Dennis Ivor Day and Miles Jeffrey Game Day

Dennis Ivor Day and Miles Jeffrey Game Day

Ivor (born 1892) was the second eldest, Jeffrey (born 1897) the youngest, of three sons and one daughter born to George Dennis Day and Margaret Jane (nee Davies). Their mother was called Meta, being the German or Scandinavian abbreviation for Margaret. George was a solicitor and St Ives Town Clerk, both occupations inherited from his father and grandfather. An amalgamation in 1989 created the current St Ives firm of Leeds Day Solicitors. The family home was at Rheola, in Pig Lane, now a care home.

One of the more well to do families of St Ives, in 1901 the family of six had a domestic cook, housemaid, parlourmaid and nurse. And that privilege extended to the children's education, both boys sent to boarding school at Sandroyd Prep School, Surrey and then Repton, Derbyshire. Ivor follow his older brother, George, to Cambridge, studying maths at St John's College.

All three boys enjoyed rowing along the River Great Ouse at St Ives. Both Ivor and George developed this talent at Cambridge. The Hunts Post of 11 July 1913 reported them rowing at the Henley Royal Regatta for the Lady Margaret Boat Club, winning the Wyfold Challenge Cup.

Ivor was clearly the more talented rower, recognised as the Varsity champion sculler and winner of the Colquhoun Sculls, as reported on 28 November 1913. He was part of the winning Cambridge crew for the Oxford v Cambridge boat race in 1914, receiving a hero's welcome when back in St Ives, as reported on 3 April 1914. Both Ivor and George won the Cambridge light pairs to much acclaim as reported on 15 May 1914.

Both parents were organisers. Meta was head of the St Ives Red Cross Hospital. George was Captain of the local Territorials and organised recruiting rallies. All three boys served in the war, George being the only one to survive. Initially he served with the Hunts Cyclists Battalion on coastal duties along the north east coast., being promoted to Captain and then Major. He was reported severely wounded by shrapnel in the Hunts Post of 12 April 1918.

Dennis Ivor Day

At the outbreak of war in August 1914 Ivor joined the Naval Division. In December 1914 he obtained a commission as a Second Lieutenant in the Royal Field Artillery, attached to the 24th Division, 106th Brigade. His first experience in France was from spring 1915. After returning to England in July 1915, he was back at the Front by August 1915.

On Saturday 25 September 1915, on the first day of the Battle of Loos, Ivor was acting as an artillery observer directing British shells onto German targets. This was a very dangerous task. Not only located in a forward position, at the very least the frontline trenches, peeping over whatever cover was available made Ivor vulnerable. He attracted the attention of a German sniper, who shot him through the eye.

Hospitalised in Boulogne, both parents travelled to be at Ivor's bedside. The Hunts Post reported his injuries on 8 October 1915 and 8 October 1915. Unfortunately Ivor never regained consciousness and died on Thursday 7 October 1915, aged 23yrs.

On the day of Ivor's funeral all businesses in St Ives closed for an hour. Several thousands turned out to pay their respects, effectively the whole of the town. The Hunts Post of 15 October 1915 gave a full report of the funeral, including a tribute to Ivor and poetry written about his rowing achievements. Ivor is buried in Broad Lees cemetery.

Do you have any additional information about Ivor? If so, please get in touch via the make contact page.

Miles Jeffrey Game Day

Jeffrey joined the Royal Navy in 1915 aged 18yrs, straight from Repton. He received his Royal Aero Club Aviator's Certificate in October 1915 flying a Caudron biplane.

Initially stationed aboard the seaplane carrier Vindex based out of Harwich, Jeffrey was promoted to Flight Lieutenant in December 1916 on the back of his reputation as a skilled and daring pilot. Dissatisfied at lack of action at Harwich, he got transferred to the light cruiser Cassandra as sole airman and navigator, then to the experimental air station at RNAS Kingsnorth late in 1917.

Another transfer in December 1917 brought him the action he craved. Joining No. 13 Squadron RNAS based at Dunkirk, during January and February 1918 Jeffrey scored five victories flying a Sopwith Camel as shown below.

  3 January 1918 - German 2-seater out of control at Dunkirk

25 January 1918 - German Fokker Triplane out of control at Staden

30 January 1918 - German 2-seater destroyed two miles north of Ostende

   2 February 1918 - German Rumpler 2-seater captured at Oostkerke

19 February 1918 - German seaplane destroyed in flames east of Ostende 

Jeffrey was appointed a Flight Commander as a result. The Hunts Post reported the 2 February incident on 15 February 1918.

Jeffrey was the most famous WWI air service war poet. Initially penning humorous verse, his writing became more serious as he related his love of flying. The death of his older brother was a shattering experience. 'To My Brother' is a haunting poem, its theme Jeffrey's longing for contact with Ivor and their shared experiences boating along the River Great Ouse. The poem is reproduced at the foot of this article. Read it. Read it slowly. Soak up every word and it will break your heart. Other noted poems were 'The Call of the Air', 'The North Sea', 'On the Wings of the Morning', and 'An Airman's Dream'. 'Poems and Rhymes' was published in 1919.

In 'To My Brother'Jeffrey wrote 

This I will do when peace shall come again -

Peace and return, to ease my heart of pain.

Jeffrey never lived to see that peace and return. On Wednesday 27 February 1918 he was leading a flight of five British aircraft when they encountered six German 2-seaters 25 miles north of Dunkirk. Jeffrey engaged them single-handedly. It is believed his aim was to break up the German formation and make it easier for his less experienced comrades to engage. Jeffrey's machine burst into flames. He nose-dived, then flattened out to land on the sea. Climbing out of his burning aircraft, he waved his fellow pilots back to base. An air-sea search launched within an hour found no trace of Jeffrey or his aircraft. He was aged 21yrs.

The Hunts Post reported his loss on 8 March 1918 and 8 March 1918. A letter giving more details was published on 15 March 1918. Jeffrey was posthumously awarded the Distinguished Service Cross as reported on 22 March 1918. The Hunts Post published a tribute to Jeffrey on 12 April 1918.

Do you have any additional information about Jeffrey? If so, please get in touch via the make contact page.

To read about St Ives in WWI and of all the St Ives men who died, click St Ives in World War I.

Source materials
Click any of the links below to view original source materials.
1901 Census
1911 Census - Dennis Ivor Day
1911 Census - Miles Jeffrey Game Day
De Ruvigny's Roll of Honour - Dennis Ivor Day
Commemorative Certificate - Dennis Ivor Day
Commonwealth War Graves Register - Dennis Ivor Day
Commemorative Certificate - Miles Jeffrey Game Day
1918 Edinburgh Gazette - Miles Jeffrey Game Day

To My Brother

At first, when unaccustomed to death’s sting,

I thought that, should you die, each sweetest thing,

each thing of any merit on this earth,

would perish also, beauty, love, and mirth:

and that the world, despoiled and God-forsaken,

its glories gone, its greater treasures taken,

would sink into a slough of apathy

and there remain into eternity,

a mournful-minded, soul-destroying place

wherein there would be seen no smiling face,

where all desire to love and live would cease,

and death would be the only way to peace.

And when one day the aching blow did fall

for many days I did not live at all,

but, dazed and halting, made my endless way

painfully though a tangled growth of grey

and clinging thorns, dismal, towards belief,

and uncontrollable, heart-racking grief.

It could not be! – that one so fair and strong,

so honest-minded, and so void of wrong,

that one who made such splendid use of life,

whose smile could soothe the bitterness of strife

and make a cold, hard nature warm and soft

(who used to smile so frankly and so oft)

should die, and leave our spirits numb and breaking,

grief-stifled, and yet empty, sick, and breaking.

I prayed that God might give me power to sever

your sad remembrance from my mind forever.

“Never again shall I have heart to do

the things in which we took delight, we two.

I cannot bear the cross. Oh, to forget

the haunting vision of the past!”: and yet

surely it were a far more noble thing

to keep your memories all fresh as spring,

to do again the things that we held dear

and thus to feel your spirit ever near.

This I will do when peace shall come again –

peace and return, to ease my heart of pain.

Crouched in the brittle reed-beds wrapped in grey

I’ll watch the dawning of the winter’s day,

the peaceful, clinging darkness of the night

that mingles with the mystic morning light,

and graceful rushes, melting in the haze,

while all around in winding water ways

the wild fowl gabble cheerfully and low

or wheel with pulsing whistle to and fro,

filling the silent dawn with sweetest song,

swelling and dying as they sweep along,

till shadows of vague trees deceive the eyes

and stealthily the sun begins to rise,

striving to smear with pink the frosted sky

and pierce the silver mist’s opacity;

until the hazy silhouettes grow clear

and faintest hints of colouring appear,

and the slow, throbbing, red, distorted sun

reaches the sky, and all the large mists run,

leaving the little ones to wreathe and shiver,

pathetic, clinging to the friendly river;

until the watchful heron, grim and gaunt,

shows, ghostlike, standing at its favourite haunt,

and jerkily the moorhens venture out,

spreading swift, circled ripples round about;

and softly to the ear, and leisurely querulous,

comes the plaintive lover’s cry.

And then, maybe, some whispering near by, 

some still, small, sound as of a happy sigh

shall steal upon my senses, soft as air,

and, brother! I shall know that thou are there.

Then, with my gun forgotten in my hand,

I’ll wander through the snow-encrusted land,

following the tracks of hare and stoat, and traces

of bird and beast, as delicate as laces,

doing again the things that we held dear,

keeping thy gracious spirit ever near,

comforted by the blissful certainty

and sweetness of thy splendid company.

And in the lazy summer nights I’ll glide

silently down the sleepy river’s tide,

listening to the music of the stream,

the plop of ponderously playful bream,

the water whispering around the boat,

and from afar the white owl’s liquid note

that lingers through the stillness, soft and slow;

watching the little yacht’s red homely glow,

her vague reflection, and her clean cut spars

ink-black against the stillness of the stars,

stealthily slipping into nothingness,

while on the river’s moon-splashed surfaces

tall shadows sweep. Then, when I go to rest,

it may be that my slumbers will be blest

by the faint sound of thy untroubled breath,

proving thy presence near, in spite of death.