Remembrance Day 2013 - Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron

Its almost a tradition that I write a Remembrance Day blog. Not what I intended when I wrote the first one in 2010. Or the next in 2011. Or the one in 2012. And I definitely wasn't going to do it this year, but once again there has been so much discussion in the media about the wearing or not of red poppies and in political forums about the terrible principles of those who do not - or even worse wear white poppies - that I felt I had a bit more to add.

The lovely photograph above, although blurred in the copying, was sent to us from one of Other Half's relatives in Canada last night. It is of his Uncle Harry who was killed in WW2 in Belgium. We have never seen this picture before and it is therefore very precious to us, blurred or not. And that is what Remembrance Day should surely be all about. Remembering those who died or were affected in whatever conflict, on whatever side and whenever. And for us as Pacifists working toward Peace so that waste will never happen again, and that all the Uncle Harrys in future will live and meet their nephews, nieces, great nephews and nieces and great-great nephews and nieces. This Uncle Harry never met his descendants - but they still remember him and have talked about him all their lives.

Also this year my family will additionally mourn the passing this August of my lovely Uncle Ron who was taken prisoner of war at the Battle of Arnhem which left him with emotional battle scars. In the title of the book written about him by his son 'Too nice to be a soldier':

So whatever colour poppy one wears, or whether one wears one or not, do remember all those who have died. I respect others' rights to disagree with my wearing a white poppy but the surprising thing is they do not seem to respect my right so to do whilst claiming that wars are fought to allow freedom of thought and expression......

My Remembrance

Last year I wrote a blog for Remembrance Day which was picked up by another, far better blog than mine and caused a bit of discussion. As usual, whenever I state that I am a pacifist, a lot of the comments were very aggressive and some commentators almost seemed to want to wilfully misunderstand my reasonings. Fair enough, their privilege.

So this year I thought I would celebrate publically all those whom I personally remember each Armistice Day as well as all the other days throughout the year.

My Welsh Grandfather, who was so badly injured in the First World War, during the campaign in the Dardanelles, that he was invalided out of the army. This was after being posted as missing for many months and my Grandmother believed he was dead. He was awarded the Silver War Badge at the time, which given those honourably discharged due to wounds or sickness. This was to be worn on 'civvies'only, so that those wearing them would not be presented with a white feather [I daren't comment on the practice of presenting white feathers, you will understand why, I hope...] Also remembering all Granfa's brothers, friends and military comrades.


My English Grandfather, who served in the First World War at Ypres ['Wipers'] as well as other platforms of war. he became a member of the Fleet Air Arm and finished the war as a member of fledgling RAF. He came home physically unscathed but emotionally scarred, like so many. Also remembering all Granfer's brothers, brothers-in-law, friends and military comrades.

My English Grandmother, who worked in a munitions factor during the First World War whilst her husband served in France, whose wages plus his pay were not enough to keep her and her son and led a strike for better pay for munitions workers - and won. And all her sisters and friends who did similar, ill paid war work but were not celebrated. And were so debilitated at the end of the war that many died of Spanish 'flu.

Other Half's Grandfather who wanted desperately to become a regular soldier and tried to enlist as soon as WW1 started but was turned down on ‘Health Grounds’. In 1916, when the heavy losses were beginning to decimate the pool from which the military could recruit, standards in physical fitness, health and height were relaxed and Grandfather-in-law was allowed to join up. He stayed in the army after the end of the war, was in the Guards and eventually qualified to become a Chelsea Pensioner.


All those family friends who were members of the International Brigade in Spain in 1936. Often forgotten. And all the displaced persons, many of them children who were refugees and lived with so many East End families.

My Uncle who was a Chindet in Burma in the Second World War and suffered recurring bouts of malaria all his life.

My Uncle [happily still with us] with a few physical scars but whose nerves were shattered by his experiences at the Battle of Arnhem in the Second World War. All those young men who were in the cementary in Arnhem when we visited in an attempt to find my Uncle's lieutenant.

All my Uncles and their cousins and comrades who served in the Second World War and their wives who kept the homes and families going.

My mother and father who were Conscientious Objectors in the Second World War but worked for others and helped where ever they could.

My father-in-law and all his brothers who could never talk about their service in the Second World War as their emotions ran too deep to express.

Other Half's Uncle who died in Belgium in the Second World War, and his brother-in-law and his brother who died the same week.

My friend's father who was in the Luftwaffe and shot down over England in the Second World War. Aged nineteen, he never wanted to fight and loved England.

All the nationalities of all the young and older men and women who have ever died in the name of whatever 'justice' is the current 'ideal'.

All those 'innocent' civilians affected by all conflicts.



My twin sister has put a poem by Siegfried Sassoon on her blog today:
http://villiersroad.blogspot.com/2011/11/for-remembrance-day-attack-by-siegfried.html



photograph courtesy of www.peacemuseum.org.uk

Remembrance and Pacifism

In memory of Frederick Ernest Bunning who fought in France
Richard Williams who fought in the Balkans
just two representing the many serving on both sides in 1914 - 1918

In honour of Ronnie Mills, taken prisoner at the Battle of Arnhem 1944
Trevor Williams, conscientous objector 1935 - 1967
just two of the many of all nations scarred by World War Two


As I have said before in these pages, pacifism does not mean one does not honour those who have died in the service of their country. Remembrance days are not the days to argue about pacifism versus militarism but I would like to say that I feel that 'remembrance' should not be exclusive to a few days in the autumn but should be always with us. This is why this year I have taken the decision not to wear a poppy, white or red - read on before you lambast me for this decision - but will of course honour the two minutes silence.

Every year I go through the 'Should I buy/wear a poppy? Will it honour the dead or glorify war?' debate in my mind. I have ranged through buying red poppies and wearing/not wearing them, buying white poppies and wearing/not wearing them, buying white and red popppies and wearing both.... This year there have been debates in the media about when is an appropriate time to start wearing poppies [red] and whether those on TV are wearing them just because they have been told to. Enough! Wear a poppy if you want to - that's fine. Don't if you don't want to - that's fine too. But please remember the dead of all nations with honour. Remember too those who showed another kind of bravery and stood up for what they felt was right and were conscientous objectors or pacifists, refusing to bear arms against their fellow wo/man. Believe me it is not easy. A subject for another day, perhaps.

In honour of all who suffered, a fine poem from a fine poet:

Wilfred Owen (1893 - 1918)
Strange Meeting
It seemed that out of battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which titanic wars had groined.


Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then ,as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, -
By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.


With a thousand pains that vision's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
'Strange friend,' I said, 'here is no cause to mourn.'
'None,' said that other, 'save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something had been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled,
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress.
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery,
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery:
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels,
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.


I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now...'

May the dead Sleep Gently and the living find Peace.


Photograph of the white and red poppies taken from http://www.ppu.org.uk/whitepoppy/white-news108.html which illustrates 'Thought for the day, BBC Radio Bristol, 30th October 2008' and is really worth reading.