War history: The too-short life of John Kipling and the mysteries he left behind

Rudyard Kipling, who was understandably shattered by the loss of his only son (Image: � Pictorial Press Ltd / Alamy)

He notes “the men are behaving splendidly and the weather is top hole!” He left Le Havre on August 18, 1915, by train, making his way nearer and nearer to the front. At the same time his father, Rudyard Kipling, was reporting from France as a war correspondent. John followed avidly his father’s progress, including newspaper clippings of his father’s travels in his letters home.

As the men neared the front, transportation took the form of the hob-nailed marching boot. The French pavé took its toll as Rupert Grayson, fellow officer and friend of John Kipling, recounts. “The men were even wearier and footsore than I. They squatted on their packs with drooping heads like winded horses.”

John’s letters home are filled with requests for little essentials to make life more comfortable: chocolate and biscuits (not digestives), writing paper, a refill for his Orilux lamp, some Colgate tooth powder, tobacco (in 2oz tins), a portable glass in a strong case and some literature were some of the requests.

As the weather broke the rain became incessant, making conditions difficult. John: “...it keeps on raining like Hades… will you send me an oilskin coat?”

A headstone marking the loss of young John Kipling during the Battle of Loos (Image: Archant)

On September 11, training became so intense John had no further time to write home. He would have heard the address by General Haking, telling them “the greatest battle in the history of the world’ was about to take place and they would be opposed by 40,000 enemy as against 200,000 allied troops”. Haking urged commanders to “push on boldly whenever the opportunity offered”.

In one of John’s last letters he asks his father to send him an identity disc as he had “gone and lost mine”. The details to be stamped on the disc are: 2nd Lt J Kipling, CofE, Irish Guards.

Second Lieutenant Kipling went into action on September 27. As an 18-year-old platoon commander prior to attack he would have spent his time trying to lift the spirits of his men, checking weapons and offering reassurance.

The attack was to take place after an initial one-and-a-half-hour artillery bombardment, over ground which even Field Marshal Douglas Haig (commander of the British Expeditionary Force) declared “…was not suitable for an attack because the flat ground would be swept by gunfire from the enemy’s front line trenches...”

Haig’s prophecy was to come true. After two hard days and sleepless nights the Irish Guards would lose seven officers in 40 minutes. One was John Kipling.

Rudyard and Carrie Kipling, devastated by the loss of their only son, proceeded to explore every avenue, desperately searching to find his body. But in vain.

Rudyard Kipling threw himself into writing the History of the Irish Guards and worked with the Imperial War Graves Commission, culminating in the unveiling of the memorial at Dud Corner in Loos on which John’s name is engraved.

Then, in 1992, an extraordinary claim was made. A records officer at the Commonwealth War Graves Commission submitted a paper stating an unknown lieutenant buried in St Mary’s ADS (advanced dressing station) Cemetery in France was in fact John Kipling.

He based his explanation on the fact all but one of the 2nd Bn Irish Guards lieutenants had been identified; therefore the body had to be John. Added to this was the belief the map reference where “John” had been found had been wrongly marked as G25 when it should have been H25 (the area where he disappeared).

John had indeed been promoted on June 7, 1915. However, it was not gazetted (announced in the newspapers) until November, some two months after his death. Was it possible John knew he had been promoted and therefore wore the rank of lieutenant on that fateful day?

From his letter written on September 19 it would appear not, as he asks his father to send out a replacement disc with his rank marked as 2nd Lieutenant.

We will never know if the young man lying in Plot 7, Row D, Grave 2 is John Kipling.

One final mystery completes this story: that of Rudyard Kipling’s poem My Boy Jack. On good authority I was told by staff at Batemans, the family home, that Kipling had never called his son Jack. The poem had been based on Jack Cornwell VC, killed at the Battle of Jutland. Whatever the answer, it is a fitting poem for two young men who gave their lives in the Great War.

Have you news of my boy Jack?

Not this tide.

When d’you think that he’ll come back?

Not with this wind blowing, and this tide

Has anyone else had word of him?

Not this tide.

For what is sunk will hardly swim,

Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

Oh dear, what comfort can I find?

None this tide,

Nor any tide

Except he did not shame his kind –

Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more

This tide

And every tide;

Because he was the son you bore,

And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!

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See more on Ipswich’s role in the war here