THE grave of 16-year-old Ralph Bolton carries a poignant inscription: "Greater love hath no man than he who layeth down his life for another." Ralph and his two companions died in a blizzard on Darwen moors just before Christmas, 1917. HAROLD HEYS tells their tragic story. . .

DARWEN'S sweeping moorland has always had a rugged attraction, especially in the summer months when families take to the footpaths and tracks which meander through the surrounding hills to enjoy exercise and fresh air.

In winter, however, the moors can be inhospitable and dangerous, especially if walkers are not prepared for the weather.

It was much more perilous many years ago when footpaths were rough and ready and when danger from deep gulleys and old mine workings lurked at every turn.

Just a few days before Christmas, 1917, three local lads decided on an afternoon walk on the moors after Sunday School at St Barnabas'. It was both adventurous and dangerous for they set off in the face of the most severe blizzard the town had seen for years.

All three were found dead in the snow drifts during the next few days of frantic searching by police and volunteers. It was a tragic story made even more poignant by the revelation of a selfless act of courage by 16-year-old Ralph Bolton.

The joint funeral and the formal inquest were over in days and the tragedy was soon pushed into the background as the prospect of another long year of war dominated every part of life - and death.

The three lads were William Cooper Longton, of Culvert Street - a street close to the church - who was just 18 and due to join the Army within a few weeks; Ralph Bolton, of Maria Street, and his 10-year-old cousin James Bolton of Princess Street - now Mayfield Flats.

Why did they set off for the threatening moors when it would be dark in an hour and in weather which, according to the Darwen News, was "wild in the extreme" and with "their only shelter the heavens above"?

The paper said: "It must forever remain a mystery." But, looking back now, with old maps of footpaths to hand, it seems fairly clear that the boys simply took a wrong fork.

William was wearing a blue serge suit and a dark, heavy overcoat; Ralph, a blue serge suit, brown overcoat and leggings, and little James, a black suit and a light top coat.

The alarm was raised that Sunday evening and by dawn a big search was under way. The boys had been seen heading in the direction of Rough Height Farm, above Bull Hill Hospital on the southern moors. Snow had drifted up to 10ft and conditions were very difficult.

It was on the Tuesday afternoon that the body of Longton was found to the south of Old Lyons Farm, which was a couple of miles from the safety of Bull Hill. It seems that he had set off to get help and had reached the farm only to find it unoccupied before pressing on.

On the Wednesday, after a slight thaw, the body of little Jimmy was found in the lee of a stone wall about 400 yards to the north of the empty farm. He was wrapped in his cousin's brown topcoat, which had been carefully placed over his own light coat.

Ralph, himself left with just his cheap suit, was found frozen to death about 200 yards away. It seems as though he, too, had set off to get help after making the little boy as comfortable as he could.

In the pocket of the coat, Ralph had wrapped around the child was an emblem bearing the legend: "Fight the Good Fight."

On the Saturday, the bodies of the three pals were taken from their homes to a moving funeral service at St Barnabas' where the older boys had been in the Church Lads' Brigade and in the choir. William had also been the Sunday School secretary.

Hundreds of mourners packed the church and there was no more sad a figure than Nancy Bolton, whose husband Joseph had been killed in action in France the previous summer and who had now lost her only child at the age of 10.

Hundreds more lined the route to the nearby cemetery, where William was buried with his grandparents. The cousins were interred together, just a few yards away.

A simple wrong turning in the blizzard looks the likely cause of the tragedy. An uncle of the younger boys and his family lived at Duckshaw Farm, above Bury Fold, and it was thought that they might have been heading there.

It would have been adventurous and dangerous, but perhaps not as foolhardy as it had seemed.

The hurried inquest on the day after the last body had been found discounted the theory that the pals were heading for an uncle's farm as it was "in the opposite direction." It wasn't.

Duckshaw Farm, where William Bolton and his family lived, was just to the north of Black Hill and the lads had probably simply taken a wrong turn in the heavy snow as the footpath forked.

A moving postscript to the drama was penned by the writer of a letter to the Darwen News a few days later. "Such confidence, strength of purpose and love of adventure was obviously displayed by these lads and the crowning sacrifice made by one in giving up his overcoat only emphasised the true British spirit which their elders are displaying every day on the battlefields of Europe."

Everyone has their hero. Ralph Bolton is mine.