Harry Patch, the last British survivor of the Western Front, died last weekend. Badly wounded at Passchaendale in 1917, he went on to become a plumber, and served as a firefighter in Bath during the Second World War. For 80 years, he refused to talk about his time on the Front. But, realising that he was a member of a select and dwindling group of veterans persuaded him to start talking about his experiences.
He was awarded the Legion d'Honneur in France, and was made a Knight of the Order of Leopold in Belgium. But the award he was most proud of was the Freedom of the City of Wells, where he lived. He had no time, however, for the annual Act of Remembrance on 11th November, describing it as "just show business".
On his passing, the BBC posited the question as to why it was important to remember these events, almost a century ago. Why should we ask today's schoolchildren to think about what, to them, is just history? In a way, it was like me being asked to remember the Zulu Wars of the late nineteenth century.
The best answer I can give is that, almost a century later, we still send young men to die in fields of poppies.
I'm not a pacifist, and never have been. I have an immense amount of admiration for conscientious objectors, who find their faith or beliefs are incompatible with the concept of conflict. But I've always believed there are wars that need to be fought. For the record, I supported the intervention in Afghanistan, although I was dismayed by the lack of any real strategy for the country. And I have always been vehemently opposed to our invasion of Iraq, and marched several times against it.
But this is not a pro- or anti-war blog. Rather, it is a plea (which, let's face it, will not go beyond our small group) that, before we embark on conflict as a solution, that we - our leaders - understand the full cost.
When Galtieri's soldiers occupied the Falklands in 1982, and us Brits lined the quaysides to wave off our brave troops, what was it we were sending them to fight for? A restoration of democracy? Protection of the rights of the 1800 islanders? National pride? When we torpedoed the Belgrano, and 300 Argentinian sailors died in the icy South Atlantic waters, was our national mood represented by the Sun's headline - 'GOTCHA!'? Did we think 250 British dead was a fair price to restore the sovereignty of our outpost? Or the others - twice that number - that have committed suicide since returning.
War is horrendous. When we discuss the numbers killed in conflict, we often use the word 'decimate' to express huge losses. The word derives from a punishment meted out by the Romans, where one in ten would be executed by lot. Where I grew up, in East Lancashire, you can get an unusual drink in the pubs - a Bennie 'n' 'ot; or Benedictine liqueur with hot water. This is because East Lancs troops were stationed near the Benedictine monastery in France during the First World War, and those who survived returned with their trenches tipple. The Accrington Pals - young lads who signed up for action all on the same day - went over the top at the start of the Battle of the Somme. If they had been decimated, it would have been a good day. Instead, of the 720 Pals, 600 died that day. The youth of a town completely wiped out.
But war is not a numbers game, ultimately. Our leaders like to think it is, and talk of 'acceptable losses'. Acceptable to who, exactly? My cynical side says that a leader's definition of 'acceptable losses' is what his forces can sustain before public opinion turns against him. When we think of twenty million Russian dead in the Second World War, we cannot keep sight of each individual. The depth of all that grief would be too overwhelming.
War is about individuals. It is about my colleague's grandfather who, on the retreat to Dunkirk in 1940, tired of carrying his wounded comrade and, stopping for a rest ,lowered his friend onto an anti-personnel mine. He never talked about it but, one day, 40 years later, slipped quietly into the waters of Abbeydale Mere and drowned.
As I said, this is neither a pro- or anti-war tract. All I want our leaders to be aware of is exactly what war inflicts on the people involved. And then look us in the eye and tell us it was worth it.
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It could have been
by Clare Shaw
Ali, son of Abdul. 16 months.
Rocket on house, Sadr City 16.5.2009.
Ali, but for some detail of history,
this day could have been yours.
It could have been you this morning,
stood at the end of your bed,
eyes still shut, arms held up for your mother,
who makes sun and all things possible,
who could, little Ali, be me.
Tony Edward Shiol, 5 years.
Kidnapped, found strangled, Shikan 12.05.2009.
If God had sneezed or been somehow distracted.
If that ray of light had shifted
and you had landed
with that small, metallic thrill of conception
as I walked down Euston Road,
then this could have been your morning.
It could have been me inhaling
your breath straight from sleep,
the smell of hot lake and woodsmoke, could
have
been
my tired arm under your neck.
Unnamed baby son of Haider Tariq Sain.
Car bomb, Nawab Street, Baghdad 7.04.2009.
It could have been you
shouting "carry"
at the far top stair of my stairs -
hello stairs
hello breakfast
- your feet in these shoes
which do not contain ants;
Unnamed daughter of Captain Saada Mohammed Ali.
Roadside bomb, Fallujah 20.4.2009.
biting soap
which smells good
but does not taste; watching
the unsteady wonder of bubbles;
throwing water up into the light.
Unnamed child of Haidar, male, aged 4.
Suicide bomber, Baghdad 4.1.2009.
then swimming:
your body held out in my hands;
the pear-shaped
weight of your head
safe away from the pool's sharp side
Sa'adiya Saddam, aged 8, female.
Shot dead by USA forces. Afak, 7/8 Feb, 2009.
It could have been me on that street
with you in my hands
and my hands red and wet
and my face is a shriek
and my voice is a house all on fire
But for geography,
but for biology,
but for the way
things happen,
it could have been
Unnamed female baby of the Abdul-Monim family.
Shot dead, Balal Ruz 22.1.2009.
you falling,
you holding your hand up for kissing.
He was awarded the Legion d'Honneur in France, and was made a Knight of the Order of Leopold in Belgium. But the award he was most proud of was the Freedom of the City of Wells, where he lived. He had no time, however, for the annual Act of Remembrance on 11th November, describing it as "just show business".
On his passing, the BBC posited the question as to why it was important to remember these events, almost a century ago. Why should we ask today's schoolchildren to think about what, to them, is just history? In a way, it was like me being asked to remember the Zulu Wars of the late nineteenth century.
The best answer I can give is that, almost a century later, we still send young men to die in fields of poppies.
I'm not a pacifist, and never have been. I have an immense amount of admiration for conscientious objectors, who find their faith or beliefs are incompatible with the concept of conflict. But I've always believed there are wars that need to be fought. For the record, I supported the intervention in Afghanistan, although I was dismayed by the lack of any real strategy for the country. And I have always been vehemently opposed to our invasion of Iraq, and marched several times against it.
But this is not a pro- or anti-war blog. Rather, it is a plea (which, let's face it, will not go beyond our small group) that, before we embark on conflict as a solution, that we - our leaders - understand the full cost.
When Galtieri's soldiers occupied the Falklands in 1982, and us Brits lined the quaysides to wave off our brave troops, what was it we were sending them to fight for? A restoration of democracy? Protection of the rights of the 1800 islanders? National pride? When we torpedoed the Belgrano, and 300 Argentinian sailors died in the icy South Atlantic waters, was our national mood represented by the Sun's headline - 'GOTCHA!'? Did we think 250 British dead was a fair price to restore the sovereignty of our outpost? Or the others - twice that number - that have committed suicide since returning.
War is horrendous. When we discuss the numbers killed in conflict, we often use the word 'decimate' to express huge losses. The word derives from a punishment meted out by the Romans, where one in ten would be executed by lot. Where I grew up, in East Lancashire, you can get an unusual drink in the pubs - a Bennie 'n' 'ot; or Benedictine liqueur with hot water. This is because East Lancs troops were stationed near the Benedictine monastery in France during the First World War, and those who survived returned with their trenches tipple. The Accrington Pals - young lads who signed up for action all on the same day - went over the top at the start of the Battle of the Somme. If they had been decimated, it would have been a good day. Instead, of the 720 Pals, 600 died that day. The youth of a town completely wiped out.
But war is not a numbers game, ultimately. Our leaders like to think it is, and talk of 'acceptable losses'. Acceptable to who, exactly? My cynical side says that a leader's definition of 'acceptable losses' is what his forces can sustain before public opinion turns against him. When we think of twenty million Russian dead in the Second World War, we cannot keep sight of each individual. The depth of all that grief would be too overwhelming.
War is about individuals. It is about my colleague's grandfather who, on the retreat to Dunkirk in 1940, tired of carrying his wounded comrade and, stopping for a rest ,lowered his friend onto an anti-personnel mine. He never talked about it but, one day, 40 years later, slipped quietly into the waters of Abbeydale Mere and drowned.
As I said, this is neither a pro- or anti-war tract. All I want our leaders to be aware of is exactly what war inflicts on the people involved. And then look us in the eye and tell us it was worth it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
It could have been
by Clare Shaw
Ali, son of Abdul. 16 months.
Rocket on house, Sadr City 16.5.2009.
Ali, but for some detail of history,
this day could have been yours.
It could have been you this morning,
stood at the end of your bed,
eyes still shut, arms held up for your mother,
who makes sun and all things possible,
who could, little Ali, be me.
Tony Edward Shiol, 5 years.
Kidnapped, found strangled, Shikan 12.05.2009.
If God had sneezed or been somehow distracted.
If that ray of light had shifted
and you had landed
with that small, metallic thrill of conception
as I walked down Euston Road,
then this could have been your morning.
It could have been me inhaling
your breath straight from sleep,
the smell of hot lake and woodsmoke, could
have
been
my tired arm under your neck.
Unnamed baby son of Haider Tariq Sain.
Car bomb, Nawab Street, Baghdad 7.04.2009.
It could have been you
shouting "carry"
at the far top stair of my stairs -
hello stairs
hello breakfast
- your feet in these shoes
which do not contain ants;
Unnamed daughter of Captain Saada Mohammed Ali.
Roadside bomb, Fallujah 20.4.2009.
biting soap
which smells good
but does not taste; watching
the unsteady wonder of bubbles;
throwing water up into the light.
Unnamed child of Haidar, male, aged 4.
Suicide bomber, Baghdad 4.1.2009.
then swimming:
your body held out in my hands;
the pear-shaped
weight of your head
safe away from the pool's sharp side
Sa'adiya Saddam, aged 8, female.
Shot dead by USA forces. Afak, 7/8 Feb, 2009.
It could have been me on that street
with you in my hands
and my hands red and wet
and my face is a shriek
and my voice is a house all on fire
But for geography,
but for biology,
but for the way
things happen,
it could have been
Unnamed female baby of the Abdul-Monim family.
Shot dead, Balal Ruz 22.1.2009.
you falling,
you holding your hand up for kissing.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
I've covered the war--from the home front. And the only way I know how to write about it, really, is from the soldier's viewpoint (or marine's or airman's, and so on)real people on the front, turning policy into body count and bravery, for a friend beside them, for what it's worth that day.
Anyway, nice thoughtful visit. Thanks.