Born 1882.
Second son of Herbert Carey & Adela Louisa Hardy of Danehurst, Danehill, Sussex.
Baptised Danehill 21/5/1882.
From the Book of Remembrance:
“ – educated at Eton – enlisted on August 7th 1914 in a Sussex Territorial Battalion – later obtaining a commission in the 7th Rifle Brigade. Went to Belgium with the first contingent of the New Army (14thDivision) in May 1915. He was killed on July 23rd 1915 in a mine crater at Hooge near Ypres, Belgium,while assisting a dying Rifleman of his Company. His name is on the Menin Gate Memorial (Index MR 29) Part XXI (UK).Capt. Hardy was ‘The Beloved Captain’ of Donald Hankey’s ‘Student at Arms’. (*)
Memorial window and Statue in All Saints’ Church, Danehill, Sussex.
‘The Rifle Brigade Chronicle’ records the movements of the 7th Battalion from July 20th (1915)when the Commanding Officer and Company Commanders went to Hooge with a view to taking over trenches. “The relief was postponed for twenty-four hours owing to our having exploded a mine on the night 19-20 under Hooge and the ground being reported as not fit for a relief.”
July 21st A draft of two N.C.O.s and thirty three riflemen joined
July 22nd ‘D’ Company and the Battalion bombers left at 10am to relieve a portion of the trenches by daylight. The remainder of the Battalion followed at night. The trenches were taken over from 1st Battalion Gordon Highlanders. ‘C’ and ‘D’ Companies were in the front line and ‘A’ and ‘B’ in reserve. The fighting strength of the Battalion was twenty-six officers and 842 rank and file. Lt. Merriman was wounded.
July 23-29th In trenches. On 23rd Capt. R.M. Hardy was killed and 2nd Lieutenant S.H. Shoveller wounded.
(Footnote: At intervals there was a bombardment from heavy trench mortars. They were very large and the fire was most trying for the moral of the men. The crater edge was abandoned on the day after we took it over in the consequence of the heavy casualties caused by these mortars). (Note by Capt. Norbury).
From ‘The Student at Arms’.
We were holding some trenches which were about as unhealthy as trenches could be. The Bosches were only a few yards away and were well supplied with trench mortars. We hadn’t got any at that time. Bombs and air torpedoes were dropping round us all day. Of course the captain was there. It seemed as if he could not keep away. A torpedo fell into the trench and buried some of our chaps. The fellows next to them ran to dig them out. Of course he was one of the first. Then came another torpedo in the same place. That was the end.(*)
There is a fine memorial to Captain Hardy in the Lady Chapelof All Saints’ Church, Danehill, Sussex. The statuette ‘The Beloved Captain’ is by Mrs G.F. Watts after a painting by her husband, George Frederick Watts, a well-known Victorian painter and sculptor. The memorial was erected by Captain Quarter-Master Michael Chapman M.C., a friend of Ronald Hardy, who himself was killed in Flanders in 1918 and is commemorated in the adjoining tablet. There is also a memorial window in the church next to that in memory of his older brother, Guy Charles Hardy who died in 1904.
From ‘A Student at Arms’ by Donald Hankey.
THE BELOVED CAPTAIN
He came in the early days, when we were still at recruit drill under the hot September sun. Tall, erect, smiling; so we first saw him, and so he remained to the end. At the start he knew as little soldiering as we did. He used to watch us being drilled by the sergeant; but his manner of watching was peculiarly his own. He never looked bored. He was learning just as much as we were; in fact, more. He was learning his job; and from the first he saw that his job was more than to give the correct orders. So he watched, and noted many things, and never found the time hang heavy on his hands. He watched our evolutions, so as to learn the correct orders; he watched for the right manner of command, the manner which secured the most prompt response to an order; and he watched every one of us for our individual characteristics. We were his men. Already he took an almost paternal interest in us. He noticed the men who tried hard, but were inattentive and bored. He marked down the keen and efficient amongst us. Most of all, he studied those who were subject to moods, who were sulky one day and willing the next. These were the ones who were to turn the scale. If only he could get these on his side the battle would be won.
For a few days he just watched. Then he started work. He picked out some of the most awkward ones, and, accompanied by a corporal, marched them away by themselves. Ingeniously he explained that he did not know that much himself yet; but he thought that they might get on better if they drilled by themselves a bit, and that if he helped them and they helped him, they would soon learn. His confidence was infectious. He looked at them, and they looked at him, and the men pulled themselves together and determined to do their best. The best surprised themselves. His patience was inexhaustible. His simplicity could not fail to be understood. His keenness and optimism carried all with them. Very soon the awkward squad found themselves awkward no longer, and soon they ceased to be a squad, and went back to the platoon.
Then he started to drill the platoon, with the sergeant standing by to point out his mistakes. Of course he made mistakes, and when that happened he never minded admitting it. He would explain what mistakes he had made, and try again. The result was that he began to take almost as much interest and pride in his progress as he did in ours. We were his men and he was our leader. We felt that he was a credit to us, and we resolved to be a credit to him. There was a bond of mutual confidence and affection between us, which grew stronger and stronger as the months passed. He had a smile for almost everyone; but we thought that he had a different smile for us. We looked for it and were never disappointed. On parade, as long as we were trying, his smile encouraged us. Off parade, if we passed him and saluted, his eyes looked straight into our own, and his smile greeted us. It was a wonderful thing, that smile of his. It was something worth living for, and worth working for. It bucked one up when one was bored or tired. It seemed to make one look at things from a different point of view, his point of view. There was nothing feeble or weak about it. It was not monotonous like the smile of ‘Sunny Jim’. It meant something. It meant that we were his men, and that he was proud of us, and sure that we were going to do jolly well – better than any of the other platoons. And he made us determined that we would. When we failed him, and when he was disappointed in us, he did not smile. He did not swear or curse. He just looked disappointed, and that made us feel far more savage with ourselves than any amount of swearing would have done. He made us feel that we were not playing the game by him. It was not what he said. He was never very good at talking. It was just how he looked. And his look of displeasure and disappointment was a thing that we would do anything to avoid. The fact was that he had won his way into our affections. We loved him. And there isn’t anything stronger than love, when all’s said and done.
He was good to look on. He was big and tall, and held himself upright. His eyes looked his own height. He moved with the grace of an athlete. His skin was tanned by a wholesome outdoor life, and his eyes were clear and wide open. Physically he was a prince among men. We used to notice, as we marched along the road and passed other officers, that they looked pleased to see him. They greeted him with a cordiality which was reserved for him. Even the General seemed to have singled him out, and cast an eye of special approval on him. Somehow, gentle though he was he was never familiar. He had a kind of innate nobility which marked him out as above us. He was not democratic. He was rather the justification for the aristocracy. We all knew instinctively that he was our superior – a man of finer temper than ourselves, a ‘toff’ in his own right. I suppose that was why he could be so humble without loss of dignity. For he was humble, too, if that is the right word, I think it is. No trouble of ours was too small for him to attend to. When we started route marches, for instance, and our feet were blistered and sore, as they often were at first, you would have thought that they were his own feet from the trouble he took. Of course, after the march there was always an inspection of feet. That is the routine. He came into our rooms, and if anyone had a sore foot he would kneel down on the floor and look at it as carefully as if he had been a doctor. Then he would prescribe, and the remedies were ready at hand, beingborne by the sergeant. If a blister had to be lanced he would very likely lance it himself, there and then, so as to make sure it was done with a clean needle and that no dirt was allowed to get in. There was no affection about this, no striving after effect. It was simply that he felt our feet were pretty important, and that he knew we were pretty careless. So he thought it best at the start to see to the matter himself. Nevertheless, there was in our eyes something almost religious about this care of our feet. It seemed to have a touch of the Christ about it, and we loved and honoured him the more.
We knew we should lose him. For one thing we knew he would be promoted. It was our great hope that one day he would command the company. Also, we knew he would be killed. He was so amazingly unself-conscious. For that reason we knew that he would be absolutely fearless. He would be so keen on the job in hand, and so anxious for his men, that he would forget about his own danger. So it proved. He was a captain and he went out to the front. Whenever there was a tiresome job to be done, he was there in charge. If ever there were a moment of danger, he was on the spot. If there were any particular part of the line where the shells were falling faster or the bombs dropping more thickly than in other parts, he was in it. It was not that he was conceited and imagined himself indispensable. It was just that he was so keen that the men should do their best, and act worthily of the regiment. He knew that fells hated turning out at night for fatigue, when they were in ‘rest camp’. He knew how tiresome the long march there and back and the digging in the dark for an unknown purpose were. He knew that fellows would be inclined to grouse and shirk, so he thought that it was up to him to go and shown them that he thought it was a job worth doing. And the fact that he was there put a new complexion of the matter altogether. No one would shirk if he were there. No one would grumble somuch either. What was good enough for him was good enough for us. If it were not too much trouble for him to turn out, it was not too much trouble for us. He knew, too, how trying to the nerves it is to sit in a trench and be shelled. He knew that a temptation there is to move farther down the trench and herd together in a bunch at what seems the safest end. He knew, too, the folly of it, and that it was not the thing to do – not done in the best regiments. So he went along tosee that it did not happen, to see that the men stuck to their posts, and conquered their nerves. And as soon as we saw him we forgot our own anxiety. It was: “Move a bit farther down, sir. We are all right here; but don’t you go exposing of yourself”. We didn’t matter. We knew it then. We were just the rank and file, bound to take risks. The company would get along all right without us. But the captain, how was the company to get on without him? To see him was to catch his point of view, to forget our personal anxieties, and only think of the company, and the regiment and honour.
There was not one of us that would gladly have died for him. We longed for the chance to show him that. We weren’t heroes. We never dreamed about the V.C. But to save the captain we would have earned it ten times over, and never cared a button whether we got it or not. We never got the chance, worse luck. It was all the other way. We were holding some trenches which were about as unhealthy as trenches could be. The Bosches were only a few yards away and were well supplied with trench mortars. We hadn’t got any at that time. Bombs and air torpedoes were dropping round us all day. Of course the captain was there. It seemed as if he could not keep away. A torpedo fell into the trench and buried some of our chaps. The fellows next to them ran to dig them out. Of course he was one of the first. Then came another torpedo in the same place. That was the end.
But he lives. Somehow he lives. And we who knew him do not forget. We feel his eyes on us. We still work that wonderful smile of his. There are not many of the old lot left now; but I think those who went west have seen him. When they got to the other side I think they were met. Someone said: “Well done, good and faithful servant”. And they knelt before that gracious pierced Figure, I reckon they saw the captain’s smile. Anyway, in that faith let me die, if death should come my way; and so, I think, shall I die content.
(*) Excerpts from this book were reprinted in Danehill Parish Magazine in November 1947 and January 1948. The book was very popular at the time, running to seven editions (“Student in Arms” by Donald Hankey (seventh edition).Andrew Melrose Ltd, 3 York Street, Covent Garden, London 1916.Pp.59-70).
Hankey writes about his Battalion training, the Captain who cared for his men, and the actions they fought in as part of the New Army. (The New Army was raised as a result of Lord Kitchener’s appeal in late August 1914 with the famous poster. He needed 100,000men, by mid-October up to 2 million had responded.) The excerpts reprinted gave a good idea of the spirit of the New Army – how officers and men were ‘all in it together’ as new soldiers.
