armistice day
Nov. 11th, 2013 12:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
llywelaToday marks another Armistice Day, a day of memorial for the dead of the Great War, and every other war before and since. Thinking today about the futility and the brutality of war, I can't help remembering this postcard my great-great-grandfather George sent home to his son Arthur in 1918.
'Dear Arthur', he writes. 'Just a card to thank you for kind and welcome letter also tracts which I was pleased to know you were still home + well trust this wicked war will soon end as nearly 4 years of it only 2 more months I have been away 4 years I do hope it will as one gets fed up keep on thinking every year is the last but our hopes get blighted...' [and it continues on another card]
He wasn't exactly the world's greatest penman, but you can feel his exhaustion and despondency in those lines. George did eventually make it home safe and well, after a long and hard four years. Another great-great-grandfather, John, was not so lucky. He was wounded in the final days of the conflict and died of his injuries three months after the ceasefire, leaving his widow to raise nine children alone.
And I am thinking about my granddad's little brother, Bobby, who ran off to join the merchant navy in 1941 only for his ship to be shelled. He was 17 years old - his youth a poignant reminder of how wasteful war is.
'Dear Arthur', he writes. 'Just a card to thank you for kind and welcome letter also tracts which I was pleased to know you were still home + well trust this wicked war will soon end as nearly 4 years of it only 2 more months I have been away 4 years I do hope it will as one gets fed up keep on thinking every year is the last but our hopes get blighted...' [and it continues on another card]
He wasn't exactly the world's greatest penman, but you can feel his exhaustion and despondency in those lines. George did eventually make it home safe and well, after a long and hard four years. Another great-great-grandfather, John, was not so lucky. He was wounded in the final days of the conflict and died of his injuries three months after the ceasefire, leaving his widow to raise nine children alone.
And I am thinking about my granddad's little brother, Bobby, who ran off to join the merchant navy in 1941 only for his ship to be shelled. He was 17 years old - his youth a poignant reminder of how wasteful war is.
