First World War Officer's Tunic
Royal Artillery Officer’s Service Dress Tunic, 1913 Pattern – Captain Joseph W. Hillyard
This 1913 Pattern Service Dress Tunic belonged to Captain Joseph Wilfrid Hillyard of the Royal Field Artillery (RFA). The tunic features four Overseas Service chevrons on the right lower sleeve and three Captain’s pips on each lower sleeve.
Joseph Hillyard was born on 16 May 1888 and worked as a farmer before joining the North Riding Territorial Force. Records show he served from 1909 to 1912, rejoining the North Riding Battery, RFA, 2nd Northumbrian Brigade on 9 September 1914 following the outbreak of the First World War.
In November 1914, he was commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant in the 50th Northumberland Divisional Ammunition Column (DAC)—a crucial part of the Royal Field Artillery. DACs were composed of Gunners, Drivers, and Bombardiers using horse-drawn wagons to transport ammunition to the front lines. These units also retrieved spent cartridges and unused ammunition when batteries moved forward, often under dangerous conditions.
Though not classified as front-line troops, DAC personnel frequently faced shellfire. They could be reassigned to any unit during battle and were expected to replace men, horses, or supplies lost in action. During the Battle of the Somme, between September and October 1916, three men from Lt. Hillyard’s DAC were killed in action.
Hillyard was promoted to Lieutenant on 1 June 1916 and became Acting Captain in January 1919. He relinquished that rank upon demobilisation on 16 April 1919. Having served in France, he was entitled to the 1914–15 Star, the British War Medal, and the Allied Victory Medal, although no medal ribbons are present on the tunic.
Accompanying the tunic were several handwritten songs and a poem, The Gunner’s Lament, composed by Hillyard himself. His verses offer a poignant glimpse into the daily hardships of artillery life on the Western Front:
“I’m tired of building funkpits and filling bags with sand,
I’m tired of jam and marmalade, of Pinks and Sicklers jams,
I’m tired of sleeping fitfully upon a cellar floor,
And gulping down cold bacon at the early hour of four.
I’m tired of buying eggs and milks in execrable French
And tired of crunching down that foul communications trench.
But a gladsome time is coming, there’s a joyous time in store,
When the crumpats crump no longer and the whizzbangs bang no more.
When I leave that cursed cellar, mount the stairs instead,
For a room that sports a carpet & has sheets upon the bed.”