Ache for Gavrilo

So, the other day I got up early as always, went for a haircut, visited Tesco, and wandered home where I stood around making mince, with lots of whatevers thrown in, all well within my capabilities.  However,  I had to be clever with it.  

After lunch that day, instead of taking it easy, I rushed out to finish weeding the front, a job I failed to finish a couple of weeks ago.  As I pulled and packed into the black plastic bag I realised this may be a mistake.  I cut down the other bush, aching somewhat, and pulled what major weeds I could see just to make things appear better than they are.

I ached, and dumped the bag illegally into the black bag wheelie and retired upstairs.

Yesterday, aching and finding it difficult to walk without letting my neighbours know I was aching, I dumped the recycling ready for Friday collection.  Then I found myself thinking I had done a better job than I realised when it became clear that he landlords man had been and weeded all around, including those areas I dared not touch!  If only I had known he was coming!

This annoyed me much more today as when I rose I could not walk at all.  Stiff and aching I forced myself about by clinging on to anything that did not move.  Thus I came to realise I would not make Sunday, where I was down for intercessions, and informed the leader that I would not make it.  

Naturally he, and later the vicar, prayed for healing and so after an hour or so I could feel improvement already, much earlier than expected.  

But I will still avoid the long walk to Kirk on Sunday.

How awful that something that once took an hour, leaving the job done well, leaves me crippled for days.  What happened here?   

On 28th June 1914 Gavrilo Princip shot the Archduke Ferdinand and his loving wife.  A simple act you might think, one many have accomplished in a wide variety of nations, but it is not the act which counts, though it did to the Archduke and his wife, it was the consequences.

Sin has consequences, Princip was set upon by the crowd, jailed and suffered greatly dying in April 1918 in prison from TB.  The proud Austrians, more proud than militarily capable, demanded absurd  reparations from Serbia, though they were not involved but a senior secret police officer was, and so Austria made the mistake of invading Serbia.

The Russians, would not be ready for war until 1917 and the leading men were not as efficient as they ought to be, made clear their support for Slavic Serbia.  But this alarmed the Germans, who's officer corps were more than ready for war, and likewise the French who were also, they thought, ready for war.  

The United Kingdom stood aloof from all this, more worried about rebellion in Ireland than European adventures.

The Russians part mobilised, the Germans took the hint and mobilised and sped towards France via Belgium, The Russians mobilised fully, The Belgians wee army stoutly defended in a David and Goliath struggle, and France began wasting thousands of their men attacking German machine guns.  France lost more men in 1914 then the UK lost in the whole of the second world war!  By August 4th the British Army was sending divisions across the channel to participate in what most political leaders and men in the street thought would be a short war.  'Home by Christmas' was the cry!  

The UK war cabinet was shocked when Lord Kitchener, for it was he in charge of the army, informed them that the war would last at least three years and we need another 100,000 men.

One little shot fired to give Serbia freedom from the Austro-Hungarian domination produced around 10 million dead soldiers, untold misery, a changed world, and leaves an effect upon us to this day.

Think carefully before you fire a gun. 

John Osborn Brown - Belah Viaduct 1859

First Day on the Somme

The first day of the Battle of the Somme is a day that has gone down into UK military history.  On that day the attacking force lost around 57,000 casualties, that is dead, wounded and missing.  The largest failure of the UK army in history.  Of these close to 19,000 were dead.  

This book, which was first published in 1971 is rightly considered a classic of its type.  In fact, almost all Great War historians, tour guides and interested parties, can look back at this book as the one that led either to their interest in the war, or enabled a better understanding to arise.  Funnily enough, this may include me.  I first took an interest in the Great War around the ate 70s/early 80's and found this book in the library, soon after Penguin published it.  A classic indeed, full of relevant information regarding the situation that led to the war, the disposition of the UK force, the men in charge, and also with a host of eye witness accounts from those who served.  The best way to get into the reality of the war.

No doubt since first published much new information has arisen.  Many historians, knowledgeable and ranting, such as myself, have had their say, as time passes opinion differ, yet this book remains a classic in the eyes of almost all.  

I re-read it recently, once again watching the men march up full of expectation.  The fear of going over the top, the shock and confusion of men falling all around.  Hard fighting in an enemy trench, the loss of officers and NCOs to lead, wounds and death all around, and the realisation soon after staring that all had failed.

The attack was well planned, but with communication difficult, rigid plans not amendable, failure of at least one third of shell exploding or having a suitable effect, and failure on the one place where cavalry were required and not sent, all led to what was to be a one day success becoming a five month slog.  

I enjoyed again this book.  The thoughtful opinions are soberly put, well researched and a classic this book remains.  This is the place to begin when researching the Great War.  

Sad to say Martin Middlebrook, who also wrote many other similar books, passed away around a month ago.  A great loss to Great War history.

Western Front Way

The purpose of this book is to publicise 'The Western Front Way.'  This is an idea based on the thoughts of one 2nd Lieutenant Douglas Gillespie of the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders.  His dream, in late 1915, was o a pathway lying along the 'Front' between the opposing armies, the intention being to look upon the cost of war and perhaps bring reconciliation and peace between enemies.  All very noble but a dream that came to little at the time, Gillespie himself being killed in action during the Battle of Loos, his body, like so many others never recovered.  The effect of his family back home in Linlithgow of his loss, and that following on the loss of his brother a year before, must have been heavy.  Well educated middle class sons who went to 'good' schools, usually one offering an 'Officer Cadet Training Squadron,' saw the loss of many 'sons.'  Such officers, often with much less experience than their men, were always the first to go 'over the top' in any action.  As a result, such officers suffered proportionately higher loss than that of the private in the ranks.  

The war rumbled on for another three years after Gillespie died at Loos and there was little desire for reconciliation or peace in the years following the war.  Belgium saw the vast majority of the nation under German control, only flooding the land in the north prevented further incursion.  France hurried to remove the mess left by the war, hidden explosives removed, trenches filled, land once again ploughed over to return to farmland.  The idea of 'reconciliation' was far from many French and Belgium minds in 1918.  

In recent years Gillespie's words have reappeared and many took up the idea of a long path along the line of the Great War Front.  'The Western Front Way,' now appealed to many, especially in Belgium where support for remembrance of the war has always been strong.  Whether this was in regard to the wars memory or the idea of thousands of tourists searching the land where their family and friends had fought is not easy to determine.  Many of those financially able did seek out the graves of their dead, some hoping to find their by still alive, somewhere, somehow.  Tourism covering now two wars is indeed big business in this part of the world.

Sir Anthony Sheldon, a head of private schools, had often taken students across the battlefields of France and Flanders.  He had acquired a great interest in the war and had picked up some History on the way.  Along with others he worked to bring the idea of the 'Way' into reality.

In an effort to publish the 'Way,' as well as recovering from the loss of employment and the death of his wife, Seldon decides to walk the entire length of the proposed pathway, almost a thousand miles.  His intention is to begin at the far end, the Swiss border, and from there walk towards the North Sea.  This is a simple proposal, and a noble one.  There are however problems here.  For a start he is not a long distance walker, he is 68 years old, the walk takes place late in summer, and Covid restrictions hinder progress and ensure almost all businesses are closed, this means hotel and other facilities are very limited.  However, he manages to survive and eventually finishes the course.

Several problems concerning the war remain however.  The majority of the 'front' has been swept away, especially in France where there appears little desire to 'remember.'  In the southern parts, where it was France v Germany alone and thousand died on both sides, little remains of the conflict.  Occasional villages stumps can be seen, the evidence of heavy shelling, instead of rebuilding the village a new one is often created along the road.  Memorials exist but the indication here appears to be that these are not visited much by locals.  

Elsewhere the border itself has moved and for a 'pathway along the front' the author appears far from the actual battle lines in my view.  Modern day construction, woods, farmers fields and the roadways interfere with a war 105 years before.  The needs of today take priority.  

Belgium is more interested in the 'Way,' and already the path is marked out in places.  There can be no doubt that such a path will bring tourists interested in war and visiting Europe to walk or cycle, France prefers cyclists to walkers, and small business along the way will indeed benefit.  Will 'peace' be encouraged by such a walk?  The idea did not stop a second war 20 years after the first, it has not stopped fighting in the Ukraine, Cameroon, Syria, north Africa, southern Sahara, and many other places.  Human nature does not change, and somewhat hopeful attempts at 'peace' will not defeat the human 'self.'

The writer managed a very difficult walk in hard circumstances.  His emotions were disturbed, his feet painful, and while it is a requirement of such books to mention all such instances I found it became somewhat embarrassing as the authors life unfolded before us.  There is a limit as to how much of the author needs to place in such books.  

I also found his History of the war to be somewhat unsound.  An example is his condemnation of the generals for the battles at Loos and the Somme.  He ignores the politicians demand that forced these battles on the generals.  Possibly this is because he himself is an honorary Historical adviser to No 10?

Theses two battles were rejected by the generals as being impossible places to fight.  However, London 

preferred the opinion of French generals to British ones and thousands were lost because of this.  You can add Gallipoli, Salonika, Mesopotamia and Africa to this list of London failures, yet the generals are blamed.  The generals did not have friends in the press!

The idea of this walk is a good one, many will make use of it, but any idea of peace comes from hope rather than an understanding of human nature.  Far many the book will be a good starting point on a journey, but for me with Covid hindering progress much required information for the walker is missing.

I also found the author tiring and struggled to finish the book.  While he offers historical insights into some fighting as he passes this is overshadowed by too much of his own troubles.  It is to be hoped a better guide will be forthcoming in the near future.

@Punch 1981

London Scots

At first sight I thought this would be an interesting look at Scotsmen in London during the Great War.  I was however, immediately disappointed.  The book is based on the work done at the St Columba's Church (Church of Scotland) in Chelsea, a prosperous area and thereby indicates the type of Scots we would be reading about.  

Many Scots followed James VI when he took on the role as James I of England.  They were not all welcomed then as now, but many prospered and fair to say the financial districts saw a great infusion of Scots blood, especially after the Lords were bribed and threatened to sell Scotland to England in 1707.  No money in Edinburgh for 50 years after that so they moved south.  Their Tory, Unionist descendants do similar to this day. 

I had hoped for a more detailed life of Scots at the time of the war but while we are given some information much of the book is based on the 'St Columba's Church Magazine of the time, reports of the London Scottish Rugby Club, the London Scottish Regiment, and similar Caledonian organisations. 

All these represent the middle classes in London, the lower orders not only not invited they could not afford the membership fees of many such glittering organisations.  This does not mean they were bad in themselves, it does indicate a small portion of Scots in London, it is not representative of all.

At the beginning of the war it was realised something needed to be done to aid Scots soldiers passing through.  The church, especially the women, you will know then type yourself, decided to be ready to help.  The various organisations in London aimed at Scots soon merged together, if not into one organisation, at least to work together for efficient aid to soldiers in the field, as well as to those passing through London.  Victoria Station was the main departure point for 'the front' and soon Scots troops were being herded to and from the church for a clean up, feeding, and provisioned as they went home on leave or returned to war.  

Indeed, a great and mighty effort was made by the church people here.  It appears their work became known in the line and soon 'sodgers frae a pairts' were awaiting the call at Victoria to be paraded into the church care.  Thousands from all Scots regiments, and one or two others with them, passed through the doors at Pont Street.  

There can be no doubt that whatever their real belief it is clear many a man was inspired, encouraged and developed a faith, or at least some hope, while worshiping in this church.  Especially those returning from leave.

While the various organisations fed the men in Chelsea, they also provided parcels for the front.  Many items taken for granted back home were much desired 'in the field.'  New socks by the thousand, 'Bovril' type cubes, sweets, soap, toothpaste, (many men had to be taught how to use toothbrushes at the time) and other items requested by the men when home were sent out.  Also on offer were newspapers from home, books and magazines, items designed to take the men's minds of the war while at rest (if they got any).  Vast quantities of such things were collected in a well organised fashion and despatched to regiments and individuals. 

Not just the troops out in the line, but also those who were Prisoners of War (POW), some who were so badly injured they were returned home via Switzerland. 

One small objection is the limited time given to the tales of individuals. Partly this is because little is known, partly because such research, as I can tell you, takes time.  Those mentioned on the memorials in various clubs and organisations get a mention: this one born here, educated there, worked in this bank, enlisted, commissioned and shot July 1917, sums up far too many tales.  I want more details, but this is asking a lot from such a book.  The toll of the war is however, clear throughout.  Many passed through the church care, received the gifts and parcels sent out, and never returned.  As many were from the right background and had attended schools that had Officer Training Cadets these men would soon be at the front in charge of 40 or more men.  As junior officers, 2nd Lieutenant, Lieutenant and Captain, they went first at all times and discovered that such officers had the least chance of survival on the Western Front.  Thus the names mentioned were almost all officers, or privates awaiting their commission.  

One section deals with General, later Field Marshall Douglas Haig.  Coming from a Presbyterian Scots background it is no surprise to find him declared an Elder in St Columba's.  One chapter discusses his faith, was it a 'born again faith' or a nominal one.  Some suggest his faith was based on whether God supported him in the war or not and this may well be the case.  Unlike many, I doubt he struggled through scriptural analysis before deciding to fight the war.  He did support the idea of Chaplains to the forces, mostly because they told the men they were on the side of 'right!'  I am unsure of the theology behind this however.  Clearly Haig was popular at the church, he supported it as expected and received much support from the people himself.  In 1928, when he died his body lay in state at the church before travelling to Edinburgh for burial.

While this is an interesting book with many items worth noting, it is quite disappointing regarding the personal thoughts of the many men who passed through, and clearly while their immediate response was positive there are so many gaps to fill.  Overall the book appears like a collection of end of term reports, quite satisfactory but not giving the whole story.  It has its place but not for everyone.

Friday Frolics...

 

Another day of speculation, blame and buck passing passes after Nicola's resignation from office.  Naturally, the facts are blurred, lies and deceit abound, and yet she remains in office at least until the new man is sworn in, and the Stasi in the SNP are deciding which one will it be?  It is unlikely to be either of the girls who object to the genderbending, they do not fit the image, nor will it be lesbian Joanne Cherry KC, as she speaks out too often against to many of the Stasi.  She has stood down as she claims too many obstacles lie before her, this may well be true.  However, she would seek independence, and this may upset some in the SNP.  By March 27th the next lackey will be chosen, then what?

Another day seeking info on the man I sought info on yesterday.  This appears to have reached an end, though there are one or two more areas to search.  I wonder how I managed this a few years ago?  I find it all so tiring now!  This man we know a bit about, hence the search, but I laid it aside as Covid and remodelling of the Home Museum up north meant nothing could be done.  I then forgot about it.  The info once gathered will be posted to Margaret, who opened the search.  The one question is whether she herself remains about!  

This lad joined up with a 'Home' Battalion.  This means they did not venture overseas, but passed through this town on their way to Ireland.  This was after 1916.  While here, he was billeted with a family in South Street, and wrote to them when in Ireland.  Clearly they got on well, this was not uncommon at the time.  Many young men far from home were looked after by mothers missing their sons, many of whom did not return.  This man was 26 when here, obviously popular with the family and made this clear to his sister up in Darlington.  

During 1918 he somehow made his wat to France.  I suspect this was after the last great German Push in March 1918.  Desperate measures were called for and as far as I can say he moved from his 'Home' Battalion to the 'Overseas' one and took his place in the front line.   There, during September of 1918 he fell during the attack on the slowly retreating enemy.  

At the time he was called a Private, but it appeared from various sources he was a Lance Corporal and had been awarded a Military Medal.  A sis so often the case nothing could be proved, not all MMs were recorded as they ought to have been.  Also he fell as a Private, so where did the promotion come from?  The war diary, as always, does not mention his name, only officers or those with very special merit are named, but clearly during the last battle it was decided by his officers to regard him a s a Lance Corporal, and put him in for a posthumous Military Medal.  This takes time and sources never catch up for at least a year in the circumstances.  

This is all very well, but more is required, and tomorrow is football day, beginning tonight.  Margaret may have to wait a bit longer...

Remembrance Today

At two in the almost sunny Sunday afternoon the congregation gathered to pay their respects to the war dead.  Amongst them were many men, and a few women, who endured active service and saw their colleagues and friends suffer and sometimes die in action.

Before 1914 the wars Britain became involved in were far from home.  Colonial wars, Crimea, South Africa, and early in the 19th century fighting Napoleon in Portugal and Spain, before the end at Waterloo.  The public were not concerned much apart from the shortage of some goods, such as Brandy during Napoleon's time, and anyway smuggling was popular.  Soldiers travelled the world, fought and died far from home, as sailors had done for generations.  The public were involved only at a distance.

For many years people had realised war with Germany was likely.  Patriotism was at a high, even though History was badly taught, and the wide spread of newspapers, from which most people were informed, were at best propaganda, and at worst deliberately false.  

Being a soldier was a respectable occupation.  Since the middle of the 19th century the military mind affected all parts of society, so much so that William Booth's outreach in the east end of London took the name 'Salvation Army,' and not long afterwards the copycats at the Anglican church joined in with the 'Church Army.'   

The army had been reformed under the Haldane reorganisation, led by General Haig.  Now we had 25 Front Line regiments, of two battalions each.  One was stationed at home, the other abroad.  Also the various militia were reformed into the Territorial Force, ostensibly for Home Defence only.  These did however, allow men to play soldiers, learn the basics of warfare, and, in a time of few holidays, gave them suitable exercise at weekends and on general annual manoeuvres.  With a possible war looming did some men enlist in the Territorials in preparation for this?  

As any General knows, you plan for a war, prepare carefully, train your men, and off you go, and watch your plan disintegrate in the resulting stramash.  All things change once war is entered upon.  The UK found this to be true in 1914.  British opinion was led to expect a short war, a few months only they said.  This was considered likely elsewhere, even the Kaiser believed his men would be home by Christmas.  It was easy to forget that the Boer War, such a short time before, had taken some four years before it ended.  How dismayed were the politicians at the first war Cabinet meeting when Field Marshall Kitchener informed them the war would take at least three years and he must raise another hundred thousand men.  They did not believe him! The Generals understood what could happen if a war of movement was halted, no politician appears to have considered this a possibility. Nonetheless, when war was declared on August 4th men everywhere rushed to the colours, many afraid they would miss the excitement.

Come November 1918 opinions differed somewhat from the days of early excitement.  The surviving men who volunteered then were not the same men in 1918.  The world had changed, the war had been won, something people often forget, but at a great cost, both 'at the front,' and 'at home.'

The most reliable figures I have come across tell me that 704,803 men died in action.  Of these some 338,955 are as yet undiscovered or unidentified.  It is from this great loss that 'remembrance' as we know it springs.

The question "What to do with the bodies," caused much wringing of hands and cursing throughout the land.  Some people, at least those with money, broke the law and brought back their own loved ones, their 'heroes,' rather than follow the final decision to bury men where they fell.  Outrage abundant.  Bodies were collected, I think those doing the job, many soldiers themselves or often Chinese labourers, were paid six shillings a d ay for the often gruesome work.  Scattered bodies, small cemeteries, were collected together in large organised places near where they fell.  These today, run by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, are peaceful well tended resting places revealing nothing of the conflict that caused their creation.  

In the UK however, many did not have a place in which to commemorate their dead.  So by the middle of the 1920s local war memorials sprang up everywhere.  Large cities and towns created often huge memorials, local towns and villages did their best, even if it was just a plaque in a church.  On these were graven the names of the dead, alongside slogans such as 'Our Glorious Dead,' 'Not Forgotten,' 'They Died so we could be Free,' and the names of battlefields they fought over, 'Mons, Ypres, Loos, Somme, Cambrai, Passchendaele.'  A glance at such memorials tells much about the town or village where they are found, and the great cost to the population of the time.  

The return and burial in Westminster Cathedral of the 'Unknown Warrior' in 1920 was much heralded by many.  Women especially believed, some through dreams and visions, that this was their husband, son, brother.  Thousands lined the streets as he was paraded through the city.

At the same time a Cenotaph, made from wood, was erected in Whitehall.  The empty tomb lying at the top symbolising the missing.  This idea, copied from the ancient Greek fashion, was highly popular and within a year a more solid cenotaph, made I think of Portland Stone, was erected.

As the memorials closer to home began to appear in city, town and village, the locals turned out to 'remember' their was dead.  Many an Honour Guard on duty at the opening or remembrance ceremonies could well remember and speak of the situation of those named on the memorial.  Often not willing to discuss this publicly in front of the families.  Many names were of course their brothers.

Occasionally in the following years some were able to travel to distant parts to stand alongside their dead.  The majority however, were struggling to survive themselves without the 'Homes made for heroes,' that had been promised.  Thousands of ex-servicemen, especially the wounded, were more or less abandoned to their fate.  

The wives, mothers, children of the dead, and possibly those who so eagerly encouraged enlistment in their locale, now had a place where they could annually remember the sacrifice of their own.  An event continued until their own passing.

 Flanders Fields are at the right time ablaze with red poppies.  During the 1920s the idea began in Canada to commemorate the war dead by the wearing of a red poppy each year.  The idea carried on and now is controlled by the 'British Legion,' (In Scotland 'Poppy Scotland.') and is used to raise money to support their work with wounded servicemen.  It remains highly popular, and while some refuse to wear them, others have designed white, blue or black, poppies for reasons of their own, the Poppy is worn by the majority of the population during the two weeks up to the Remembrance Day on November 11th.  

It is something of a shame that it has been highjacked by many for reasons of their own.  Some consider it encourages or supports war, others, mostly the English Brexit fraternity have taken to it in a big way.  This is not to commemorate or remember, for them it reflects a historic past in which 'England' (not Britain) ruled the world.  A society that has seen Irish independence, Scots nearing independence and has nothing of note within itself bar a failed Brexit, desperately uses anything, the poppy included, to give meaning to their lives.        

There are questions these days regarding the meaning of remembrance.  Many voices are heard today claiming 'it was so long ago,' and people who served are now dying off.  "What is the point?"  Such people need to understand how History affects them today as they themselves are a product of these two great conflagrations that rocked the world.  As it is, in the crowd gathered at this memorial were many who knew an uncle or father who left to join the war in the 1940s.  Others have researched their family tree to find out more about grandad or great grandad and his war record.  Relatives of the dead still gather, remembering stories told by aunts and uncles re the one who did not return.  In spite of the time people still remember.  Indeed, since 2014 many more have taken thought to the war dead, and more so when they have relatives who have served, and sometimes died, in one of the UKs more recent actions, Iraq, Afghanistan, or at the 40th centenary of the Falklands Conflict.  The war dead are not just dead in the (to some) distant past, they are family and friends of many gathered at memorials on Sunday.  The two world wars affected each of us living today, at least indirectly, the lesser wars, which will continue until the next global one, affect many of us daily.  We would be foolish to forget those we have lost.

November 11th 2022

 

As always a two minutes silence is held at 11 am today.  Many, but not all, throughout the nation stopped for two minutes to 'remember.'  I dug out some photos of graves of local men, this one, Fred Bonner, he lies buried in the town cemetery.  He was wounded during December 1916 and landed in hospital in Huddersfield.  You were sent to any hospital that could take you at that time.  During February he developed Blood Poisoning, quite common at the time, there was no Penicillin until later, and died aged a mere 20 years.  

It is strange that when you are 20 you consider yourself a man, when you are somewhat older you consider being 20 very young.  A very young age to die.  It has however, always been the way that soldiers, from time immemorial, have ranged from 18 - 25 years of age.  Certainly many fight on for many years, little option for most, I think the Greek states consider you military age when between 18 and 60, and everyone had to enlist.  But 20 is a young age to die, especially slowly and in pain.  Fred was buried, surrounded by friends and family near home.  His brother also died.

Where is Jesus when there is a war on?

He is right there in the middle of it!

Jesus warned that 'Wars and rumours of wars' would continue, God is well aware of the sin in this world that allow such things.  We all know where it comes from, our human nature!  We all possess the same fallen nature.  Only the death and resurrection of Jesus can save us from this.

Two major wars, many, many other was since then, several still ongoing today, Ukraine, Syria, Democratic Congo, Cameroon, and other wars small and large awaiting their opportunity.  Maybe we ought to cease asking "Where is God in war?" and just give him thanks that without his Holy Spirits control things would be a great deal worse for us all.

A Scottish Poem

I bought this book years ago and found it once again while staring into the bookcase.

Trevor Royle has brought together poetry and prose, including some fictionalised acounts, of the great War.  I was touched by this poem, something that does not usually happen, as it reflected the emotions felt by the couple involved.  It spoke better than most works from the time.

 

Pilgrimage: Being the thoughts of an ex-soldier at Ypres, 8/8/28

Me, an’ Jean, an’ the bairn;
The wee lad spierin’ an’ starin’;
Daunderin’ quiet an’ douce-like doun
The Menin road into Ypres toun.
‘Did ye kill ony Germans here?’
Man, it’s sair what a laddie’ll spier.
An’ Jean whispers ‘Wheest!’ – an’ there comes
The band wi’ its trumpets an’ drums.
There’s a glower i’ the wee laddie’s ee.
Ay, he’s ettlin’ ti sojer like me.
An’ Jean whispers low in her pain:
‘Lord, Ye’ll no lat it happen again!’
Syne the Gate whaur the weary feet trod
Like a white kind o’ promise fae God.
An’ in silence we’re spierin’ an’ starin’
– Me, an’ Jean, an’ the bairn.

Me an’ Jean
Her wi’ a saft warm licht in her een,
Thankfu’ that I am come through,
But trimlin’ a wee at the mou’,
Prood o’ the medals I wear –
The same as the Prince stan’in’ there;
Her hand grippin’ hard in mine here
– Oh Jeannie! Oh Jeannie, my dear! –
An’ I ken a’ the things she wud say
An’ Geordie was fond o’ her tae.
We saw Geordie’s bivvy yestreen,
Me an’ Jean.

Me,
Lookin’ yont ower the years juist tae see
Yon War like the ploy of a loon;
But a queer kind o’ shiver rins doon
My back as the things dribble in
– A hallikit lauch i’ the din,
The sangs, an’ the mud, an’ the claes,
An’ my buits, an’ yon glint through the haze
O’ anither lad’s bayonet, an’ lichts
Makin’ day o’ the darkest o’ nichts,
An’ the drinkin’ our tea fae ae can.
– Oh Geordie! Oh Geordie, my man!
An’ – deil tak’ this dust i’ my ee.
Me!

---

J. B. Salmond

from The Old Stalker and Other Verses (Edinburgh: The Moray Press, 1936)

The poems were often written in an Arbroath dialect.

I found this on the excellent Scottish Poetry Library.

 

Hitler's First War

This is an interesting look at Adolf Hitler's Great War.  

It is important in that little is actually known about the soon to be Chancellor's war experiences.  Partly this was because Adolf ensured much was hidden or destroyed, and others did not wish to be involved, certainly after Adolf's second war.  

The author has researched widely, seeking official documents where they survive, memoirs written before the Nazis came to power, letters, photographs and occasional interviews, all the usual, often hard to find, records that open up the background to any individual.

We all know Hitler was Austrian, we all know he managed to get himself into the German army during 1914, and we all know something of his family past.  This book goes some way to explain his role during the Great war from August 1914 until he was demobbed after the war.  We knew he served but had few details of what he actually did, whom he served with, and we also get some idea of what his officers saw in him.

Hitler enlisted in the 16th Bavarian Reserve Infantry Regiment (RIR 16), as in the manner of the Great War such regiments took their officers name, or the name of the man who originated such a regiment.  The 16th were named the 'List' regiment after Julius von List their commanding officer who was to die in action at Ypres.

Germany then as now is a federated state, a mass of small Germanic states working, in theory, together as Germany.  However, the Bavarians looked to their own monarchy rather than Kaiser Wilhelm for a lead, as I suspect other similar regiments throughout the nation did also.  

After basic training, some say very basic training, the regiment eventually found itself at war at Gheluvelt, part of the 1st Battle of Ypres.  This was a terrible battle, leaving Hitler's Regiment with 725 dead after the few days fight.  Once withdrawn however life changed for our Adolf.  With the casualties promotions were given out to replace the lost, and Adolf was transferred to a place of relative safety, Regimental HQ and classed as a despatch runner.  

Runners did indeed have a difficult and dangerous life, however, the German regimental runner was based almost two miles behind the line and his messages were deposited at the HQs of each individual Company.  From there the Company runner would take messages into the trenches whatever the conditions, while the regimental runner went back home to relative safety and warmth.  

In short, the danger of front line warfare never again affected Adolf Hitler, he remained where he felt at home, and in almost, perfect safety.  Certainly there were dangers from long range shells, machine gun and occasional rifle bullets, but the danger was considerably less than that of the company runner in the front line trench!  His front line service was a mainstay of his claim on others throughout his rise to power, and indeed a constant talking point until his death.  

Hitler did receive one wound in the leg from shrapnel from a shell that landed close by, he was in a dugout at the time.  Long after the war, a one time comrade wrote that this cost him a testicle, however, that author has been dismissed by most Historians as unreliable.  His work is confusing, often wrong, and as a man with criminal tendencies he is not a good source.  Likewise those who claim a degree of homosexual activity from Adolf and one of the other runners, this too appears nonsense.  

The author of this book goes into some detail as to Adolf's enjoyment among the company of despatch runners.  Not only comparatively safe but also this took the place of a family for him, and interestingly he never wrote home to any relative during his time in the war.  This company of comrades certainly appear to have left an impression upon him, an impression that added much to his organisation of the Nazi party years later.  

Hitler served his time, earning mostly support from his superiors, and indeed an Iron Cross 1st Class, recommended by a Jewish officer!  While many Jews did indeed serve in the regiment there appears to be no trace of anti-Semitism in the army at this time, certainly none from Adolf.

After the war Hitler joined with the Red Revolutionaries who took over Munich for six months.  This was something he appears to have almost scrubbed from history, certainly he never mentioned this to anyone.  Author Thomas Weber inclines to the view Adolf had no real politics at the time but was looking to a group that would be nationalistic and classless, and soon both Communist and Fascist groups would offer this.  

Working for an old army friend he came across the German Workers Party, and here he once again found a home.  The Weimar years were not good to a man who had decided a one party state was the answer for the nation, wealth and democracy obscured his hopes.  However, the great crash of 1929 soon left Germany devastated, a situation which politicians with easy answers and clear enemies can take power.  The party, now with National Socialist attached to the name, made inroads with a hungry population.  By 1933 when Hitler took control, to the surprise of many army men who knew him, the despatch runner was a life saver, to others a danger.  

The 20s and 30s were not a great time for Europe, Germany suffered greatly, Hitler soon offered a way of escape and huge numbers hoped for a better time through him, few were actual Nazis, and ever fewer understood he wished to create another war and even demolish the Soviet Union.

The research in this book is extensive and a great effort has been made to seek sources and investigate the findings.  Since 1945 much has been destroyed, many have refused to speak, or indeed consider what they were doing at the time, but the author does give us a clue as to Adolf's growing political outlook, his many, many lies and misuse of facts, even in his letters when at 1st Ypres, he was born an exaggerating liar, and by the way we get an inside into what makes people obey a leader who goes bad.  That alone is worth knowing today!

Published in 2011 the book is well worth a read.  Especially when obtained free on Amazon gift cards! For those interested in this subject it is well worth a go.

ANZAC DAY 2022

During the Great War Australia and New Zealand 

provided a great many men for the war.  

 

Some 60,284 Australian men died.

Around 18,000 New Zealand men died. 

Add to this Australian wounded: 155,133.

New Zealand wounded: 41,000.

 

Several thousand others became POWs. 

 

 

Remembrance or Obsession Plus Time Drifting Away

 

                                         Sgt Jez Doak RAF?MOD

I often wonder about people who study the Great War.  

On my Twitter feed there are many, apparently normal, men who spend an enormous amount of time visiting war graves to 'pay their respects.'  On occasion I begin to wonder if these men are trapped in a war fantasy.  I quite understand the desire to know more about the two major wars, individual stories and actions, I see the interest there clearly.  However, it appears to me something is not quite right.  Many such men are living near the Great War Battlefields in France and Flanders, just up from their homes lie several war cemeteries, and during good years they often act as guides to the areas of action, relating stories learnt over many years and often from ex-servicemen themselves.  

But I sometimes wonder if they lack something in their lives?

Men require something they can attach themselves to.  Many spend an enormous amount of time reading ancient railway timetables, others visit war graves, still others rebuild ancient cars or motorbikes, some are 'Star Wars' fantasists, some support a local football team, all fine and respectable activities, although those that have wives, and not all do, may find the women have differing opinions to them.  Women, for reasons of their own may not like a house disguised as a railway station, or a football museum.  Some go to far and yell and scream when the engine of the BSA 250 is found in bits on her best tablecover, or yet again the young nephew is being regaled, willingly or not, about the 'Retreat from Mons' for the umpteenth time.  

Women are strange.

Why do men require such obsessions?  

I suppose they could become obsessed with drink or drugs, neither of which do much good in the long term, a gardening obsession could at least feed you and fill the house with attractive flowers, and the accompanying beasties.  Other obsessions could be found which may not please the wife nor be so useful.  

I wonder about men who spend their time 'paying respects' at war graves.  I appreciate remembrance from most people, I wonder about it with such men however.  Some may well have been in the forces, others have no war experience.  

It just makes me wonder if they really comprehend the individuals whom they stand before.  Do they think dead servicemen are greater than men around them today?  If so they clearly do not understand the men involved.  These were ordinary men of their day, just like those around them now, not 'Heroes' for the most part, certainly not the 'Best Generation' as the gutter press would have it, these were just men forced into a Great War, their sons forced into the second war, often without ever knowing their fathers.  Good men, often producing heroic actions, bad men, living off everyone around them and committing war crimes, most men, just responding in a good or bad manner to the situation trapping them.  Some enjoyed war, some hated it, especially those who got hurt, some profited from their time, others lost much.  But do these men standing at their graves really see the real man under the slab?

Just what does drive them to 'pay respects' so often in this way?  We all pay respects at least once a year, what causes this reaction, annually, monthly weekly even daily with such men?  An obsession with war that is in their minds or an understanding of the real thing?  

Also, if they respect the dead like this do they also consider the wounded of recent wars?  Those suffering PTSD and all too often committing suicide months or years after serving?  It is easier to remember the long dead than the suffering living today.

My knackered bodies day was complete as when leaving Tesco I got caught in a downpour.  Forgetting to eat last night turns out not to have been a good idea.  Carrying a bag full of veg (how come it was so heavy?) did not appeal either.  Lockdown has not helped my fitness.  

Standing puffing under a tree, many were doing this while the rain hammered down, I glanced at the back door of the 'Subway' opposite.  I was interested in the year '1902' with initials vaguely seen high up, as people sometimes argue about when this row of shops appeared.  However it took a moment or two before I realised the TV seen opposite that made me wonder again was in fact part of the air control system in the shop.  At least I think it is.  No matter how smart a shop may look from the front it is always worth a look round the rear, an impressive image of a business can be gleamed this way.

 

 

Who is stealing time?  

I arose at 7:22 this morning, slowly as normal, yet within minutes this clock claimed it was 10:22!

This does not make sense to me.

After the Tesco trip I found time to eat sausage rolls and drink tea, next thing it was 4:22!

Who keeps stealing the time?

Now I have time to myself I note it is almost 7pm, what is going on?

Worse than this is the calendar.

The other day it was early March, today is the 25th of May!  

What happened in between?  Who stole the days?

Time is rushing past just to fast for some of us.  When will it stop?

 

Sunday Sunshine

The weekend is almost over, that is, I am running out of football! 

On Saturday,as expected, the Heart of Midlothian sauntered past Inverness Caley, ths upsetting their manger who was sent to the stand.   Suggesting he would 'Knock our managers block off,' is not really the done thing these days.

The Scottish Cup, played at odd hours for the sake of TV money, is played this weekend, without ,as we considered we had won the trophy often enough in recent years and felt lesser teams ought to have a go.  

Two games down, two to go, one about to start and one on Monday evening.

 

While the sunshine is worth having around I was freezing after church.  We could only gather, at a distance, outside and the cold wind was chilling my back something awful as I listened to one of my women's woes.  It is good to have a few minutes with people, just to remember what they look like!

Not much time to talk mind you.

 

Today, 25th April, is ANZAC Day, when we commemorate the Australian and New Zealand forces in the Great War. For some this was the event that made both individual nations, seperate from the Mother Country.  Their adventures during the conflict have not been forgotten.

We see here an astonishing picture I think.  An off side portrait, the view behind, the face of a man who may well be happy to be alive, and I think it makes a striking picture.  "Alsatian prisoner of war captured by New Zealand troops. Photograph taken probably near Colincamps 15 April 1918 by Henry Armytage Sanders."

Wednesday Warbling

 

Well that did not last much longer than one of Boris Johnson's great ideas'  Bad publicity and fan pressure forced the English clubs involved in the ''Euro Super League" to change their minds and remove themselves from this disaster.  The whole idea collapses, until the next time.  

So, the English clubs, nearly a Billion in debt, must do something else to fix their books.  Instead of running away to a 'closed shop' they must remain in the over hyped English 'Premier' division that lines their pockets well enough as it is.  Possibly they will now be considering whether paying a 'top' player £600,000 a week is a good idea, with smaller clubs in the 'Premier' paying a mere £20,000 average weekly to their men in the top division.  Maybe there is a better way after all than following several US club owners with no understanding of how the real world works?  Spend less on players and their wages!

 

 

On this day in 1918 Manfred von Richthofen was shot down and killed near Morlancourt, France.  Many have attempted to say this or that man brought him down, such a confusing situation that we need not join in here.  However, a combination of attacking fighter and ground fire could do him no good.  Never fly low, never over the enemy trenches.

The Royal Flying Corps were part of the Army until April 1st 1918 and as such no 'Flying Aces' were given publicity in similar manner to the Germans, or French.  It was considered 'Bad show' if flyers were seen as 'heroes' while the men on the ground were not given such a crown.  In fact Victoria Cross winners were considered 'special' so why not flyers I wonder?

Richthofen became the most famous of all the war flyers, few wished to know that his place was taken by Herman Goering after he fell, but not all flyers respected Manfred in the way the public did.  Some felt annoyed that they had better scores than his 'Jasta 11,' the 'Flying Circus.'  In the documentary from 1987, 'Cavalry of the Clouds,' we find Wing Commander Gwilym Lewis DFC offering his thoughts that Manfred was a 'Bullshitter.'   Richthofen would attack the last aircraft, the slow one, often a 'New Boy' lacking experience.  Attacking from a position high above, in the sun, and protected by one or many more aircraft behind him he picked an easy target, usually a single reconnaissance aircraft.  In this way his number of 'victories' would soar.  His aircraft, the Fokker Triplane, was not popular either.  A copy of the Sopwith Triplane it was dropped by the Jasta as soon as Richthofen departed.

 

 

This woman, who you may recognise from postage stamps, celebrates her 95th birthday today.  Now this may be a hard time for her, her 'Beloved Husband' (a phrase much used by press insiders who know the truth) has passed away.  Even worse, the family is now surrounding her with 'love and care,' so you can imagine how hard this will be for her to take.  

Her favourite son, Andrew, has given her, they say, two Corgie puppies' to 'comfort her' in her loss.  Great!  Just what a 95 year old requires, two puppies to housetrain, walk three times daily, and clean up after.  Possibly Andrew's mind was on other things?  For some reason the family think a woman who has endured life with Phillip, umpteen Prime Ministers, and now Boris Johnson, a world war, thousands of foot licking acolytes, a press that sentimentalises her one day and stabs her in the back the next, and the press royal correspondents themselves somehow canny cope?  Do you think she canny cope?  Tsk!