Remembrance Sunday.

[curiouswombat]

I went out to lunch with my Mum yesterday and we were discussing something on television. On a programme about Remembrance Day it was said that by the end of WW1 everyone knew of someone who had died - and even now there were few families who could not trace at least one family member who had died in the conflict.

We were considering that, at least on the maternal side of my family, we had had no-one lost in that war or, indeed, WW2. In times of war the Island is considered, or considers itself, British and our men have always served in the British armed forces.

My maternal grandfather was called up, as a man of over 30, but was ill when the papers arrived. He was given a one or two week reprieve, but then had to go to sign up. He was still ill, but travelled anyway - only to end up dangerously ill with dysentry and pneumonia in a camp somewhere near Dover and was discharged as medically unfit to serve.

But I wondered about his brothers. Mum said as far as she knew the only two who were both fit enough and old enough to serve had actually not done so, as they were farmers, and farming was a reserved occupation. Her mother's only brother had been too young, although her mother's two sisters actually both joined up, but came home safely.

Then, in passing, Mum said "Of course Uncle Charlie Christian was the first Manxman injured in WW1..."

"What?"

"Oh, yes - the bullet went straight through his leg into his horse, and killed the horse."

Uncle Charlie Christian was my grandmother's cousin, brought up with her family as if a brother - he is on the big family portrait - a tall, distinguished looking gentleman in cavalry uniform (I think!).

And he was the first Manxman injured in WW1? Why did I not know this before?

I wonder if it is really true, or just one of those odd 'facts' passed through families which turn out to be somewhere short of accurate? Some day I must try to find out!

Talking about it to S2C when I got home, we were considering that from D-d's standpoint she did not lose any direct line relative - but she did lose a bit of one...

S2C's maternal grandfather served with the 63rd (Royal Naval) Division and so, despite being a sailor, fought in Belgium, Gallipoli and finally at the Somme - where he lost a leg. 'Lost' - isn't that an odd description? 'Where he had a leg blown off him' would probably be more accurate.

So we are thankful that my maternal grandfather was too ill to fight; my paternal grandfather, a Boer War veteran, was in a sheltered occupation on Liverpool docks, and as far as I know stayed there; most of S2C'smaternal grandfather got home; and his paternal grandfather - well he survived as well - although we aren't sure whether he fought. (I've actually e-mailed my FiL to ask.) Because if more of any of these men had been left on a battle field, S2C, D-d and I would not be here.

Comments

[spikechris.livejournal.com]

My grandfather was in WW1, I don't know a lot about it buyt I know that he went twice as the first time he was only 15 and my grandmother had to bring him home. He went back and was a machine-gunner. He survived and was a first-aider and Air Raid Warden in WWII being a member of the St John Ambulance.

My dad missed WWII but was in the emergency in Greece and Palestine. He missed having to go to Korea by a whisker. My great-uncle was in the airforce in Burma and my uncle was a partrooper in the Sciliy landings and was dropped 2 miles out to sea and had to swim in with full kit. He was one of the lucky ones and survived that and the war.

Chris

[ffutures.livejournal.com]

My mother (born 1920) was her parents' seventh child and by far the youngest. Three of the earlier sons died in WW1, they would have been my uncles if they'd lived. My father failed his medical in WW2, spent the war in the ARP (air raid precautions).

[spikechris.livejournal.com]

Sorry for the errors, should be but in the first para and paratrooper and Sicily in the second.

[appomattoxco.livejournal.com]

I don't think anyone in my family fought in WWI. It is possible though. My Great Grandfather was completely deaf from childhood. He was one of 12[?] children but was separated from them when his parents left him in a school for the handicapped. He lived a long happy life but always wondered where his siblings were.

My mom's parents were from Canada [french] and Poland[Grandma claimed to be a Gypsy.] My paternal grandmother was from Denmark. Except paternal great-grandfather and his fore-bearers I'm only second generation to be born in the US.

[ayinhara.livejournal.com]

That was a very interesting post. It's always worthwhile tracking down family history.

[framefolly.livejournal.com]

Wow -- I love family history! Fascinating! Thanks for sharing :) .

[bojojoti.livejournal.com]

I had relatives in the Revolutionary War; a great-great-grandfather in the Civil War (three brothers went to war: my gggrandfather returned home, his brother died in a Confederate prison, and the other brother was badly wounded and was never "right" again--while my gggrandfather was away at war, his wife died, and when he returned home, he married his brother's widow; my grandfather served in World War I, and my father saw action in the Korean conflict.

It's a wonder any of us are here when you consider all the violence through the ages.

[ozma914.livejournal.com]

History is full of surprises ...

[debris4spike]

Thanks for sharing those family histories - I hope to do something similar later.

[cloviss.livejournal.com]

I think how lucky I am to be in the generation to still have a brother (pompous git that he is). Both my grandmothers lost their brothers in WW1. Emlyn Duggan and Edward Kite. My mother lost her brother in the second little unpleasantness. Bill Green. I think of them amongst the millions, sons and brothers.

'Lost' - isn't that an odd description? 'Where he had a leg blown off him' would probably be more accurate.

I always take umbrage at 'gave their lives'. I'm sure that there were those who died heroically in saving others, but think it more likely that my great uncles had no choice in their fate as cannon fodder, and would be more accurately described as those who had their lives brutally taken away. It is such glorification that helps perpetuate the whole dirty business.

"The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori"
Wilfred Owen

[ningloreth.livejournal.com]

My mother's uncle, Uncle Frank, volunteered several times and was rejected because a childhood illness had left him with only one working lung. But somebody gave him a white feather. So he went to another town & volunteered again, lying about his health, and they must have been too desperate for men by then to give him a proper examination. He was shot in the chest during the last few days of the war, and died. My great grandmother never got over losing him. And when my grandmother finally had a son he became a sort of reincarnation of Frank.

My mother never knew him (she was born 12 years after his death), but grew up loving him and, shortly before she died, I took her to Worsley churchyard to see his name on the war memorial.

My paternal grandfather survived the entire war despite being at Ypres (why-pres, he always called it) and on the Somme. Every Sunday he used to tell me stories about life in the trenches -- most of them hilarious. I wish I'd recorded them.