From the News

Dated: December 25, 1918

He used to sit in the very office where this is written, going out from hence on his assignments, a cheerful, willing reporter, a bright, merry youth, well liked wherever he went.

A fragment of an identification disc is all The World office holds of him today-"W. Tighe , 911,800, B. C., Can." - the rest is gone, torn away by the bit of shrapnel that killed him outright as he climbed the east slope of the Canal du Nord in the dawn of that day late in September when the Canadians drove into Bourlon Wood and on to Cambrai.

But amid all the toil and misery of the trenches there had been at least some minutes of glorious life for William Tighe. A lad of slight stature, he had, but a few weeks before, rushed a Hun machine gun post single-handed and killed the gunners and the officer in charge, holding his capture until his comrades reached him, able to go forward now that the machine gun nests had been cleared out, he was herding fifty German prisoners to the rear, overawing them with the Hun officer's revolver which he knew neither how to fire or load. The Military Medal was his fitting reward.

He hated war, did William Tighe, hated it with a consuming hatred and so was determined to do what he could to end it by ending as many Huns as possible. And so on September 27 he led his bombing section to the fray - he fell.

The Hun shrapnel was merciful. There was no long-drawn out agony for the lad. His consciousness could hardly have perceived that his breast had been torn away before it ceased to perceive anything. He lies with other brave still hearts in the military cemetery where the autumn leaves from what is left of Bourlon Wood fall gently on his grave. "R.I.P."

Of his last weeks, of the three engagements in which he took part within those weeks he had fought all the way from Vimy Ridge to Cambrai - his chum, Pte. D. L. Thompson, of the 46th Battalion, tells in almost Homeric phrase, as follows:

His Chum's Story

He was in every battle from Vimy Ridge until the last Canadian advance on Cambrai, on September 27. After the battle of Passchendaele he was slightly wounded while we were doing a working party in that mud hole of the world, but he was soon back with us again. When our battalion was attacking Dury village in the offensive southeast of Arras on September 2, Bill, as he was known to the company, was one of a party of twelve detailed to rush a number of machine gun posts that were holding up the advance of our battalion. He rushed one post single-handed, killed the gunners and officer in charge. The way being cleared we advanced and discovered Bill with the dead German officer's revolver (which, by the way, he did not know how to load or fire), in his hand herding about 50 German prisoners back through our advancing waves. He received the military medal for this brave action.

I now come to our third big action since August 8, our attack on Bourlon Wood and Cambrai. Our battalion was in the first kickoff and our objective was to take and cross the dry portion of the Canal du Nord and carry on up the slopes of Bourlon Wood. Bill told me just before we went into the line that he was going to do his damnedest to smash the Boche and help to quicken the end of this ghastly war.

I wish I could describe the cold, shivering hour in the dead of night after the assembly. One would like a bottle of rum to warm cold and cramped muscles, but no such comfort, only a drop or two ten minutes before the zero hour. It warms one; then down the line comes: "Two minutes to go; get out on top."

Bang! The sky is lit up with thousands of flashes and the air is soon filled with screaming shells. The mad rush over wire and trenches. Have you seen a man sweat in a stoke hole? Well, one sweats more than that.

At last we reached the canal; down we went with ropes and ladders. Not many of the enemy got out to the other side and he was holding it strongly. Within six minutes the canal was cleared and we were re-organized. Dawn was breaking as we climbed the east side and started off again. Here we encountered some wire and came under a weak German barrage. Here Bill was killed while leading his bombing section up the slope to the wood. He died instantly, as we all want to if that is to be our lot. To die fighting while the blood is hot, driving the Hun before us.

I saw his grave a couple of days after we had advanced to the very gates of Cambrai. He lies in the Military cemetery west of Bourlon Wood."