The offensive became significant in the history of the Great War because at that time it marked the biggest land battle in which British troops had ever been involved. The attack also saw the debut of new army divisions, and the first use by the British Army of poison gas. After a long march, Lynch and his men finally arrived at the front, where they joined soldiers from the 18th London Regiment. According to his comrades he was in good spirits, despite the fact that he was probably exhausted after a long march, and like everyone else he was most certainly frightened. Being an officer, Lynch was under instructions to disguise any fear, knowing that such emotions could be counterproductive. At the front line the conditions were awful. There was barbed wire and mud everywhere, the trenches were flooded and it was raining. The attack at Loos was controversial because some in the British Army high command had reservations about the purpose of the offensive, which had been discussed at length by the French and British military hierarchy. Douglas Haig, who would later become commander-in-chief of the British Army, had carried out a personal reconnaissance of the Loos battlefield in June 1915, and concluded that the terrain was ‘not favourable’. He also felt that the enemy were well positioned, and remarked that there were ‘very carefully sited’ German defences. His worries about the strength of the Germans and concerns about the terrain would later turn out to be well founded.
Joseph Lynch probably got sight of the German defences within minutes of arriving at the British front line. As dusk fell he was on the move, and he and his men passed troops who had taken part in earlier attacks on the Germans. His first objective was to capture Loos, and just before he got to the village he received a flesh wound to his wrist. He was hurt and bleeding, and although the wound was not fatal it needed to be dressed, which would have required him to retrace his steps to a first-aid station. As an officer, however, the Dubliner was determined to stay with his men, so he refused to have his arm treated, instead carrying on into battle. He wanted to continue the attack and offer support and leadership to his comrades.
Lynch and his men from the Yorkshire Regiment were now close to Hill 70, and the men tried to gain ground by advancing in short, sharp rushes. As they moved forwards, Lynch was hit by a bullet, which went straight through his head over his left eye. He fell at the base of the hill, and was comforted by a doctor from the East Yorkshire Regiment. The medic could do little to help. Lynch never spoke, and died very quickly. His body lay on the ground for some time, and later that night it was recovered by soldiers from the 10th Hussars.
Whilst the Battle of Loos did result in some ground being gained, it proved difficult to exploit any successes because of problems with getting replacement troops to the front line. Ultimately, the battle would prove to be very costly, 43,000 men losing their lives.
Many telegrams were sent out from London in the days that followed.
One arrived at the Lynch family home in Monkstown in early October, and ended with the traditional statement: ‘Lord Kitchener expresses his sympathy.’ The words informing the family of Joseph’s death were simple and sparse, and were contained on just three lines, yet the words generated a multitude of questions. The family wanted to know how Joseph had died, and wondered if he had suffered and where he was buried. Joseph’s father, Michael, wrote: ‘Please say by whom and where this officer is buried?’
Michael Lynch was informed that Joseph was buried near Loos, and was also given a map reference. His mother, Annie, wrote another letter to the War Office seeking information about what marked her son’s grave. The War Office informed her that wooden crosses were inscribed and placed on all the graves, which had been carefully registered.
In February 1915, Michael Lynch wrote to London, desperately hoping that his son’s belongings had been found. For obvious sentimental reasons he particularly wanted the return of his son’s watch, a ring and some field glasses. A month later he got a reply stating that it was with ‘regret’ that the items could not be found. Joseph Lynch’s possessions could not be traced, and it soon became clear that neither could his body. It seems likely that if he was buried his final resting place was dislodged because of the ongoing battle surrounding Hill 70. The battle for territory meant that Lynch’s body had been scattered, or was buried in an area now unrecognisable after a series of explosions.
Today, in the National Archives in Kew in London, it is possible to find Joseph Lynch’s army file, which chronicles his military career and details his family’s pain. Tucked away in the paperwork, which is a century old, a typewritten line starkly reads, ‘There is no record of this officer’s body having been recovered.’ Death brought heartache and uncertainty, and produced many questions with very few answers. The Lynch family solicitor, H.W. Franck of Dawson Street in Dublin, became a regular correspondent with the military authorities in London. Aged thirty-four, Joseph was a bachelor and died intestate, so his financial affairs needed to be sorted out. Eventually, money that was part of his army pay was forwarded to the Lynch home. It amounted to just over £100, which the solicitor described as ‘trifling’, adding that it would benefit Joseph’s father, who was ‘not a wealthy man’.
Other letters arrived in the Lynch household from Joseph’s battalion, which gave details of his last days and hours. J. Bernard Marshall, a padre with the 62nd Brigade, told Joseph’s parents that he had strong faith. He wrote:
It is needless for me to tell you that he was a fine Catholic. […] Sunday by Sunday he led his men to Mass – a thing that many Catholic officers shirk – and I know that his constancy was a value to the men. They all spoke highly of him. […] Although I could not bury your son, I have not forgotten to offer Mass for him and remember him at the altar.
Joseph Lynch was not the only friend of Frank Browning to die close to Hill 70 in those awful days of September 1915. The day before Lynch was killed by a German sniper, fellow Irish cricket international James Ryan died as the British forces surged forward in an attempt to seize enemy territory.
Ryan, a 23-year-old, was a Northamptonshire lad. As well as playing for his native county, he made one appearance for Ireland against South Africa in 1912. He was born in the village of Roade on 15 September 1892 to Walter Henry and Alice Mary Ryan. His Irish parents were well off, and his father was a well-known physician and surgeon. Brought up in the Catholic faith, Walter and Alice sent their young son to Downside, a prestigious Catholic school near Bath, and there, as well as studying, he immersed himself in his love of sport. He was a very good all-rounder who excelled at many team games including hockey, athletics and football. It was at cricket where Ryan would make his mark and he was best known as a medium fast bowler, and also a talented right-handed batsman.
Aged eighteen in 1910, he left Downside and joined the army, and over the next few years would combine military training with his desire to play cricket. His talent with the bat and ball were quickly spotted by the cricketing authorities, and as a teenager in 1911 he made his debut for Northamptonshire.His career in first-class cricket was spasmodic and stretched over three years, but it was largely uneventful. During his time in county colours he managed just four wickets, and in fifteen innings chalked up 119 runs, with his highest score being 41.
During Ryan’s training days at Aldershot and Sandhurst, he once again excelled at sport as an impressive cricketer and footballer. He was a fast runner with a great turn of pace, and represented the army at athletics, winning the officers’ half-mile at the army athletic meeting.His military and academic curriculum vitae shows what kind of character he was, and it appears that despite his age he showed great maturity as a young man and had great leadership skills. It was his cricketing prowess, however, that impressed Sir Stanley Cochrane, a wealthy Irish businessman who was involved in selecting the Irish team in 1912. Now stationed in Ireland, Ryan was playing cricket locally, and some outstanding performances with the bat meant that he was selected for Ireland for the match against South Africa.
The game at the Woodbrook ground in July presented Ryan with a great opportunity to showcase his cricketing skills on a wider stage. Sadly, he performed poorly both as a batsman and a bowler. His bowling was expensive, and when he went to the crease he scored a duck in the first innings and just 5 runs in the second. He was most unfortunate to be dismissed twice by the great South African all-rounder Aubrey Faulkner, who would later see war service with the Royal Field Artillery.