Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria including the collection to Naval Artificers formed by JH Deacon

Three: Captain W. H. Dickins, Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire Regiment, died of wounds received at Loos, 28 September 1915

1914-15 Star (Capt., Notts. & Derby. R.); British War and Victory Medals (Capt.); together with card boxes of issue; and a quantity of original documentation, including a number of original photographs, many of which depict recipient in uniform, and a number of which are of a large format; half a dozen letters of condolence, etc.; several newspaper cuttings; and telegram from Buckingham Palace, extremely fine and an emotive collection of documentation (3) £400-500

This lot was sold as part of a special collection, A Fine Collection of Medals to Officers Who Died During The Two World Wars.

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Wyndham Harold Dickins was born in 1870, receiving a commission into K.R.R.C. on 1 September 1900. During the Great War he served with the 12th Battalion, Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire Regiment, and died of wounds received in action at Loos, on 28 September 1915. He is buried at Abbeville Communal Cemetery, France.

The following is extracted from a moving letter written to his widow by Sister Margaret Blander, No. 12 Ambulance Train, who nursed Captain Dickins through the final hours of his life. The original of this letter is included with the lot. ‘...Your husband was brought on my train on the 27th September about 7p.m. He had a gunshot wound of his back, the wound in itself was small, but the spine must have been injured, as his legs were both paralysed. We got him made comfortable on his bed, he himself saying that he wanted nothing more now than a drink of water. He suffered no pain. He had sips of milk, water, and beef tea. About 10:00p.m. he fell asleep and slept about one hour. He did not sleep again, but said he had no pain, only thirsty, and he drank quite a lot, but would have nothing but water. He would have talked on, but I tried to get him over to sleep again, thinking a sleep would do so much for him. The only thing he was thinking of was the thought of getting home. He knew he was critically ill and asked me if I thought he should ever be able to cross over. Then he told me if I just gave him one other drink, he felt like sleeping. I gave him his drink, and he had only finished it when I saw a change and he just quietly breathed his last. There was no struggle, nothing could have been more peaceful. He never spoke again. His face was beautiful in it’s calmness and he looked at peace. He died about 10:00a.m. on the morning of the 28th September...

How often I think of the mothers, the wives and the sweethearts that are left to wait at home. I dread to think of England, it is a land of sorrow and morning...’