any of the wounds were indeed self-inflicted. Stead was suffering from a GSW (gun shot wound) to the right hand but in fact returned to duty the very next day - a lengthy absence from the wound was not secured. Could this mean Stead was simply ‘lucky’ to keep his hand without suffering detrimental damage, or, would this seem to suggest he was unable to exercise enough precision in order to ensure a lengthy absence due to using his ‘opposite’ hand, this is something we will never now establish. Fleeting though his two-day absence had been, Stead managed to avoid a regrettable day of action on 12th October 1917 as his battalion unsuccessfully attacked Le Transloy, subsequent in 342 casualties.

In December of 1916 Stead had found himself gravely warned when he was first court martialled because he went AWOL. This time, he saw his death sentence commuted to penal servitude, eventually suspended, due to the need for man power taking precedence, and he was ordered to return to the trenches upon his release and to report to the duty room Sergeant at 9am on 15th December 1916. Private Stead did not report that morning, thus search parties were sent out in vicinity of the camps, but Stead could not be found. It was 7am, two days before Christmas of 1916 in Fruges, when a Corporal Howe spotted Private Stead. Howe asked Stead ‘where he was going and from where he had come.’ Stead told the Corporal: ‘I have been discharged from hospital in Abbeville and was given a warrant to Montreuil, I gave the warrant to a police man there and was told my regiment was 8km away.’ Howe, as 5th witness in the trial of Private Stead, exclaimed to the court he did not believe this story thus taking Stead into custody. After making some enquiries at Montreuil it was confirmed that Stead’s version of events was fabricated. Stead saw Christmas pass and the year draw to a close within the confines of four grey walls, no doubt petrified for his life. Stead was not brought back to his battalion until New Year’s Eve, awaiting his second court martial date of 11th January 1917 that would deliver the final blow.

Soldiers who faced trial with a previously tainted service record were in a very perilous position and arguably Stead recognised, and to an extent, accepted the end was imminent. After analysis of the court martial minutes, Stead appeared exhausted and disillusioned, the soldier’s morose outlook would seem to have not only extended to continual silence throughout the trial, but perhaps a reflection on the putative injustice that ran through the military law’s veins. ‘The accused was given every opportunity for cross examining the witness and making a statement in mitigation of punishment,’ instead a broken Private Stead resigned himself to the end.

In spite of his previous convictions and injuries, Stead was given a very fair account of his service by the officer of his battalion; as it was explained he ‘always performed his duties in the trenches satisfactorily’ and on the first day on the Somme offensive, Stead was reported to have done ‘good work with the casualties.’ The statement in Stead’s defence, went on to suggest he perceived Stead as ‘deficient mentally.’ As a consequence of this, a special medical report was ordered to investigate such claims before reaching a recommendation on the case. Stead was placed under observation for seven days under war neurologist Captain William Brown, to which he concluded to the court: ‘I can find no evidence of feeble mindedness or other mental defect in his case.’ Brown’s clearing of Stead’s mental condition afforded no explanation of his behaviour on the field and so it was believed there were no extenuating circumstances in the case to warrant a more lenient treatment.

The Edwardian generation were not culturally attuned to mental health, but we will never be able to establish now whether Stead was actually a young man at a cognitive disadvantage, living with learning difficulties, or was this ‘observation’ of Stead reflective of the lack of understanding of war neurosis?

‘Death was instantaneous,’ were the final three words documenting Frederick’s life up until he drew his last breath, at 06:50am.