Harry Patch
It's two days since they buried Harry Patch, the last British soldier of the First World War. Four years ago they (meaning Andrew Motion and others) were floating the idea of giving the last soldier- whoever he turned out to be- a state funeral. In the event, the character of Harry Patch- who was a pacifist and a despiser of the top brass- rather militated against it. What he got was something betwixt and between- a service in Wells cathedral, with the Duchess of Cornwall in attendance, and a private commital for friends and family afterwards. Soldiers were present, but- on Patch's own instructions- stripped of even their ceremonial weapons.
According to an article I read the other day, super-centenarians- like Patch- are distinguished by one thing: they don't hold grudges. I don't know if this is really true, but wouldn't it be fine if it was? You want to live a very long time? Then put aside bitterness. Actually Patch was bitter- full of anger at a system that had put so many of his generation through hell- but it wsn't personal- not aimed at anyone in particular- and that, I think, makes the difference.
I only knew Patch from what I saw of him on TV, but he seemed like a good man- not averagely good, but shiningly good. There was no side to him- no ego- and if he emerged into the limelight in his final years- after a century of keeping quiet- it was because he felt it was his duty to bear witness. The same goes for Henry Allingham- briefly the world's oldest man and also a veteran of the Great War, though not a front-line Tommy- who predeceased him by two weeks. I've no time for all the guff about the "greatest generation"- there's nothing particularly great about being caught up in a stupid, murderous war- but these two last representatives of it did their comrades proud- and will be remembered not only as symbolic figures, but with real admiration and affection.
The First World War cast a long, long shadow. I was born over 30 years after it ended but it shaped my consciousness profoundly. It's strange to think there's now nobody left who remembers the fighting on the Western Front.
According to an article I read the other day, super-centenarians- like Patch- are distinguished by one thing: they don't hold grudges. I don't know if this is really true, but wouldn't it be fine if it was? You want to live a very long time? Then put aside bitterness. Actually Patch was bitter- full of anger at a system that had put so many of his generation through hell- but it wsn't personal- not aimed at anyone in particular- and that, I think, makes the difference.
I only knew Patch from what I saw of him on TV, but he seemed like a good man- not averagely good, but shiningly good. There was no side to him- no ego- and if he emerged into the limelight in his final years- after a century of keeping quiet- it was because he felt it was his duty to bear witness. The same goes for Henry Allingham- briefly the world's oldest man and also a veteran of the Great War, though not a front-line Tommy- who predeceased him by two weeks. I've no time for all the guff about the "greatest generation"- there's nothing particularly great about being caught up in a stupid, murderous war- but these two last representatives of it did their comrades proud- and will be remembered not only as symbolic figures, but with real admiration and affection.
The First World War cast a long, long shadow. I was born over 30 years after it ended but it shaped my consciousness profoundly. It's strange to think there's now nobody left who remembers the fighting on the Western Front.
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The third book is fiction: A Long Long Way by Sebastian Barry. This novel follows the course of young, poor Dubliner Willie Dunne as he volunteers for war service (conscription was never enforced in Ireland due to rioting). It's a really powerful book.
I have enormous respect for Patch and Allingham. I was watching the documentary on Patch where Andrew Motion was interviewing him and Patch describes, in this hushed tone which would put the chills up your back, how he came across someone ripped apart from shoulder to waist by a shrapnel and begging to be shot. Patch didn't need to shoot him; he just held his hand and the man died in 30 seconds. Motion then turned this into a poem which I wasn't listening to closely but noticed that every line seemed to begin "which...who...which" etc etc which struck me as more of an Ode to Relative Pronouns and bad poetry. Harry Patch himself said it better.
But I got a biography of Keats by Andrew Motion, I couldn't finish it, and gave up. Plus I think I'm biased against Poet Laureates given that his predecessor was a rampant emotional abuser and all-round scumbag.
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1. I don't think he's anything more than an averagely competent writer.
But...
2. He worked very hard to make the role of poet laureate mean something.
I've dodged round his Harry Patch poem too. I don't see it needed to be written.
I've read Graves. For me the most moving artefact to come out of the Great War is the movie- All Quiet On The Western Front
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One more: Yeats
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Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night."
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So Yeats: fine words, not so fine character.
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I just bought, at uncharacteristically great expense, a 32 volume Collected Works of Kipling set. In googling to make sure it was complete, or close to it, I discovered something I hadn't realized -- he did a two-volume history of his son Jack's regiment and otherwise was very involved in war memorials, probably out of a combination of grief and guilt. He had encouraged his underage son to volunteer, pulled strings even, and then his son was killed. This is of course more common knowledge since the biopic starring Harry Potter.
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Kipling too was a victim of the Great War. I've always thought the stories and poems he wrote about it are among his finest work.
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From what I can gather, not having been there, the service at Wells hit most of the right notes.
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there's nothing particularly great about being caught up in a stupid, murderous war
Amen!
Every time I watch a TV show now which portrays the soldiers "over there," it brings me to tears. I cannot begin to fathom how it must feel to be in the midst of that.
And these men are most definitely MORE than just soldiers.
Rest well, Harry.
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Me too.
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