Whakapono Faith

Finding faith at war

When Frank Prebble went to war on 5 March 1916 at the age of 20, he decided to keep a diary.

This straightforward record of his time on the front lines in France was donated by his family to the Canterbury Museum collection, along with Frank’s army-issue Bible (pictured here). In his diary, he not only captured the horror of war but also the tedium, the daily details and the simple pleasures found away from the firing line.

His journey to the front began with a six-week sea voyage on the ‘SS Willochra’, where he spotted whales, flying fish and porpoises. After arriving in Marseilles on 21 April, Frank spent 53 hours on a cold train, glimpsing the Eiffel Tower in the distance when they passed Paris and beating English soldiers 3–1 in a football game during a brief stop.

He arrived at the front in Armentieres on 23 May, a long way from his hometown of Prebbleton. Within days he was being shot at by snipers and machine gunners. Breakfast was “dog biscuits and a bit of bully beef”. He witnessed his fellow soldiers get maimed and killed on the front line.

But Frank discovered he could cope with the extreme demands of war. On 29 May, he wrote:

“Germans sent over a few shells and wounded 30 and killed 6. I helped bandage one man's wounds. Had two pieces of flesh, fully 5 lbs each, taken from the inner part of his thighs. He was very cheerful. Another fellow (since dead) had his leg smashed and arm sticking out at the elbow and also smashed about the head and body. I didn't feel sickly, in fact I took an interest in the dressing of the wounds.”

And he found faith that he would make it home alive.

“Piece of our shell flew back from enemy lines and just missed me. God will take care of me till this war is finished. I am sure.”

It was a faith that was well-founded. Frank made it home to New Zealand in October 1919, despite witnessing countless horrors and getting injured twice on the front lines. He died in Redcliffs in 1941 at the age of 46.

Even amid the carnage of World War One, Frank could still find simple moments of pleasure. On 25 June 1916, he shared one such moment with his diary.

“Found a big strawberry patch at 7 am and filled my balaclava with them. Some were the size of hens’ eggs and didn’t we enjoy them. We filled a sandbag full and had a good feast. They were in full view of enemy, but they didn't fire on us.”