Abaculus

Twenty million people lost their lives to World War I, a further forty million plus casualties; with the mobilisation of sixty million soldiers. The bloodiness of this war is well documented, but I think very few of us can even begin to get our heads around the reality for those on the front lines, nevermind the lasting implications. This year is 90 years since Armistice.

It wasn't called the Great War for nothing, a war largely in the name of economics and a balance of power; causing a series of subsequent triggers including WW2. One of the direct reasons we have an EU today and over bloated regulation; to lock in very diverse cultures and their economic systems, so people don't fight. Millions of people have died in the name of money and power, and insert here how I think history is repeating itself with another version of imperialism; but that's for another day.

My obsession with history and a desire to understand, Bonnard part sums up in Edward Gibbon: Memoirs of My Life (1960):

[So we] stretch forwards beyond death with such hopes as Religion and Philosophy will suggest, and we fill up the silent vacancy that precedes our birth by associating ourselves with the authors of our existence. We seem to have lived in the persons of our forefathers.

(Gibbon of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire fame).

I've previously blogged about my great grandfather serving in World War I, but beyond that I knew no further details. Since then I've made small research progress, which wasn't easy. With 9 million people enlisted, a great grandfather having a common name as they come and no further information; it was a search of needle-haystack variety.

Here's my great grandfather's Attestation to serve, dated 25 March 1915:

To quote:

I David John Davies swear by Almighty God, that I will be faithful and bear true Allegience to His Majesty King George the Fifth, His Heirs and Successors, and that I will, as in duty bound, honestly and faithfully defend His Majesty, His Heirs and Successors, in Person, Crown and dignity against all enemies, and will observe and obey all orders of His Majesty, His Heirs and Successors, and of the Generals and Officers set over me. So help me God.

The Recruit above named was cautioned by me that if he made any false answer to any of the above questions he would be liable to be punished as provided in the Army Act.

Here's me sitting all comfortable enjoying relative freedom in 2008, despite the areas of unrest in many parts of the world, thinking there's no way I could sign such a document. Perhaps that makes me a complete coward and naive, or even the fact that I am in the position of being able to think the way I do, is a testament to my privilege and the peace I enjoy. My dad who remembers living through WW2 (see last year's post), would certainly tell me what he thought.

Subscribing to the belief there were fates far worse than death, i.e. protection of freedom for future generations, here we get the ultimate sacrifice and glorious dead homage. I get the "greater good" arguments, especially when you've got millions being murdered by way of genocide, but I immediately stop in my tracks when it comes to fighting in the name of economics or power. Yes, I can't help think the world would be a different place if women ran it (too much testosterone, anyone?) Some voice at the back of my head just wants to scream, why can't we all just get along?!

The mentality that is perhaps encapsulated in this poem:

It is the Solider
Charles M. Province

It is the Soldier, not the minister
Who has given us freedom of religion.

It is the Soldier, not the reporter
Who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the Soldier, not the poet
Who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the Soldier, not the campus organiser
Who has given us freedom to protest.

It is the Soldier, not the lawyer
Who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the Soldier, not the politician
Who has given us the right to vote.

It is the Soldier who salutes the flag,
Who serves beneath the flag,
And whose coffin is draped by the flag,
Who allows the protester to burn the flag.

When I first read that, I found myself disagreeing; it goes against my somewhat hippy values, my legal training and leaves me generally screaming no! Why don't we just go right ahead and flood the world with nuclear weapons then? However, thinking about this a little more; I have to ask why am I reading this poem so literally? Could it not be said that we are meant to learn from past violence and history should provide us with enough incentive not to go to war and find other means for peace. The [historical?] solider is our deterrent, because the alternative to peaceful resolution doesn't bear thinking about. I can see this is still idealistic, we sadly still have intolerance, oppression and violence; yet it is precisely why we need to keep a check. Ultimately, I am not even qualified to type an opinion on this, I feel a fraud even typing this post; except I want to convey the message that I wish there was more peace. It possibly even arrogant of me to suggest those people who lay in those trenches didn't wish the same (of course they wanted peace, to go home to their families and I cannot begin to comprehend their fear). Perhaps ultimately a line needs to be drawn between governments and its subjects, what irks me is the fanfare of homage by those in a capacity to push a political agenda or a further abuse of power.

Back to my great grandfather. I've located his record cards, which tell me (a) he was a member of the Royal Army Service Corps (which doesn't surprise me, he already owned a haulage business), (b) his number was R4/063378, (c) he was awarded victory medals. I'm hoping to visit Kew at some point, to access his records to (hopefully) learn which unit he served and subsequently read the unit's war diary. However, given 60% of these were destroyed in September 1940 German bombing raid my chances are diminished.

His obituary states, "He served in France in the Great War and was a member of the British Legion since its inception". I know his funeral was a full military one, and I'm (still) told in 2008 that his funeral was the largest the area has ever seen. Its sort of mind boggling there's people that can remember this detail 66 years later.

Whilst other countries brought in compulsory drafting of eligible male citizens early on in WW1, it is documented as not being a British thing to do, and the government relied on its subjects volunteering. Obviously the large number of casualties that were afforded to this war, gave way to the passing of the Military Service Act 1916. Parliament pacified itself of this mandatory requirement; by the inclusion of the ground of "conscientious objection" as a means of exemption from service. It gave eligible male subjects the right to object to a tribunal / panel of local dignitaries, but in reality this was possibly pure theatre and an exercise in intimidation; affording an opportunity to brand those taking up such a stance as cowards.

The Act was passed a year after my grandfather signed his attestation; but in any case he would have fallen outside the compulsory service ages of 18-41 (he was 44 in 1915), he was also married with children. So my great grandfather served in the war voluntarily and from what I know he had no military background. The mentality that drove him to volunteer beyond comradeship, I cannot even begin to comprehend.

In Balinese tradition, there is a belief that in birth we are accompanied by four invisible brothers that accompany us through our lives; inhabiting four virtues that a person needs to be safe and happy in life: intelligence, friendship, strength and poetry.

It perhaps only through poetry, the full horrors of war is conveyed. The more famous WW1 poets being Edward Thomas, Siegfried Sassoon, Isaac Rosenberg and Wilfred Owen. (Side note: Wilfred Owen and Edward Thomas both had Welsh roots).

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Owen's war poems can be found here. A collection of modern day war poetry can be found here.

Perhaps to end this post, it would be apt for me to include Botticelli's painting of lovers, Venus and Mars (which hangs at The National Gallery, London):

Venus being the Goddess of Love (she is also the mother of Cupid), Mars the God of War; and the painting probably depicts both humour and serious intent. Venus and Mars' amorous relations are well documented, and here Mars has obviously succumbed to the delights of love and asleep unaroused by the teasing satyrs, who even have his weapons. (Probably a suggestive imagery borrowed from Lucian, "two are carrying his spear, as porters do a heavy beam ... another has got into the breast plate, which lies hollow part upwards; he is in ambush", in reference to the painting of Alexander the Great's wedding to Roxana). The painting projects a message that love conquers, above war (and every difference that mankind seeks to pull out of hat). It is that message, we must always remember.