Today is the 100th Anniversary of the end of World War 1! Much has been said about those who gave their lives and for me that list includes two uncles, one great uncle and several 2nd cousins! Many more family members served in the Great War and WW2 and bore the scars for the rest of their life.
Growing up in Britain, Armistice Day was always a solemn occasion the list of local WW1 dead being read out in our 11am Church Service. (The latter always started 2 minutes early so that 2 minutes silence could be observed to honour the fallen.)
During the war years our large Church was always packed with service men from nearby bases, (both British and American) who paraded into Church in their smart dress uniforms. Extra chairs lined the wide aisles and pews were packed tight!
However, the lasting horrors of WW1 were around us every day of my childhood!
Rarely mentioned are the millions of women who never married or became very young widows as a result of the wiping out of almost an entire generation of young men.
Due to that fact, I grew up in a village which consisted of a vastly larger number of women and very few younger men. Women were small farmers, shopkeepers, teachers and nurses. Married women worked part-time as cleaners (char-ladies), and all the farm-worker’s wives and children turned out to help with the harvest. I remember the field in which we were picking potatoes was lined with baby buggies and any child who could toddle helped their Mum to fill her basket or sack.
For ladies from the upper classes, brought up in a different world where the idea (perhaps even the capability) of work was socially unacceptable, there remained only a life of needlework and knitting army socks. Sometimes a paid companion even more impecunious than themselves provided some assistance. Their social round was limited to afternoon teas with similar souls and attending any event or group meeting deemed suitable to their social status.
Any men not in the military were either, too old, too infirm or deemed to be in essential occupations. Everyone of them worked wherever they could. Older farm-workers frequently spent their last years working as a ‘roadman’ i.e. sweeping, hedge cutting, clearing drains etc. My Grandfather, well into his eighties came out to help with the harvest at least part of the day and kept a large fruit and vegetable garden.
I remember Mr. Dodd the Sweet Shop! His ability to funnel our chosen candy into small paper bags very efficiently, despite having only one arm and a wooden cylinder about 6 inches long attached to his shoulder replacing a second arm was amazing.
Just up the road a melancholy fellow spent his life sitting on the back step playing his harmonica. Twenty-five years after his army discharge, he still suffered from ‘shell-shock’. PTSD had not been invented in those days and many such sufferers simply endured silently.
My uncle George suffered repetitive bouts of malaria which he picked up whilst serving in Egypt. But his discharge papers declare he was discharged healthy!
My high school teachers included several veterans and victims. Most of our women teachers were married and had returned to work to fill the jobs of those who had gone to join the Army, Navy or Air Force.
Miss Temple, our deputy head-mistress, had lost her fiancé, I believe that was at the Somme.
Mr. Fisher, our wonderful, gentle History teacher, had an open wound, which refused to heal, on one leg and always walked with a limp. His nickname was ‘Lob’.
Mr. O’Connor, our French teacher, had suffered gas attacks. Very tall and thin, he would sit at the teacher’s desk bolt upright, and apparently sound asleep, as we continued taking turns to read the current French lesson. Everyone feared his Irish temper to the extent that even when the bell sounded, we would not move until he awoke and dismissed the class. Fortunately, he always awoke in time for us to race to the station to catch our only train home!
It was quite a shock when we started getting new teachers in the late 40’s who were veterans of WW2! Appearing very young in comparison, their exuberance was startling to children raised mainly by older men and women who themselves were worn down after years of war preceded by the dark days of the ‘dirty 30’s’ recession.
But we survived and will always remember those who sacrificed so much to give us a chance to have a better life. May we be worthy of their sacrifice!