So many soldiers return from bloody battlefields across the world and rarely speak about what happened to them and their comrades.

Their nightmare memories continued to haunt them but they were often too painful to share them with family or friends.

One such man was Ray “Pud” Randall from Cromer who went to hell and back in the First World War trenches. He was described as a happy-go-lucky chap who helped to run the family electrical business in the town. He was born in 1895 and died in 1977.

(Image: Supplied)

Always laughing and joking, younger members of the family never realised how and where he had served his country in the war…until, many years later, a suitcase was discovered under a bed.

Inside were dozens of letters Ray had written to his brother Hal, family and friends during the 1914/18 war from the front line and hospitals.

It was back in 2008 when they were first published in a brilliant and large book Dear Hal, Yours Pud, compiled and edited  by his nephew, retired teacher Theo Stibbens.

As time moves on they become more important as a look at life and death in the trenches. Not from historians but from someone who was actually there.

Raymond Edward Ralph Randall, was known to his close family as Pud after the character “Pudlo suck-a-thumb.” He was the youngest son of Robert and Clara Randall of Cromer. His brothers Wilfred, Theodore, Reginald and Harold all served in the First World War.

(Image: Family Collection)

Pud enlisted in the 8th Norfolks at Norwich in September 14. The Norfolks were full so he was transferred to help form the 10th Essex Regiment…they were trained at Colchester before heading to France.

Then the letters started arriving.

July 15 1915: I am somewhere in France, but am not at liberty to give you any details. I am getting quite fat on dog biscuit and bully beef.

August 15 1915: We have just got a machine for throwing bombs to be used in the trenches and it will throw them about 250 yards and kill everyone in the traverse.

August 26 1915: I haven’t been troubled by insects but there are plenty of rats in the trenches. While I am writing this the guns are banging away and a few shells come over now and again.

September 18 1915: The first Norfolks relieved us out of the trenches, or what was left of them. The snipers out here use explosive bullets and they don’t half make a gash if they hit you. I’ve seen the Germans fire as many as 70 shells at one British plane and not bring it down.

November 20 1915: I have been bombing ever since I came into the trenches and have stood ankle deep in water, with a box of bombs by my side and my heart in my boots. You ought to see me now covered from head to toe in thick mud.

(Image: Submitted)

February 1, 1916: On  January 31 the Germans gave us a terrific strafing and our Colonel was killed. The worst part of the business was that while the bombardment was on, the Germans sent a party across and pinched some of our men. They must have put over 3,000 shells. I think this was the hottest hour I have been through. It’s a marvel how we came through without a scratch.

March 4, 1916: Those blighters at the War Office have stopped our leave again. I expect they have got the wind up. We were out of patrol the other night and we found a German helmet, but there happened to be a heard in it.

April 22 1916: I am sorry to say one of my chums was killed by a shell yesterday, It makes you realise the rottenness of war when someone is bowled over you have been pals with.

A “flea-ridden” Pud came home on leave in May but soon returned to the front line…and survived the advance on the Somme.

July 4 1916: I am still alive and kicking, going though H…itself.

July 6 1916: I was carrying two boxes of bombs and my rifle was slung over my shoulder when about 20 Germans came round the corner of a trench and directly they spotted me all  put their hands up and yelled “comrade, comrade.” One of them gave me a flash-lamp and another a cigar so I wouldn’t shoot them. They were so panic stricken they had no fight left.

(Image: Submitted)

July 19, 1916: Up the line again to Delville Wood and made an attack on it. Wounded in the right leg.

The bland statement gives no idea of the bitterness and horror of the fierce fighting in that wood which decimated the 10th Essex Regiment. Neither does it convey the long and painful struggle Pud had in coping with a serious leg injury for the rest of his life.

For him the war was over. He eventually came back to hospital in Norwich and then returned to Cromer in 1918. Only his close family knew the wound had to be continually redressed until the day he died in 1977.

This is just a very small sample of the letters discovered in the suitcase. Ray  didn’t speak of his time at war and they were only discovered after he and brother Harold had died.

*Dear Hal, Yours Pud, compiled and edited by Theo Stibbons and published by Poppyland Publishing, is still for sale and is highly recommended.

(Image: Family Collection)