Tuesday, July 22, 2014
2014 marks one hundred years since World War One began. It was called “the war to end all wars”, which of course it wasn't since it was followed by World War Two and a string of other disasters. Still, this first worldwide war remains a horror story unmatched in the saga of mankind. As we all know now, wars truly are hell for those who have to fight them, for those who lose the men and women who fight them, and for the communities with their most precious asset, the human resource of energy, creative juices and dreams for tomorrow, that will be forever lost as well.
The answer was “Yes”. And they did it time and again.
As a sometime military historian (junior grade, to be sure) this century anniversary prompted me to take a very close look at the years from 1914 to 1918. That time was so horrific that my extensive reading of it was exhausting. To have actually been on the ground in the combat situations of trench warfare remains incomprehensible to modern minds. Years back I was fortunate in having face-to-face conversations with veterans of that war. Saying that I regret not having more such opportunities is to state the obvious. Now of course such meetings are impossible.
The next best thing in educating and informing yourself of that terrible history is to read the firsthand memories of those who were there in the fighting. Here we owe a huge debt to the historian Lyn Macdonald. She had the foresight two decades ago to interview dozens of British WWI soldiers while they were still with us. I recommend two of her books “1915, The Death of Innocence” and “Somme. The first gives you an idea of what civilization was like as it transitioned to sheer madness. Somme takes you through the campaign that bled dry the flower of youth of the British Empire and scarred the souls of its people to this very day. In 2014 we are rightly outraged over a single death. Just imagine a casualty list of 60,000 men being killed or seriously wounded in a single day of that fighting!
Yes, I do think that parents should have some awareness of those terrible times so that their children and their children's children are not totally oblivious to the fact that World War One changed civilization forever. What was more or less the same for hundreds of years was never to be that way again.
The literature on World War One is legion. The average reader cannot take it all in. The challenge is to select a few books such as these two I've mentioned by Lyn Macdonald, and perhaps include the classic “Memoirs of an Infantry Officer” by Siegfried Sassoon, then take it from there. Or not.
Each reader will form his or her own opinion after reading these materials. Mine is the terrible dehumanization that resulted from weeks and months of living in muddy knee-deep filth, wet and shivering, scared to death while awaiting whistles to go over the top. More often than not it was the last sound many ever heard. After one big battle a staff officer in well-polished boots drove up in a staff car close as possible to the battlefield of a place called Passchendaele. Staring at the muddy horror he sobbingly cried: “Good God, did we really send men to fight in that?'”
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
“In a Mountain Greenery, where God paints the scenery” (sorry atheists, but who else?). These great Lorenz Hart lyrics were penned to a catchy tune composed by Richard Rodgers in a long ago revue called Garrick Gaieties, Second Edition (1926).
I am writing to you this day from the glorious mountains of North Carolina where we are escaping the blistering heat and humidity of our Little Florida Hideout. It is quite true that the jabs we directed at our Northern friends during this past winter's terrible days of cold, snow, ice and sleet have come back to haunt us. Florida summers are very hot and humid, our version of northern frigidity. Now it is the Reillys on the tip of the spear. It reminds me again of the repeated warnings by my late, sainted mother to “never make fun of others or it will happen to you.” As in the case of giggling at male pattern baldness, it did.
My own experience with mountain ranges like the Poconos and the Catskills are one thing (or two), but North Carolina is something else. And so are the people who inhabit them. Very friendly folk, helpful and virtually always well mannered. When wife Joan went over a mountain to buy The New York Times (limited readership here) she introduced herself and chatted a bit with the lady behind the counter. As she left this lady said “you have a very nice afternoon, Miss Joan.” Try that in Bayonne, let alone Brooklyn. Also everyone waves, all the time. And not the index finger version we so often see in the big cities.
Yes, you experience a certain culture shock when you transition from the Northeast to the mountains of North Carolina, but I suggest it is a positive one. There is much to be said about taking one thing at time instead of attempting to multitask 24/7. Up North the use of the term “Redneck” trips quickly off the tongue. (God only knows what those good 'ol boys in their pickup trucks with rifle racks hanging down from the rear windows really think of we Northerners.) Like most Yankees who have been raised on stereotypes, I wondered if “Redneck” and “Hillbilly” are one and the same. At least judging from the men and women we have met here in the mountains, I think not, but would be hard pressed to explain the difference in detail. I just know that we like the mountain men and women.
Part of our family, Bill and Michele, loves to hike, and hike and hike with a little bit of rock climbing thrown in. I left such things at Fort Benning over 60 years ago, but all is not lost. With a cool beer in hand, it's easy enough to watch them go at it from a rocking chair well placed out on the front porch.
We are partial to roadside fruit and vegetable stands even though they have first-class supermarkets here. Joan stopped by one stand the other day to inquire about their potatoes, tomatoes and corn. An elderly man in a rocking chair went into a patient explanation based on his own long lifetime of farming each. Great info from a nice guy.
The eternal lesson here, taught to me once again, is to accept people individually and not as groups. Finally, I'm getting it.