To have tears in my eyes at this?

[parmalilac]

Just seen in the news photos of the Somme soldiers at railway stations etc today, silently handing out cards with names of the fallen. What a wonderful way to to remind us of that terrible tragedy, and well done to whoever organised it.

Bassett - it was Aftermath by Siegfried Sassoon

I was wondering about that poem too. Thank you

I was wondering why they were ordered to walk not run and found this which explains clearly what happened and why that first day was such a terrible disaster. A large part of it seems to be because there were so many lads almost fresh from school.

This anniversary is particularly sad and ironic because of the situation now arising in Europe, and the rise again of horrible nationalism and jingoism.

One of my great-uncles dies at the Somme, he was 18.

Thank you iklboo.

My great uncle died at the Somme . We visit his grave every time we go to France - he is buried in Corbie.

I sit with him and tell him all the family news and thank him - he was 21

My Boy Jack (Rudyard Kipling)

“Have you news of my boy Jack?”
Not this tide.
“When d’you think that he’ll come back?”
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

“Has any one else had word of him?”
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

“Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?”
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind —
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!

This kills me. I've been reading it today thinking that these days, on a more global scale when over-identification with national identity is such a threat , a great lesson to take from this might be to realise that if we could resist the political winds and tides of social change that lead to war, and be courageous enough not to shame those of our kind (humankind), we might have a brighter future... and yet I fear it is not going to work like this and we are marching again to fields of red.

"If any question why we died,. Tell them, because our fathers lied".

There's an online memorial to record all these passed-down stories before they're lost:

Lives of the First World War

"Even while the First World War was still being fought, the newly-formed Imperial War Museum was asking the public to help it tell the story of the global conflict that shaped the world we live in today.
"The museum was formed not as a monument to military glory, but as a record of the toil and sacrifice of those who had served in uniform or worked on the home front.
"The vision for this record was that it would be so complete that every individual, man or woman, soldier, sailor, airman and civilian from across Britain and the Commonwealth would find a record of their contribution.
"But with millions of people involved, not everyone could be named. Many stories could not be told.
"Now, in the digital age, IWM can build the permanent digital memorial to the Lives of the First World War.
"By working together during the First World War centenary, we can piece together more than 8 million life stories, share them, and enable IWM to save them for future generations.
"It would be an extraordinary achievement if we could do this."

Just seen an aerial,photo of a school child standing in front of each grave and it is just heart breaking.

When will people learn? We have a wonderful world. Stop ruining it.

RIP my great uncle S. S. Didn't die at the Somme but on a ship in WW1.

Thiepval is a very sobering place, and every time I've been there, I've never heard birdsong.

I think it's incredible, the sheer scale of the project! Really moved me to tears.

SUICIDE IN THE TRENCHES
By Siegfried Sassoon

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.
In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

Gets me every time

I'll just leave this here.
Green Fields Of France
Eric Bogle
Well, how do you do, Private William McBride,
Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside?
And rest for awhile in the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done.
And I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916,
Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly?
Did the rifles fir o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles sound The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you died back in 1916,
To that loyal heart are you forever 19?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Forever enshrined behind some glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?

The sun's shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard that's still No Man's Land
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.

And I can't help but wonder, no Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you "The Cause?"
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.

Two beautiful poems. Thinking about my maternal grandfather today. He was a stretcher bearer in WW1. I remember him telling us stories of his time during the war and how futile it was. What horrors he must have seen. I didn't take as much notice as I should have, I was quite young. I wish I'd listened more.

I'm so glad you posted. It's a sad sad day, and it SHOULD BE.

I worry that this memory will fade out of our heads and out hearts as those that were there are no longer here to speak.

War is a terrible thing. A real thing. A destruction of all that is good and delicate and flourishing... Our goodness is so easy to destroy and our badness so easy to let loose on this world. We need to fight for the goodness that is in humanity. Fight for good not taking good away.

All those poor boys. Gone.

I hope we still remember in years to come. Collectively we stood shoulder to shoulder and said 'never again'.

And our grandmas and grandpas, or great grandmas and great grandpas, and great uncles, aunts, cousins, neighbours and friends told us about these two terrible terrible wars. We saw the tragedy and heard the conviction. And it touched hearts and kept us resolute. What happens when the stories become just stories? My grandmama told me about her eldest brother Oliver, and how he died, just... Gone, so quick and so so senselessly. She was a tiny child, the little accident years after all the rest were grown. And she told me how her daddy went to the war offices and tried to sign up instead of his boys and got turned away. She told me that she saw him cry. The only time. And how that telegram changed her family forever. And what that war did to our family. And then the next following so quickly, so senselessly after, it was personal, real, it wasn't theoretical or the unknown past.

I'm so glad others want to keep this alive. It's important, especially in these dark times.

[poppies]

The WeAreHere Project is amazing

Remembering my great uncle Arthur, who died at the Somme, he was 19.

Beautiful idea.

I found the whole ceremony in France very moving, and shed a few tears.

My gf was in those trenches; he survived, eloped with my 17 yo gm, then dumped her in a boarding house with an abortifacient ( which the landlady poured down the sink). He went back to the Front, was Court Marshalled, joined up as a grunt immediately and died in the trenches in 1918.
My dad was born in 1917, never even saw his dad.

I too cry for those slaughtered in the Somme.
I'm watching The Somme on Channel 4.

Lest we Forget

My great grandfather Harry (who I remember quite well with his trilby and rollies) was shot in the shoulder at Theipval. He was 19, an only child and from a small rural village.

YANBU I was just explaining #wearehere to DS and found myself filling up. The project is such a lovely tribute.

Thought the Thiepval service was superb, especially having current service personnel involved.

Seeing the poppies and bleuets tumbling down over the memorial really resonated - the men fell together too.

Can anyone remember what Hollande's poem was - want to get a copy.

Those poems are wonderful!

Thank you for posting