Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Wordless Wednesday: Near day's end

Facing Clew Bay, as the tide begins to come in.
In the foothills of Croagh Patrick.
Copyright©irisheyesjg2013.
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Monday, September 23, 2013

William Dunne & William Pell: Following the road of my two Williams

In the early afternoon of a day on which change in the weather seemed to match my mood, we set out toward Messines, Belgium. The countryside in both France and Belgium is beautiful in its simplicity, lulling you into a sort of serene blissfulness, but then the history of the place calls out to you. The losses of war are ever present as the natural landscape is interrupted time and again by the sight of yet another cemetery filled with military graves.

On either side of the Great Cross of Sacrifice, two large weeping willow trees
add to the beauty and peace of Prowse Point.
Our destination on this day is Prowse Point Military Cemetery, the final resting place of the men I call my two Williams, my paternal great-grandmother's brother, William Dunne, and my maternal grandfather's first cousin, William Pell. It is purely happenstance that these two members of my family are interred in the same cemetery. Their sides of the family tree would not be joined together until my mother and father married, some forty years after William and William were killed on the field of battle during the First World War. 

Messines, Belgium
Turning just off Rue de Messines, I slowly follow the narrow road past a small farm house on the left. An old woman in a garden sweeps the sweat from her brow and nods in our direction, as though she knows exactly where we are going. It is difficult not to be drawn in by the landscape. The beautiful wide open fields are replete with burgeoning crops, sugar beets, potatoes, and barley. It seems all of life is here, food, earth, air, and family.

As I draw the car up onto the narrow pebble and grass shoulder of the road, dark skies hold heavy over Prowse Point cemetery, and I am sure it might start raining very soon. We climb out of the car and turn toward Messines. The village seems such a short distance away, a distance which must have seemed like light years to my two Williams.

A church still dominates the village as one did from the 11th century until the early part of the 20th century, before the First World War brought the bombardment that would level the church and the entire village, leaving only rubble and dust. There is something life affirming in seeing that the village was reborn, and the church was rebuilt.

The simple entry gate for Prowse Point Military Cemetery.
We turn away from Messines and toward Prowse Point. Before we open the gate and walk through, I immediately see William Dunne's grave. It is just a couple of yards from the gate. William and his fellow soldiers were some of the first interred here at Prowse Point. Their stones are the only ones in the cemetery which are drawn so close together, standing shoulder to shoulder, reminding us the three men's bodies were likely so destroyed as to be unrecognizable, and so they are interred together. They were killed 20 November 1914, William Dunne, age 34, of Dublin City, Ireland, and James McGuire, age 44, and James Gallagher, age 19, both of County Donegal, Ireland.

Three comrades together.
William Dunne's marker is on the far right.
All three markers note the date of death as 20th November 1914.
Kneeling just to the right of William’s stone, so as not to tread on the grave, I lay my hand on the face of the marker. It feels cool to the touch. My index finger follows the carved path which they have as his name — W. Dunne — as I say his full name aloud, William Dunne. I murmur a prayer and then make the pledge that he will never be forgotten. The flowers which once grew at the base of William's stone are gone, so only a small shrub grows there now. Instantly I regret not bringing a rose bush from Paris to plant in his honour, to show he is not forgotten.

A Soldier of The Great War
Known unto God.
We leave William for a moment and walk along the rows of graves observing the names, ages and countries of those interred. I recite each name out loud to the open sky. It seems fitting that each one of these names should once again float on the gentle breeze. So too, there are the graves of the unknown, marked A Soldier of The Great War / Known unto God. These stones give you pause to think about the family members of those interred within. I picture mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers searching through the cemeteries in the area, longing to find their family member who has no known grave, and wondering which grave holds their son or father, husband or brother. 

The deep quiet of the cemetery is broken by the sound of a tractor out on the narrow road. We look up to see a farmer hauling bales of hay. He waves his hat to us in greeting, and we return the sentiment. This brief exchange reminds me of the fact that the world still turned, that life went on without all of these young men, and so many, many more. The skies darken again, the wind becomes more determined, and the weeping willows rustle insistently, seeming to say, 'Remember, remember, remember!'





William Pell
Royal Dublin Fusiliers
7th January 1915 Age 23
As we continue to walk from stone to stone, the clouds part and the sun begins to shine, the sky feels wide open, and the air is fresh and clear. It makes me feel grateful to be alive. We arrive at the grave of my second William, William Pell. A stunning red rose sways in the breeze gently caressing the stone. I kneel down and repeat the ritual of tracing William's name as they have it — Wm. Pell —  as I say his full name out loud, William Francis Pell, then repeat a prayer, and make the pledge that he will never be forgotten.

Closing my eyes, I turn my face up to the glorious sun, feel her warm embrace, and think about the fact that the two Williams lived and died under this same sky. In the mornings of their lives their faces were awakened to the same sun, and at night their eyes closed under the same moon. All around us the fields are brimming with colour, green and gold, red and orange, and I realize how very different this landscape is from the one my two Williams knew. 

The trenches, the mud, the fire and the smoke, the stench from fields littered with the dead and the dying, theirs was a world so removed from earthly life, a special kind of hell. Scanning this earth and sky, I try to imagine what it was like for each one of them when they fell. Was the end sudden and swift or did they lie waiting to die, crying out for comfort that would never come, while the stretcher bearers scurried about choosing who to take and who to leave behind? What thoughts crossed the mind of each William as he realized his life was drawing to a close? Whose was the last face they saw?

We remain at Prowse Point for much longer than we intended. It is a difficult place to leave. In the book of memory that is kept with the cemetery register, I write what seem to be empty platitudes, asking for peace in our world, and for the remembrance of William and William, members of my family, neither of whom I ever knew and could not possibly know, since we did not exist in the same dimension of time, but to whom I nevertheless feel a deep connection. Thinking about the sacrifice each William made makes me feel ashamed for becoming frustrated about minor challenges I face in everyday life, the things that don’t quite go my way.

Plaque acknowledging the perpetual gift
by the Belgian people of the cemetery land.
Inside the small brick and mortar building on the western side of the cemetery is the plaque [inset left] which acknowledges the donation of the land by the Belgian people for the burial of members of the Allied armies. It is interesting to note that while both the French and Dutch translation refers to the fallen as heroes, the English plaque simply refers to 'those' who fell.

Transcription of the English plaque:
The land on which this cemetery stands is the free gift of the Belgian people for the perpetual resting place of those of the Allied Armies who fell in the war of 1914 - 1918 and are honoured here.

Translation of French plaque:
The ground of this cemetery was graciously offered by the Belgian people to serve in perpetuity. Field of the heroes of the armed Allied graves during the Great War of 1914 - 1918 and whose memory is honoured here.

Translation of the Dutch plaque:
The Belgian population gave this land as perpetual resting place of the fallen heroes of the Allied armies of the World War 1914 - 1918 and whose memory we honour here.

William Dunne and William Pell gave their lives. They are the only ones who truly knew exactly why they volunteered to go, but they did. They gave their lives for an imperative, meanwhile back in Dublin, Ireland, their respect families awaited their return, not knowing they would never again see their William.

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Copyright©irisheyesjg2013.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

'Too many names upon these walls': World War One Commemoration

One of the walls of the Thiepval Memorial to the Missing, Thiepval, The Somme, France.
Since I returned home in July the focus of posts for this blog have been principally about the young men on both sides of my family who were killed on the fields of battle in France and Belgium during World War I, forever changing the boughs and the branches of our family tree. When I saw the theme photograph for today's Sepia Saturday — women pictured with a banner bearing the word Peace — I thought it was fitting that I participate. The title of this post makes reference not only to the over 72,000 names which are inscribed on the walls of the British Empire's Memorial to the Missing, but also to the names inscribed upon walls in hundreds of graveyards and memorials throughout the world which bear witness to the loss of millions of people in World War I. There are too many names upon these walls. Recalling the loss of so many should have been enough of an imperative for Peace.

In the history of World War I, France emerges as a study in contrasts. In the museums of Paris, the halls are filled with some of the most beautiful paintings and sculpture you might ever lay eyes on. The incomparable beauty of such work offers a window into what is creatively possible for human beings, and evokes a sense of hope. However, all hopes are dashed when one considers the history of war — the First World War in this case — and is reminded of the fact that human beings are capable of profound cruelty toward one another. Within the walls of the Louvre, while Johannes Vermeer's Lacemaker silently and perpetually worked her needle, and the Venus de Milo stood ever mute, less than 100 miles northwest of Paris there was neither art nor beauty in the theatre of war. There, with fixed bayonets young soldiers scurried over the top into the sights of the enemy to be blown to bits by cannon and machine gun fire, their bodies left to the insatiable mouths of the maggots and the flies. Meanwhile somewhere in the safety of their lairs, the generals moved the lines a couple of inches on their precious little maps.

The standing stones of Island of Ireland Peace Park, Belgium.
Next year will see the commemoration of the 100th anniversary of the beginning of World War I. No longer are there any soldiers left to remind us of the catastrophe that was the war. For some it is perhaps too easy to be placated by the beauty of row upon row of perfectly crafted white stone markers, dressed in flowers, in the pristine green space of the manicured cemeteries. The perfection belies the magnitude of the loss. Some may be unmoved by numbers on a page or carved into a stone. In Island of Ireland Peace Park, near Messines, Belgium, the standing stones bear numbers which tell of 32,186, and 28,398, and 9,363 Irish killed or missing on the fields of battle. On the walls of the Thiepval Memorial to the Missing, the stone masons' chisels carved the names of over 72,000 members of the British Empire forces who have no known grave. At Pozieres there are over 14,000 commemorated. There are too many names upon all of these walls. Such numbers seem incomprehensible and yet represent only a small segment of the total number of persons killed on both sides of the conflict. How do we even begin to honour the sacrifice of so many lives? 

Pozieres Memorial, The Somme, France.
Over 14,000 members of the British Forces are commemorated here.
Perhaps we can begin to understand how important it is that we never forget the losses of war, and that we truly endeavour to create peace in our world,  if we remove from any sort of political context those individuals who were killed, if we just forget whose side they were on. Imagine if you will one soldier, one person, one beloved man lost, and consider how profoundly his family was changed by his death. Think about one little daughter who would never again be lifted into her daddy's arms, one young wife who would never again be warmed by the embrace of her beloved husband, one mother and one father who would never again gaze into the face of a treasured son. Take that tableau and repeat it over and over and over again. For so many their family tree was stunted at the root, cut off by the loss of those young lives.




Consider your own family now, mother, father, sons, daughters, sisters, brothers. Imagine if one of them was taken from you in this very moment, and taken in a manner so savage and so cruel that it is perhaps too difficult to conceive of such a loss. Imagine no body returned home for burial, and perhaps no grave anywhere over which to mourn, nothing to hold onto but the memories. The pain in your heart would never go away.

No matter what your political stripe, or your feelings about the First World War — the war which was supposed to end all wars — if you are a human being who has ever loved and lost another, then you must know the importance of remembering those individuals lost in war, and the importance of working toward peace. 

Today, on this International Day of Peace we must ask ourselves, can we ever become humane enough to stop destroying other human beings?

Commemoration at Notré Dame Cathedral, Paris, France.

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Copyright©irisheyesjg2013.


Monday, September 16, 2013

Find My Past Ireland launches Irish Newspaper Collection

Giving us some extra searching incentive, this morning I received the following press release from FindMyPast Ireland:

For immediate release

Find your ancestors in historical Irish newspapers

Titles covering all four provinces of Ireland

Articles dating from 1820-1926

Leading Irish family history website, findmypast.ie has launched its Irish Newspapers Collection, making almost 2 million historical Irish newspaper articles available to search on the website.

Digitised from the collections of the British Library, the Irish newspapers collection on findmypast.ie is a rich resource for genealogists in search of their Irish roots.

The collection features 6 newspaper titles (both national and local) covering areas in Leinster, Munster, Connaught and Ulster namely; The Belfast Morning News, The Belfast Newsletter, The Cork Examiner, The Dublin Evening Mail, The Freeman’s Journal and The Sligo Champion.

Different dates are covered by each title ranging from pre-Famine era right up until post-Irish independence in 1926. For family historians, the newspapers contain valuable entries like advertisements, obituaries and letters to the editor which help to paint a picture of what local and national life would have been like in Ireland hundreds of years ago.

Cliona Weldon, General Manager of findmypast.ie, said, “We are delighted with the addition of Irish titles to our collection of British and World newspapers on findmypast.ie. The Irish newspapers allow us to really bring to life the happenings in our country all the way back to the Great Irish Famine and beyond. Whether you are searching for an ancestor in a local paper or simply interested in how the big news stories of the day were reported, you will no doubt uncover some fascinating facts.”

Overall date coverage for each of the newspapers is as follows:
The Belfast Morning News – 1857-1882
The Belfast Newsletter – 1828-1900
The Cork Examiner - 1841-1926
The Dublin Evening Mail – 1849-1871
The Freeman’s Journal – 1820-1900
The Sligo Champion - 1836-1926

This collection is also accessible on all findmypast international sites through a World subscription.

To find out if your ancestors were making headlines visit www.findmypast.ie

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