Remembrance Sunday Centenary

The Great War began on August 4th 1914, the armistice coming four long years later on November 11th 1918.  To remember the fallen of this and other conflicts we met before the war memorial this afternoon.  A very large crowd attended, possibly slightly larger than last years, and correct observation was performed.  The procedure followed routine, a loud voice, hidden by the crowds, called the uniformed ones to attention. Standards were raised, the 'last post' blown then a 'stand at ease' ordered.  The vicar said a few prayers, a few words were said, then wreaths were laid, first by the dignitaries then by others in order.  All in all the usual short gathering.  However I was feeling a bit let down as I realised that this type of meeting misses one thing only - the names of the fallen! Possibly because I have lived with them for a while I find a gap, an emptiness where each individual ought to be.  No need for all names just one or two and a word on their deeds to enlighten the people. This brings the individual home to us not just a name.

    

The gathering of men in uniform used to be common when I were a lad today it is something unusual. Unless you live in a 'Barrack' town you rarely see uniformed men.  National service and of course war itself meant such sights were part of daily life not any more.  Terrorist threats have meant some units are not allowed to wear their uniform in the the streets in some areas!  I am quite surprised some of the uniformed organisations still manage to enroll so many as the costs must be high however the Air Training Corps members seen here have always been popular, possibly because they might get into an airplane occasionally.  

The police (well PCSO's) were in attendance to control the traffic for the march past, much smaller crowd than last year when several full police officers were in control.  However the local football team were playing a major cup tie at the same time, and losing 0-3 last time I heard, so that is where the constabulary would have operated.  Rarely do remembrance crowds get out of hand.  

From the rear you do not get much of a view of the dignitaries but at least the sound system is good. However I wonder about the names on the memorial and their connection to the people in the gardens.  Many will be there because their child is in the scouts/guides or whatever, others because a relative, whom they may have just discovered is named thereon.  I just wish I could have spoken to some but I recognised only two people in the throng.  

So we have remembered, poppies have been worn, memorials attended, research begun, bands have played, men have marched, and life will return to normal now.  For those in 1926 who attended the unveiling of the memorial the thoughts may have been different.  The names were of sons, husbands, friends, and family.  They left a gap, sometimes a huge gap that was never to be filled again.  Many women struggled to raise the family afterwards, many a heart mourned until their dying day, many a child had their life dented by loss, but the individual just had to 'get on with it,' there was no other choice.  The s'stiff upper lip' and many others being in similar troubles gave no opening for self pity or depression, life had to go on.  

At least here was a place to remember, many knew only the name of the memorial somewhere in France or Belgium where their loved one was commemorated, usually they could not afford to visit. At least if he lay in a cemetery the relative  felt he was taken care off but just a name among the thousands on a memorial is so cold and somewhat inhuman, a soldiers relatives require more.  Some on the memorial lie far off in Gallipoli or Jerusalem, during the second war some fell further away in Asia, others fell from the skies lost for ever.  

For us today who did not know them personally we can move on easily, only the old remember them, they cannot forget. However they too have had their life, they too have seen younger folks suffer in Northern Ireland, Iraq and Afghanistan, let alone the many 'small' and 'forgotten' wars since 1945. Do you realise that so many people today do not know what the 'Cold Was' was like?  To them it is a History lesson, to us it was always in the background.  Life moves on indeed!

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Mons Meg

Mons Meg

High up on the ramparts of Edinburgh Castle stands the colossal 'Supergun' known as 'Mons Meg!'  This monster weapon was capable of hurling a cannonball weighing around 385 pounds (or one American) over two miles distance. If it were to be fired today, just as it was in 1558 to celebrate the marriage of Mary Queen of Scots to the French 'Dauphin' François, the shell would do no good whatsoever to the Granton Harbour area! 


It was the French connection brought this behemoth to Edinburgh in the fifteenth century. The Duke of Burgundy, known as 'Philip the Good,' a title probably given him by some PR groveller earning a high fee, donated this gun to James II, King of Scots. Philip, being James uncle by marriage and wishing to ensure the Scots kept disputing with the English and thereby aiding the French fight with the imperialists south of the border, sent him the most powerful gun ever made as a gift! Being brought to life in the small (now Belgian) town of Mons, later to find fame as the place Britain entered the Great War against Germany in 1914, the name 'Mons' stuck to the gun. Quite which 'Meg' was responsible for giving her name to the gun is disputed as this was only added very much later. From early accounts it is possible she was just known as the 'Mons Gun.' 


The gun was used in anger only rarely. The weight of just over six tons made travel difficult and roads were of course just dirt tracks. The effort required, the number of oxen prodigious (which is another way of saying I don't know how many), and in those rainy days that frequently affect Scotland the mud would make travel very difficult and cause even the gentle folk of Scotland to express curses while pulling the beast. While 'Meg' was powerful it was also difficult to fire more than half a dozen shots at a time because of the heat given off by the powder required during firing. 'Mons Meg' was indeed trundled down to Roxburgh Castle in the borders to deal with a dispute there in 1460 but only once dealt with the English foe and that at Norham Castle, now just on the far side of the border. Cannon frequently exploded while in action and a smaller cannon did  just that fatally wounded King James II at Roxburgh. 'Meg' visited Dumbarton Castle in 1489 in an effort to impress the Duke of Lennox regarding his obedience however the guns progress was slower than a woman through a shoe shop and in time meant Edinburgh Castle became home for 'Meg' where she became a 'saluting gun!'


Apart from the 1558 firing when Mary married her Frenchman the gun was also fired in 1689 to greet James, Duke of Albany and York. He, as you will know, later became James VII and II. (That is, for our English audience, James the Seventh of Scots and James the Second of England. The English have a problem in forgetting that the James's were kings of two nations, not just theirs!) James VII & II by the way was rubbish! His grandson became known as 'Bonnie Prince Charlie, and a right Charlie was he as you probably know! It is interesting to note that when James the Duke of Albany and York arrived the gun was fired in salute by an English gunner. The barrel burst and this led to accusations that the gunner had deliberately overloaded the gun because the English were jealous they did not possess so great a weapon! I couldn't possibly comment!     

English grabbing of Scots property after the sell out in 1707 continued with the removal (by Pickfords I ask?) of 'Mons Meg' to the Tower of London' in 1754. She may well have remained there still had Sir Walter Scott, busy inventing a colourful Scots history to pay his debts, persuaded George IV to return her to where she belonged and so she arrived home, tired and weary, in 1829. Since then the huge gun has been attended to on the Castle rock by the keepers of antiquities and the numerous children who insist on clambering all over her.  Many a house has photographs of such hidden away in an album!

Day By Day

I originally posted this on another blog, but no-one read it and I kept forgetting to use it.  I will now transfer anything worth reading (in my opinion!) and dump it here.

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Remembrance Sunday

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Up and down the land groups of ex-servicemen and their relatives along with members of the public have gathered to 'remember' the war dead. Most will have concentrated their thoughts on those they knew or had some connection with, few will not have let their minds run on to our one time enemies also. The names on the memorials once belonged to men who fell in the two world wars, now they are beginning to have names from more recent wars added to them or placed alongside. This modern generation is once again realising the cost of war. During the years of 'peace,' since 1945 we fooled ourselves into thinking war happened elsewhere, now today's generation is suffering also as conflicts bring the truth close to home.


During the sixties, we of the 'baby boomer' generation, or 'accident' generation as my mother referred to it, we who had grown up with the aftermath of the war wanted to live a new life. All things military were pushed aside, banning the 'bomb' and making 'love not war' were what mattered. It actually was more 'make tea not war' but that's another story. The 'Cold War' caused millions of casualties but in Africa and South East Asia where America had made a fool of itself. A culture clash, an age gap between those who served between 30 and 45 could not be closed during the late sixties 'hippy' days. Now this has changed. The Irish troubles, the Falklands dispute, two wars against Iraq, the second certainly not required, and Afghanistan, have all brought home the role of the services today.  In my teenage years few walked the streets in uniform as conscription had long gone and jobs were plenty. Why enlist to be bullied by a sadistic corporal when life was outside your door? The wearing of poppies was not important as that was a long time ago, let's move on was the attitude.  I did enquire about the RAF and realised I could not get what I wanted there, lucky as I would have been thrown out had I attempted it. However a serviceman's life was only for the tough or those who sought adventure or travel in those days. Once again however the soldier is respected. Once again people are proud to wear poppies. Once again soldiers can wear their uniform in the streets. (This was stopped during the Irish troubles) Now people show respect when dead soldiers are buried near home.


There is however one question to ask, is there a danger that this can become a bandwagon for all to jump on, or proper respect? For instance at the small town of Wooton Basset, close to the aerodrome where British troops bodies are returned, now stand in silent salute for the soldier. It has become the thing for the hearse to stop and family and friends to put flowers on the vehicle. Flags are lowered and people stand in silence, except for the photographers desperate to find a crying wife or child of course! Is this respect, or has it become a circus? TV crews from around the world have attended here, is this really respect or are we using 'our boys' to sell papers and newsreels? At Tynecastle Park today the supporters of the Heart of Midlothian turned up to commemorate the men of the Hearts team who enlisted during the Great War. Seven did not return, others died between the wars, many were seriously wounded although some returned to play again. Since Jack Alexander published his book 'McCrae's Battalion,' it has brought many more younger fans to attend the service, a service which has happened ever since the memorial at Haymarket was erected in 1922. This has brought home to them what our forefathers have done. However, if they did not support the Heart of Midlothian would they come? If these were Hibernian players would they be bothered?  The point I am aiming at is why do we wear the poppies and attend services? Most will be right in offering 'remembrance' as the reason, but I wonder if there is the beginning of a band wagon. More TV coverage has been seen in recent years. TV companies insist that all wear poppies, in case someone complains, and a minutes silence occurs in most places at 11 am on the 11th of November in most public places today. How much of this is respect and how much not wishing to lose face? Difficult to tell with some. A response to public demand is one point even though a great many ignore the silence, sometimes deliberately.    


It strikes me also that today we have lost the 'stiff upper lip' of just 'getting on with it,' that our forefathers possessed. After the war that was the only possibility for returning troops. few received any help unless they had real difficulties physical or mental. Yet today there is a cry for 'counselling' after someone breaks a nail let alone suffers grief. I agree that much more is required for returning servicemen but on the other hand we live in a pampered society that needs to be told to stop wearing your heart on your sleeve and keep it to you and your alone. Questions asked by 'journalists,' and I use that word loosely, are based on emotions not facts. An experience can be related and the first question asks about the persons 'feelings.' Surely we ought to know instinctively what those are, or are we stupid?  The emotions, the tears, are more important to television than the story. This does not reflect a society that can cope well with wars results.

At our local memorial people had placed about a dozen small crosses around the display. I looked this man up in an attempt to discover his story. This is done firstly by visiting the Commonwealth War Graves Commission site and searching their records. Almost immediately I came across his record, the first time that has happened!


The 'Battle of the Ancre' 13th - 19th November 1916, was the last battle of what we refer to today as the 'battle of the Somme.' 'The Somme' was of course famous for the huge loses on the first day of the battle back in sun drenched July, however by November steady heavy rain had made the ground a quagmire and this battle may have been more to impress the French than achieve an actual breakthrough. The 1st Battalion of the Gordon Highlanders, I suspect this man belonged to the 1/7th Gordon's but cannot be sure at this moment, were part of the 51st Highland Division and their job was to attack north of the river and along with their comrades take several lines of German defences. In fact they appeared to attack over part of what is now known as the 'Newfoundland Park' area.The weather, the mud and the stout defending made this a very difficult and hazardous occupation. Success was achieved and eventually Beaucourt  was taken, but at what cost?


8493 Lance Serjeant George Christie (That is how it was spelt in those days) died on this day and it is likely, but not proven as yet, that he died during this attack. The Gordon's were a Territorial Force and at 31 and a Lance Serjeant it is likely that he had been a member of this unit for some time. It may be he had previously served in the army and like many others continued in the Territorials afterwards. Who knows? 
The problem with such memorials is the lack of information available. We know when he died, can speculate where, and we know his parents came from Knockenbaird Croft, Insch, (still in use) and that his wife lived at Victoria Buildings, Alford. The building is still there also and now appears to be the Co-op! Both places are in Aberdeenshire, the main recruiting ground for the Gordon's. The other question is who put this small cross, one of thousands placed at memorials throughout the land, into our memorial? I am sure that whoever it was Lance Serjeant George Christie would be appreciative of the thought.

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Erskine

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The Dead and the Suffering

I just glanced casually, as you do, at this report on the situation in Sri Lanka. As is normal I grasped the gist immediately and got on with my awfully important life. However it struck me that here was a war, and one that has been ongoing for around thirty years, where people are at this very moment being blown apart by shellfire, shot, raped, abused, starved, and caught in the general effects of a crossfire which they are unable to escape. And I just glance at this news and move on.

The picture features a conflict which erupted in 1947 when Britain left the Indians to their own affairs, and quite right too! Straight away there was a Muslim/Hindu split with much violence and Pakistan and West Pakistan (which also splint from Pakistan later, again with much violence). Kashmir, a large state to the north, was ruled by a Maharajah who was left to decide whether to join India or Pakistan. He chose India but most of the population being Muslim conflict, of one level or another, has been continual ever since. Many thousands have died, many more injured or dispossessed, yet little is seen on the news as Iraq and Afghanistan are more important - too us!

World wide, as we sit in comfort, stuffing our fat faces, warm, content for the most part, millions live in war zones. Death is an ever present reality, many suffer the results of loss of home and family, wounds and abuse. The future depends on far off uncaring governments or charitable organisations working in the area, but for how long? While thirty seconds of a news programme is given over to their story it will quickly be followed by more important relevant information, concerning bulimic teenagers or drunken actresses.

I am quite warm this evening, the music playing is cheery, the umpteenth mug of tea has been drunk, and yet somewhere in the world someone is being blown apart, shot or having their throat cut. I, like the rest of the world, think "Oh dear, how awful" then forget them.

"Et lacrimatus est Iesus"

Sunshine

Today, after I had spent a while on what is laughably called my 'Get Fit' routine, I wandered across to the public gardens to sit in the sunshine and read my book. Some selfish, thoughtless pair of individuals had taken my usual bench, as if it was there for anybody to use, and were wasting their time instead of doing something useful for society. I do not understand how some folks get away with it, I really don't!

Anyway as I was lounging here in the sun I decided to sneak a pic of a wonderful scene. Behind me in the bright green conifer some small bird was chirping, and little ants were meandering across the bench, and me, searching for fodder. For once the squirrels kept their distance and only a pair of blackbirds came near. The benches to my right each contained one person intent on pretending no-one else lived in this overcrowded world. Indeed each and every person you meet in the gardens works on the basis that greeting a passerby , especially a male, could lead to leprosy or the plague being passed on.naturally with such nervous folks around I always say 'hello,' and leer kindly.

The quietness of the great green slab in front was broken only by the two distant dim (well they appear to be students) figures soaking up the sun and recovering from a needless hangover. And quiet it was today. usually there are a crowd of neds lying around noisily, and even the kiddies were further away in the shade of the trees behind the empty tennis courts. Only the occasional few minutes girning was heard when the brats ran off in my direction and whined when brought back by the brutal mother in charge. The rest of the place stayed quiet.

In the far distance, not visible in the picture stands the war memorial. Thirty or so feet high it contains the names of over two hundred souls lost in the great war and those who died in the second. In such situation as today's I often compare the tall structure and it's imposing silence with the sights and sounds that greeted those who's lives are commemorated there. Clerks and shopkeepers, factory hands, skilled and unskilled, volunteers and conscripted, how they would have liked to be sitting here in the gardens instead of lying under some strange foreign soil. Most with little real idea of where they actually were when they met their end! The sun drenched grass with the distant sound of a child's laughter contrasts with the muddy brown shell holes of Picardy. In summer they too would have been bothered by bees and other beasties crawling all over them as they stood on sentry duty and stared into a bleak empty nothingness. Rats of course would have bothered them less than the lice that never seemed to leave them and which took up so much of their free time burning off with cigarettes and pipes. Their lives, ended by loud callous shell fire or rattling machine gun, amid noise and confusion is forgotten by most who sit there in the sun.

Of course, whatever the rights and wrongs of the wars and how they came about, without those men we could not sit here in the silence. Political mistakes and selfish ambition, Empire building and jealousy of another's possession, madness and folly all combined over the years to leave us with a twentieth century of pain and woe. Was it all necessary? No. Could it have been avoided? Yes. But if so another war would have taken its place. Human nature is like that. The men looking down from those great slabs full of names can be happy that this gardens pleasure is one folk can enjoy because of their sacrifice. Had they not fallen the jackboot would sooner or later remove such pleasures from most of us. They did not die in vain.