Spoiler Alert. These photos reveal some of Alick Trafford’s story. Sensitive Content.

Te Karaka Cenotaph. Arthur Trafford (Alick’s brother Ray).
“Ray’s mates break it to me the news is true. He was killed by the percussion of a shell while sitting outside his dugout entrance, writing a letter to sister Eva. There was not a mark on his body. Padre Captain Burridge has a long, kindly talk with me and takes me to his grave. He lies near the top of famous Hill 60, a little way from where he was killed. I break down and have a good howl for my dear brother. Twenty-three years old.”
The old Waioeka woodshed. Memorial to brother Ray. The farm is no longer in Trafford hands.

Alick and Ivy, 1955
Alick and Ivy’s retirement house in Te Karaka. His office stood where the tin shed is now.
“Fritz has used this as his trench before he was chased out, and he had bivvies on the other bank. I souvenir a nice Luger cavalry automatic revolver and ammunition from one. On the removable wooden stock are roughly scratched tally marks.”
“A veterinary captain gives orders to put a sick horse from the 4th Battalion quarters overboard. We refuse, leaving him to do his own dirty work. It is led up through a trapdoor and, with no attempt to destroy the beast, the vet shoves it into the sea. Every bit alive, it swims towards the boat for a full five minutes. A sick man will be treated practically the same. Twelve horses have died and gone over the side in the last eight days, most taken by pneumonia.”
Gas Clouds. “At 3am, we push forward two miles to the new support lines. It is rotten going and we lose our way. Fritz is shelling and gas fumes are dense enough to obscure our view. All masks are ordered on. We discover dozens of dead horses and a few dead Huns before hitting the main Bapaume to Albert road.”
Passchendaele. “In the night, it rains and blows while old Fritz shells us heavily. At some stage, a 5.9 comes in right on target, without warning. Our earth home explodes around us. I am suddenly suffocating under the heavy pressure of mud, completely buried by the blast. I think my time has come. In a last struggle to push out of this tomb, my thrashing around gets my head out and I scrape the mud off my face for a breath of air.
I have come off best of all. I set to with my spade. We drag two shocked men out alive. The third man, poor Evans, is limp, killed by the percussion. I bury him alongside.”