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Biography Week: Two Unidentified WW1 Letters

Frank has informed us about the provenance of the letters in more detail. Apparently he bought them in a sale in London in 1980 and had no idea they might be by Rathbone until he read the book Famous 1914-18 which features Rathbone and gives details of his family.

Initial feedback from a WW1 author suggests additional grounds for thinking the letters might be genuine. Apparently, Rathbone’s brother John was injured at the Somme in 1916 – and this fits with the comments made about “Johnny” in letter 1.

All in all it does look distinctly possible these letters might be the real deal, and if so they are pretty significant, particularly the second one. If “July 26” refers to 1918 then it was written on the morning of Rathbone’s heroic action in No Man’s Land that won him his MC.

We continue to want to hear from anyone who knows anything more about the origin of these letters.

Email the Project ( or post a comment here.

Sunday 15th
Dear all, Bea’s letter arrived this morning, and so also did letters from uncle Harold and other family and a parcel from aunt Elfrida which looked very promising but proved to contain nothing but woollen underwear of such gigantic proportions I am at a loss for words. We have managed to fit three men inside a single pair. I wonder if this is the intention. You must enquire politely and also discover if auntie E made them herself. I think they will make excellent tents. Do not tell her that.

We are going out of the line tomorrow, praise the lord, which means we will be able to change our clothes, wash and get some decent food and proper sleep, but it would be very fine to get some good whisky sent out before we are back again. I can’t say for sure how long we will be out, so if you could cut along and send it soon, and also some decent cigarettes, I should be eternally in your debt.

It is the Park Lane of accommodation here, the best in all the Sector and we shall be sad to leave it indeed. Even the rats wear little dress suits and have impeccable manners. And we have a gramophone, though only one thing to play on it, which is Mr Pike singing “Roses of Picardy” – it has lost much of its original charm by this time and I think we would most of us cheerfully lob the thing into No Man’s Land if only we could get it away from its owner. But he is wise to us and never lets it long out of his sight, damn him.

There is chronically little of interest to report as ever, and the state of tedium we exist in can best be illustrated by telling you the captain was sent a beef and onion pie by his people about a week ago, and it is still a topic of excited conversation for us.

Otherwise — we kill rats. And lice. Or play cards. Or take rifle inspections or censor letters or write our own letters home. Fritz has been paying this sector a fair bit of attention for the last day or so. Mostly minenwerfers and field artillery but occasionally we get one of the really big blighters. There’ll be a terrific whistle and rush and thump somewhere and the ground will shake and bits of the parapet will fall on us. Terribly jolly. The heavy stuff mostly fall on the reserves, which of course means we are getting no food sent up and are living on rations and scraps and are fairly starving right now. Sleep is impossible day or night. As soon as we stand down at dusk there is endless movement and bustle of men on fatigues and supplies coming up the communication trenches and everyone is more jittery because we can’t see so every shadow becomes Fritz creeping up on us. Star shells are going up all night. Machine guns rattle now and then at nothing. Sometimes some unlucky blighter catches it by blind chance and the call for stretcher bearers goes up even though there’s not usually much to be done. After a few days of this one is so tired and stupefied one can fall asleep standing up on watch, and is really good for nothing, and so we are sent behind the lines to sleep and wash and eat hot food and be rested enough to do it all again.

Oh but we had a real gas scare the other day. Our part in it was small but telling. It was very near to being an incident. I was out on duty and there were a few shells coming over, nothing much and mostly falling pretty deep, when one of the men said he heard the dread call ‘gas’ coming from north of us – We were all straining to catch anything unusual on the wind, but we couldn’t see or smell anything and we thought it was just imagination, until the CSM and I went along to the next traverse and we caught the smell of something sharp and acrid in the air, and we stopped dead and looked at one another, and I said ‘is it chlorine?’ and he said ‘I’m not taking the risk’ and he spun around and called out “gas” to the men and everyone began putting on respirators, and it was only then I realised my respirator was in the abri and not at my side, which was not a happy realisation. I’m afraid I took off and ran for it all the way back. Heroically of course.

And that was it. The gas alarm proved unfounded you will be happy to know.

This evening we are blessed for Fritz is being parsimonious with his gifts and the dear things in the kitchen have sent us a dixie full of hot, or at least not too cold, cocoa, to which we added our ration of rum . My sergeant has some chocolate saved and is sharing it with the men, so everything is excellently pleasant and we are sitting about playing rummy like a collection of old ladies in retirement. We are really as cosy as one can be in a hole in the ground full of mud and vermin and very unwashed human beings.

I had a letter from Johnny the other day, saying he’s hoping to be back here soon. He surely can’t be well enough yet? I had thought he would be out of it for at least the rest of the year. He has scared us enough for the present and I shan’t enjoy worrying about him again. M also writes to say the baby is now saying many complicated words so she is quite sure he is a prodigy. He wasn’t saying very much at all when last I saw him, and was prodigious only in the amount he seemed prepared to eat, so this is an improvement.

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I believe William has caught a Blighty one? I’m hoping he will make a good recovery.

Your loving [word uncertain – “scion”?]

July 26th
Wed morning

Dear father – We came up from the reserves a while ago, and just before we left I had your letter and also the parcel from uncle H. Please thank uncle and all the family especially the girls for their dear little poems. The whisky has already proved helpful. I shared the cake with my men and it was consumed in three minutes and pronounced to be pretty fair, which is high praise.

I’m sorry for the awful handwriting but it’s very cold and I’m shivering terribly and there’s only an inch of candle left in the dugout to write by and it flickers. It’s 3.50 ack emma, so bitterly cold I’m wearing my great coat though it’s July, but it’s been a quiet night, and when I was out I caught a nice moon, very bright between little bits of cloud. I think it will be a very bright and sweet and warm day again like yesterday. Cloudless and a little breeze. Just the day for cricket.

Today will be quite a busy one and so I want to send this before it gets going.

I have all of Johnny’s letters parcelled up together and I will either bring them home on my next leave or arrange for someone to deliver them in person. I would send them as you asked but I would be afraid of them being lost. The communication trenches can take a beating and nothing can be relied on. If I can’t bring them myself for any reason there is a good sort here, another Lieutenant in our company who is under oath to deliver them, and who I have never known to shirk or break his word. So, you will get them, come what may.

I’m sorry not to have written much the past weeks. It was unfair and you are very kind not to be angry. You ask how I have been since we heard, well, if I am honest with you, and I may as well be, I have been seething. I was so certain it would be me first of either of us. I’m even sure it was supposed to be me and he somehow contrived in his wretched Johnny-fashion to get in my way just as he always would when he was small. I want to tell him to mind his place. I think of his ridiculous belief that everything would always be well, his ever-hopeful smile, and I want to cuff him for a little fool. He had no business to let it happen and it maddens me that I shall never be able to tell him so, or change it or bring him back. I can’t think of him without being consumed with anger at him for being dead and beyond anything I can do to him.

I’m afraid it’s not what you hoped for from me and perhaps that’s why I haven’t written. I suspect you want me to say some sweet things about him. I wish I could for your sake, but I don’t have them to say. Out here we step over death every day. We stand next to it while we drink our tea. It’s commonplace and ordinary. People who had lives and tried to hold on to them and didn’t, and now slump and stare and melt slowly to nothing. You meet their eyes, or what used to be their eyes and you feel ashamed. And now Johnny is one of them. That’s an end of it. Grieving is only ridiculous in this place. It could be me today or tomorrow and I shouldn’t want anyone to bother grieving over that.

Stand to is being called. I have to go now. God bless you and Bea. You are both dearer to me than I could ever say. Take very good care of each other won’t you.

with my best love




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  2. The difference in tone between the two letters is very striking. The first is almost breezy, or at least putting on a brave face for the folks back home. The second reads like it’s from another person entirely, the personality is completely different. I think anyone who has lost someone so close can easily recognise the helplessness of a really deep-felt grief there. I am very pleased Mr Rathbone was spared to give us such memorable performances (‘Anna Karenina’ is a favourite of mine), but I really feel for him here.


  3. Pingback: The Horror of War | The Baz

  4. Campbell Forrester says

    Where are these letters now? Would the owner be interested in selling?


  5. Marvin says

    These letters are decidedly written by Rathbone. Anyone who has read his autobiography can tell that.


  6. Lest We Forget says

    So moving, I agree with others, these leters should be published in a book about the real human cost of war.


  7. re lovett says

    These are such moving letters and having read many of Mr Rathbone’s letters I am sure he wrote these


    • AnnaPindurka says

      I’m sure we would all be happy to hear anything and everything you have to say about those letters if you are happy to share and have the time!


  8. Cymbeline says

    I don;t see why he’d sign “PSB” and it looks like wishful thinking to see it as being from him


    • Somewhere in a comment from a few months ago, Frank said he had the letters examined by an expert, and the expert said there’s a 95% or 99% certainty that the letters were written by Basil Rathbone.


  9. Henry Lehan says

    I don;t think a faker would sign the letters “PSB” as it undercuts their provenance and value.


  10. I cant confirm he wrote them. But I can confirm he has a uncle Harold and aunt Elfrida.There Edgars bro and sister..well 2 of them anyhow.The wrighting of what happend to John is a bit “corny” but that makes me think it’s him all the more.He’s an actor! He needd to say SOMETHING to them.He couldnt just cry on a sheet of papper and post it. Perhaps they way he wrote it was all he could say.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. denise says

    i cried so hard over these and now i want to just know everything about world war 1 and basil in world war one. he would have been such a lovely soldire and so tragic, did he have a g/f when he went to war and did he write to her?


      • bethany says

        it’s weird there are no pictures of Marion, and he never talked bout her either compared to how he went on about Ouida


      • Denise says

        Thanks Anna and Marcia. I love Basil so much and want to learn everything about him. Why did his first marriage end? Is it a coincidence there are no pictures of her? Did she break his heart or something and it was too painful for him to remember? I’m glad he was happily married second time. Oiuda was lucky!


        • roesbette says

          I think the marriage broke up because he was a different person after the war. This is a common occurrence with wartime marriages — the soldier comes back and has a rough time adjusting. He doesn’t explicitly say this in his autobiography, although he does admit responsibility for the break-up, I think.


  12. H Munroe says

    my grandfather was in the 2/10 Liverpool Scottish like Rathbone. He attained the rank of Sergeant in B company, what was Rathbone’s company?


    • Denise says

      Yes it breaks me every time. I just want to comfort him. He was only 26, which is like only seven years older than me, he was hrtdly over being a kid really


  13. Inhismslali says

    If a document examiner gave a probability of 95%+ then that’s got to be pretty much definitive comfirmtion


  14. The second letter should be required reading for war-mongers everywhere.It ought to be published in a collection of WW1 letter, whoever wrote it.


  15. essayporn says

    I’M IN LOVE WITH BASIL and have been since I first saw him in Son of Frank twenty three years ago. I have all his films I can find on Dvd and have read his biography a thousand times. I believe it is his own voice in those lettters. I am sure of it. Thank yu for letting us see them mr Frank


    • roesbette says

      Visit Marcia Jessen’s site at She has an incredible page on WWI and Basil’s involvement — emotionally powerful stuff.


  16. arthur wontner's pale ghost says

    Does anyone know that Rathbone was in the same regiment a Ronald Colman?


  17. Froo49 says

    I don’t think Rathbone wrote these. They really don’t read like him to me. I think he’d have had more compassion


  18. QuietontheWesternFront says

    What beautiful moving letters. Can I have permission to quote them in my project? It’s about famous people who lived through the Great War and I’m doing it for Veteran’ Day at my school. I won’t be publishing them for profit or anything.


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