Ralph Henry Hurle was born in Blaenafon (then Monmouthshire), Torfaen, in 1893. 

He was the fourth of seven children born to Arthur Edward Hurle and Fanny Maria Pike.  One sibling died in infancy. The others all survived him, living on into old age. They were: Arthur, Mabel (Ellen), Frederick, Alice and Elsie. All married and had children.  (I am Mabel's great-granddaughter.)

Ralph enlisted in Pontypool, joining the South Wales Borderers, 2nd Battalion. His number was 39497, though formerly this had been 3519 in the Monmouthshire Regiment.  He fought relentlessly until being killed in action on September 29th 1918.

I first heard of Private Ralph Hurle not through some dusty name on a website or a cenotaph, but as a living memory. His death broke his family's collective heart.

His sister Mabel kept his portrait in pride of place above the mantel until her own passing in 1961. She still shed the occasional tear for him decades on, and spoke about him often.

Grandchildren who had never known him knew his death wasn't fair. So close to the end of the war, they thought he'd make it, that he'd be coming home. That little bit of hope dashed with a telegram somehow made it so much worse.

Nor can the grieving be over when great-grandchildren, born half a century after his death, can grow up still knowing the loss of a sweet man to a Flanders field.

It wasn't fair what happened to Ralph Hurle. It wasn't fair what happened to them all.

Jo Harrington