Keep right on to the end of the road …


Today is Armistice Day and poppies are in evidence in the media, but not much in real life. I have a white poppy, but have never worn it as I’d prefer not to get into heated discussions or to terribly offend anyone who misunderstood what the white poppy symbolises.

http://www.ppu.org.uk/poppy/

It is now 90 years since the end of the ‘Great’ War. Much is being made of this anniversary, not least because only the last few people to have lived through or even fought in it are still lingering on, and chroniclers are seizing this limited time to record first hand memories.

I grew up hearing stories of that war and even in the 1960’s it did not seem like ancient history to me. My grandfather and his contemporaries were drafted into the services to fight in the war to end wars. I’m reasonably certain that I only exist because my father’s father survived the trenches.

He was born in the fading years of the nineteenth century and would not have been old enough to volunteer at the outbreak in 1914, but would have joined the army in his late teens. He and his relatives probably survived because they were not in the trenches all the time. My grandfather was a dispatch rider; as the family story goes, he was Hitler’s opposite number.
On the other hand this could be somewhat incorrect, although it is recorded that Hitler was a messenger and was at Ypres amongst other places.

My great uncles were stretcher bearers, and although they too survived, it was not without seeing unspeakable sights and facing great danger as unarmed, they went into No Man’s land to recover bodies, both dead and alive.

When I was ten, we went on holiday to Belgium and France and visited Ypres and a small museum where trenches had been preserved and artefacts from the surrounding area collected and displayed. I could not bring myself to go into a trench, with that awareness of the tragedy symbolised in those few yards of mud. The vision of the grisly displays in glass cases, including skulls from unidentified soldiers, remains vivid.

http://www.ypres-1917.com/hill_62.htm

Nowadays, I can appreciate far more the horror of those years and the waste of human life on all sides. But even at 10 years old, I could understand that there was no nobility, no glory, no damn point to it.

Then, as now, proportionately more Scots fought and died for ‘their’ empire/monarch/ ‘country’. Then, as now, what they come back to is not adequate to their needs for recovery of physical and mental health. Then, as now, we hear that their equipment is not good enough. What is the point of getting involved in warfare and setting up your own troops to struggle, maybe even fail, for lack of money. Is it not simpler to take a pacifist view and avoid conflict?

On Sunday, Radio Scotland profiled a CD of poetry, songs popular during the first war both at the front and in the music halls, as well as music written by contemporary artists whose brief was to create music reflecting what WW1 means to them. Of the traditional music, I found the Piobaireachd MacCrimmon's Sweetheart most moving, as was Dick Gaughan’s Why Old Men Cry for the more modern selection. The website describes the CD thus: “The album has a more Scottish perspective than any of its predecessors, but when one considers that Scotland suffered the most soldiers killed (per head of population) of any nation that fought in the conflict, such an album is greatly overdue.”

http://www.musicscotland.com/acatalog/Far_Far_From_Ypres_.html

I’ll end by saying that I am appreciative of the stories my family shared about my grandfather’s war experiences and that he returned and was the gentle man I remember until his death at 73. However, I am grateful also, that I have access to information about the conditions he and other’s on all sides existed in for these lost years fighting a useless "war to end wars". And the opportunity that I have to believe in peace and to speak out against the war criminals in our government who have embroiled so many of today’s young people in theatres of conflict in other people’s countries to the detriment of local women children and men.

Sadly, I have not managed to uphold what I promised myself when I set out to write this post – to not have a rant, but I feel passionately about this, so maybe I needed to go ahead and rant.

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