|Pte Henry Warburton|
Died 24th July 1916
Haslingden St James.
Private H. Warburton, Lancashire Fusiliers, son of Mr. Peter Warburton, of 56 Wells Street, Haslingden, died at Southmead Military Hospital, near Bristol, following upon an operation. He was wounded in action in France, and was sent to Cleveland Hospital, Bristol, where he remained until Sunday, when he was sent to Southmead.
The deceased was 18 years of age and prior to joining the Army was a weaver. He was brought up at Haslingden New Jerusalem Sunday School and Church and was a regular attender, taking a prominent part at entertainments from boyhood.
The body was brought home on Thursday night and arrangements were made for a military funeral on Friday afternoon, the interment being at Haslingden Parish Churchyard. The Rev. C. Newall pastor, Haslingden New Church is in Scotland and the services of the Rev. C. Griffiths , of Ramsbottom were secured. Through Lieut. A.S. Watson, the Lancashire Fusiliers headquarters at Bury arranged to furnish a firing party to fire a volley over the grave and a bugle to sound the last post. A number of wounded soldiers from the Haslingden Military Hospital (Public Hall) also arranged to attend the funeral. Mr. James Lord, Haslingden had charge of the funeral arrangements.
SOLDIER'S MEMORIAL SERVICE
At the New Jerusalem Church, Haslingden on Sunday, a memorial service was held as a tribute to the late Private Warburton, who after being in the army eighteen months died from wounds received in the service of his country, at the age of eighteen. The Rev. Charles Newall conducted the service and paid a touching tribute to the young hero.
In loving memory of Henry beloved Son of Peter and Mary Ann Warburton. of 56 Wells St., Haslingden, who was in the Lancashire Fusiliers, and who died at Southmead Hospital, near Bristol, on July 24th 1916 from wounds, aged 18 years.
"We think of him in silence,
No eyes may see us weep;
But ever in our aching hearts
Your memory we keep"
From Aunt Lena and Uncle Joe
"The happy hours we once enjoyed,
How sweet the memory clings;
No morning dawns, no night returns,
But what I think of him
Friends may think that we forget him,
When at times were apt to smile,
Little dreaming what grief is hidden,
Beneath the surface all the while"