William Bertrude Edwardson was born in November 1894 near Manchester. His father was from Malpas, and he was a cousin of John Hooley Edwardson. There he spent the first 18 years of his life, going to school before starting work as a bleacher nearby. It was a conventional start to life that belied the adventurous turn which was to come.

 

In 1912 William, bored with life in Manchester, left home and joined the Royal Marines, hungering to get more out of life. The gamble paid off—his photo shows a tall, robust young man who likely thrived in the demanding world of the ‘bootnecks.

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He was still serving at the outbreak of war, and in 1915 he would find himself deployed to Gallipoli, part of the allies' ill-fated campaign to force a passage through the Dardanelles strait. He experienced the thick of the fighting, was wounded and taken ill, lying sick on a ship while the desperate fighting continued within sight of him. Years later, he would recall the horrors of battle—dying men, rotting corpses—while he drifted in and out of consciousness, helpless to the chaos around him.

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William survived Gallipoli and the war. Returning home to Lancashire, he married in 1922 and built a career as a medical nurse. Like millions of others, he no doubt tried to leave the horrors of war behind.

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But war would come knocking once more. In 1940, with the Second World War kicking into gear, William was contacted by the Prime Minister's office. As both a battle-hardened ex-Marine and experienced nurse, he had been identified as an ideal bodyguard and orderly for Britain's new leader, Winston Churchill. William accepted and served in this capacity throughout the war.

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After the war he returned to Lancashire once more, done with adventure for good. William resumed his career until retirement. He thought well of Churchill, and while acknowledging criticism levelled at his former boss, he described him respectfully as 'a proper English gentleman' who put his country first. He exchanged Christmas cards with Churchill until the latter's' death in 1965.

 

William Bertrude Edwardson lived out his days in Clitheroe, Lancashire, at the northern edge of the traditional Edwardson heartland. He died in 1979. An interview recorded in his later years reveals a modest man—reserved in speech, yet possessed of a quiet gravity and resolution of opinion. He seems to have shunned any publicity which might have resulted from his service. Nonetheless, his story is told here with pride, and respect.