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Every family has first world war memories. These are mine Every family has first world war memories. These are mine
(about 3 hours later)
History is there to be mined or undermined, renewed or debunked, as each generation ferrets out illumination for their times. The first world war is this year's crucible for re-examining ourselves.History is there to be mined or undermined, renewed or debunked, as each generation ferrets out illumination for their times. The first world war is this year's crucible for re-examining ourselves.
This week's revival of Joan Littlewood's Oh What a Lovely War at the Theatre Royal Stratford East, comes 50 years after I saw it at the age of 16, as part of a group from the National Youth Theatre. We were harrowed, bowled over, dazzled and shocked – and this brilliant reprise shows that age does not wither it. What keeps it electric is those songs from the trenches: tough, wry, pithy, cynical about the top brass, authentic soldiers' voices that are rude, unsentimental and Britishly stoical: not for them the Russian or German uprisings. Nor are these the same bleak voices of the intellectual war poets, though they tell the same story, as ticker-tape flashes up deaths by the hundreds of thousands and the few yards gained.This week's revival of Joan Littlewood's Oh What a Lovely War at the Theatre Royal Stratford East, comes 50 years after I saw it at the age of 16, as part of a group from the National Youth Theatre. We were harrowed, bowled over, dazzled and shocked – and this brilliant reprise shows that age does not wither it. What keeps it electric is those songs from the trenches: tough, wry, pithy, cynical about the top brass, authentic soldiers' voices that are rude, unsentimental and Britishly stoical: not for them the Russian or German uprisings. Nor are these the same bleak voices of the intellectual war poets, though they tell the same story, as ticker-tape flashes up deaths by the hundreds of thousands and the few yards gained.
Back in 1963 that production opened the box on what seemed to us olden days. We of the post-second world war "baby bulge" heard our parents tell of blitz and rations, but this turned us to look at our grandparents anew. What did they do? Wars sweep up every family, private stories as part of great national events: peacetime offers no such galvanising universal markers. Every one of us has tales to tell. As the Guardian calls for family memories, these are mine.Back in 1963 that production opened the box on what seemed to us olden days. We of the post-second world war "baby bulge" heard our parents tell of blitz and rations, but this turned us to look at our grandparents anew. What did they do? Wars sweep up every family, private stories as part of great national events: peacetime offers no such galvanising universal markers. Every one of us has tales to tell. As the Guardian calls for family memories, these are mine.
One uncle, aged just 14, was turfed out of naval college straight off to Gallipoli, where his older brother died – but he survived. My two grandfathers were both left deeply scarred, in quite different ways. One, George Powell, was a professional soldier, a guards officer shipped out to France from the outset. In one battle he was shelled and buried alive for a day and a night, until dug out by the straggling remains of his unit. His wounds were slight, his shell-shock serious, but he was sent back to the front. In one battle the whistle blew but he failed to lead his men over the top in yet another push towards the barbed wire. Why? Was it revulsion at futile slaughter, was it cowardice – or just paralytic shock? Whichever, it was hushed up and he was honorably demobbed in 1919.One uncle, aged just 14, was turfed out of naval college straight off to Gallipoli, where his older brother died – but he survived. My two grandfathers were both left deeply scarred, in quite different ways. One, George Powell, was a professional soldier, a guards officer shipped out to France from the outset. In one battle he was shelled and buried alive for a day and a night, until dug out by the straggling remains of his unit. His wounds were slight, his shell-shock serious, but he was sent back to the front. In one battle the whistle blew but he failed to lead his men over the top in yet another push towards the barbed wire. Why? Was it revulsion at futile slaughter, was it cowardice – or just paralytic shock? Whichever, it was hushed up and he was honorably demobbed in 1919.
I just remember him, a red-faced blimp, blustering about military or political strategy. Years later my mother told of his secret scars. In the Guards Club of an afternoon he would play cards, badly, usually losing, but if ever he began to win others at the table would whisper the name of the battle where he lost his nerve/saved his men, until he put down his cards and slipped away.I just remember him, a red-faced blimp, blustering about military or political strategy. Years later my mother told of his secret scars. In the Guards Club of an afternoon he would play cards, badly, usually losing, but if ever he began to win others at the table would whisper the name of the battle where he lost his nerve/saved his men, until he put down his cards and slipped away.
My other grandfather, the historian Arnold Toynbee, was deeply scarred too. He could have been the shamed father of the notorious poster, "Daddy, What Did YOU Do in the Great War?"; it was a pain he felt all his life. At 25 he ducked out, not a conscientious objector but too afraid of army life to sign up. His biographer exposes the number of times he pretended to volunteer, but turned up with doctors' letters declaring him unfit through an unlikely bout of dysentery in 1912. They tried to conscript him after 1916, but he found another useful doctor. Employed in the Foreign Office, he wrote propaganda pamphlets such as The Terrible Tyranny of the Turk (later greatly repented), his job declared essential war work.My other grandfather, the historian Arnold Toynbee, was deeply scarred too. He could have been the shamed father of the notorious poster, "Daddy, What Did YOU Do in the Great War?"; it was a pain he felt all his life. At 25 he ducked out, not a conscientious objector but too afraid of army life to sign up. His biographer exposes the number of times he pretended to volunteer, but turned up with doctors' letters declaring him unfit through an unlikely bout of dysentery in 1912. They tried to conscript him after 1916, but he found another useful doctor. Employed in the Foreign Office, he wrote propaganda pamphlets such as The Terrible Tyranny of the Turk (later greatly repented), his job declared essential war work.
As war began, his tiger mother urged her treasured only son to fight: "You've got to be a good, not an indifferent platoon commander and you've got to hope very much not to be killed but to help get the better of the Germans. Everything is against you: your poor physique, your consequent lack of high spirits and animal courage … But I'm not afraid that you would show the white feather or fail." But he did show the white feather, seared for ever after by the death of his friends. Others have their family stories of heroism, misery, bravery medals earned – or, as with Siegfried Sassoon, a curious mix of both.As war began, his tiger mother urged her treasured only son to fight: "You've got to be a good, not an indifferent platoon commander and you've got to hope very much not to be killed but to help get the better of the Germans. Everything is against you: your poor physique, your consequent lack of high spirits and animal courage … But I'm not afraid that you would show the white feather or fail." But he did show the white feather, seared for ever after by the death of his friends. Others have their family stories of heroism, misery, bravery medals earned – or, as with Siegfried Sassoon, a curious mix of both.
Views of the war shift with the times. Arnold was pro-war, from a liberal perspective: "The only way to convince Germany that war is not in her interest is to beat her badly and then treat her well" – a failed enterprise if ever there was. He was a delegate to the 1919 Versailles conference and advocate of the League of Nations. That was the era when the great war was The War to End Wars, an "end of history" moment when it could seem world-changingly worthwhile. But once it dwindled into a mere "first" of two world wars plus a cold war, causing the rise of Hitler and all that flowed from that, any simple reason why was lost in the mud.Views of the war shift with the times. Arnold was pro-war, from a liberal perspective: "The only way to convince Germany that war is not in her interest is to beat her badly and then treat her well" – a failed enterprise if ever there was. He was a delegate to the 1919 Versailles conference and advocate of the League of Nations. That was the era when the great war was The War to End Wars, an "end of history" moment when it could seem world-changingly worthwhile. But once it dwindled into a mere "first" of two world wars plus a cold war, causing the rise of Hitler and all that flowed from that, any simple reason why was lost in the mud.
History is continually reimagined for new times, with plural versions. That's what makes Michael Gove's puerile attack on Oh What a Lovely War and Blackadder so dispiriting. What's an education secretary doing demanding one orthodox line – and a jingoist one at that? He said in the Mail that Littlewood and Blackadder created the "leftwing myth" that the war was "a misbegotten shambles … perpetrated by an out-of-touch elite". What of The Great War, that mighty BBC documentary series from the mid-60s, with its harrowing war footage; Pat Barker's trilogy; Birdsong; or War Horse? They tell of the pity, the mud and, yes, heroism. No one dissed the dead, only the donkeys that led them. Subtle debate on the war re-emerges in this centenary's crop of excellent histories looking at how and why, with David Reynolds's admirable The Long Shadow exploring the shifting sands of attitudes towards it and what it has meant, shaming Gove's crass diktat.History is continually reimagined for new times, with plural versions. That's what makes Michael Gove's puerile attack on Oh What a Lovely War and Blackadder so dispiriting. What's an education secretary doing demanding one orthodox line – and a jingoist one at that? He said in the Mail that Littlewood and Blackadder created the "leftwing myth" that the war was "a misbegotten shambles … perpetrated by an out-of-touch elite". What of The Great War, that mighty BBC documentary series from the mid-60s, with its harrowing war footage; Pat Barker's trilogy; Birdsong; or War Horse? They tell of the pity, the mud and, yes, heroism. No one dissed the dead, only the donkeys that led them. Subtle debate on the war re-emerges in this centenary's crop of excellent histories looking at how and why, with David Reynolds's admirable The Long Shadow exploring the shifting sands of attitudes towards it and what it has meant, shaming Gove's crass diktat.
Littlewood caught the mood for many teenagers in 1963. Those of us who marched with CND felt the imminence of a nuclear war to end all life. The Vietnam war had passed the point of no return, with 16,000 US "advisers" already there. Korea, Malaya, colonial repressions, the Falklands … no day since has lacked British troops at war. Now politicians and generals ask if we can ever do it again – too few troops, too many Muslims at home resisting, a parliament and people unwilling.Littlewood caught the mood for many teenagers in 1963. Those of us who marched with CND felt the imminence of a nuclear war to end all life. The Vietnam war had passed the point of no return, with 16,000 US "advisers" already there. Korea, Malaya, colonial repressions, the Falklands … no day since has lacked British troops at war. Now politicians and generals ask if we can ever do it again – too few troops, too many Muslims at home resisting, a parliament and people unwilling.
In his war of attrition, Field Marshal Haig barked: "There must be no squeamishness over losses" – as every leader always must in any war. But have Afghanistan and Iraq been our wars to end all (British) warring? Unvanquished, unoccupied since 1066, what will our militaristic sabre-rattlers do with perpetual peace? Exaggerate the drama of rainstorms, aggrandise the tragic miners' strike and inflate small riots, as playwrights and novelists secretly yearn for epic generation-defining moments. Absence of war is a fine thing, if only we knew what to do with it. We will need grand unifying endeavours to replace those grand national sacrifices.In his war of attrition, Field Marshal Haig barked: "There must be no squeamishness over losses" – as every leader always must in any war. But have Afghanistan and Iraq been our wars to end all (British) warring? Unvanquished, unoccupied since 1066, what will our militaristic sabre-rattlers do with perpetual peace? Exaggerate the drama of rainstorms, aggrandise the tragic miners' strike and inflate small riots, as playwrights and novelists secretly yearn for epic generation-defining moments. Absence of war is a fine thing, if only we knew what to do with it. We will need grand unifying endeavours to replace those grand national sacrifices.
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