The Tower of London, Poppies and the Challenge of Remembrance

The Challenge of Remembrance

'Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red' at the Tower of London has attracted great acclaim, none greater than the thousands who gaze into the White Tower's moat to look at the 888,246 ceramic Poppies to represent each British life lost in the Great War. 

Unfortunately the installation has been seized upon by Left and Right members of the press, politics and even Frankie Boyle as a vehicle to push their own skewed political beliefs (Nigel Farage) or to decry the sea of red as some sort of jingoistic celebration of war by the Guardian, Independent et al.

Memorialisation was a very private affair before the First World War, but the sheer loss of life and effect on communities meant the 'stiff upper lip' of old was difficult to maintain. A culture of shared remembrance resulted from this, with Remembrance Sunday now a fixture in the calendar.

Last Sunday, I saw a programme in which the members of the panel from a broad range of backgrounds and beliefs debated how we should remember those who have died in conflict, fighting for their country. The Left wing press seem to see this as a call to arms, to revisit the raping and pillaging of the British Empire at its worst. 

It may be unpalatable to some, but there will never be everlasting peace. Genghis Khan slaughtering millions didn't result in peace. There will always be somebody with evil intent, to wipe out a race, grab an area of land or impart their religion or ideology on others. We tend to see the Great War as a tragedy, an unavoidable war which caused the Second World War, and if the pompous Kaiser and his cousins in London and St. Petersburg weren't so blood-thirsty, millions of normal working people would have been saved. 

The Great War was a product of its era. Germany wanted the land expansion and the mastery of Europe its British and French cousins had once enjoyed. Unfortunately, this came at a time when sabre was being exchanged for machine gun and horse for tank. The results would inevitably lead to bloodshed, unseen on such a scale before. The technology of the time along with the Victorian principles of the Generals meant systematic slaughter was inevitable.

It may make Jonathan Jones squirm, writer of the Guardian's latest attempt at shock journalism ( http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2014/10/29/guardian-poppies-jonathan-jones_n_6068216.html ), but many British soldiers, French poilus and German Feldgraus felt compelled to fight for their countries. Overwhelmingly, the reason people joined and fought was for their friends and their family. Britions saw an expanding Germany as a threat to their way of life in 1914 and wanted to stop it.

Each of those 888,246 represents a life. In this instance, a British life. But rather than decry the installation as a jingoistic memorial, we should be thankful that each of those people answered the call to arms. They were people of their time. They worked in mills and pits. They liked music hall and opera. They liked a pint of mild or porter in the pub. Some were religious. Some weren't. Some agreed with the war, some didn't. 

They weren't hoodwinked into war. The lists of casualties in the papers, the people wearing armbands in the village, the people sobbing uncontrollably; the awfulness of war in all its rotten facets was plain to see. In 1916, the Battle of the Somme, a 'no holds barred' film about the battle which had taken place earlier that year was famously uncensored. The happy faces of Tommies singing as they march off to war tempered by the dull expressions of the stretcher bearers and the lifeless bodies of men hanging on barbed wire.

In battle, soldiers fight for their mates. Read every Victoria Cross citation, from 1857 onwards. Stan Hollis running suicidally at a bunker with only a Sten Gun for company on D-Day, so his friends weren't mown down by the murderous machine gun fire. Leslie Manser battling with his doomed Avro Manchester in 1942 to make sure his mates could bale out before he went down with the burning aircraft. Johnson Beharry in Iraq over 70 years later, badly wounded, but pulling his mates out of burning vehicles. Whatever your view of war, you must support friendship, and in the darkest depths of trench warfare, friendship is all that was left for many.

The famous Kitchener Battalions were formed from men from the same towns. Friends who wanted to fight together; The Grimsby Chums, The Barnsley Pals and the Accrington Pals who lost 83% casualties on the morning of the Battle of the Somme. 235 of those ceramic poppies have been placed in the ground for the men of Sheffield, Leeds, Barnsley and Bradford. They joined together, they trained together, they laughed and sang together. They died together.

Wilfred Owen was a great opponent of the war by 1918. He was in Craiglockart hospital. He didn't have to return, but he felt a great need to fight for his men and his friends. He died 7 days before the end of the war, 96 years ago today. He didn't die Pro Patria, but for his friends.

Each of those poppies represents a man, cut down, so often, in their prime. A man who lived, loved and laughed with his friends. A man who felt he was making the right decision at that time. Who are we to disagree and dissect how we think Britain should remember the war dead? 

Poppies

'In Flanders fields, the Poppies blow', the words of John McCrae, a Canadian soldier who witnessed the horrors of mechanised warfare. He wouldn't see the end of the war, dying from pneumonia in January 1918, but the fields of Northern France and Belgium would return to fallow after four long years of slaughter. When the Imperial War Grave Commission (Now Commonwealth WGC) started the long process of finding and burying the missing after the war, the workers noted the poppies blowing in the breeze, as McCrae had witnessed. Many of the workers were ex-soldiers and the whisper of scarlet flowers swaying in the breeze contrasted with the scream of shellfire and the rattle of machine gun. The poppy became a symbol of remembrance for those who had fought. It never sought to glorify the war. It was a symbol of reconciliation, how a landscape so scarred by conflict could return to display such natural beauty and peace.

Once again the poppy has been dragged into the national debate about commemoration. Television stations demanding everyone seen or heard from must be wearing a poppy. Overseas guests on talk shows without the first clue what the poppy represents and people who don't wear one having to release a statement as to why (whilst dropping all the great work they do for other charities in the same press release: http://www.itv.com/news/2014-10-25/itv-news-presenter-charlene-white-why-i-dont-wear-a-poppy/). 

People shouldn't be forced into wearing a poppy. If people don't want to because they don't agree, for whatever reason, fine. The fact people are attacked for bearing a chest sans poppy makes you ask why we fought against Nazi tyranny for 6 years. 

The debate rages each year and has intensified with the 100 year anniversary of the start of the Great War. Debate is good, but let us never lose sight of the fact that 100 years ago, men were dying in foreign fields, fighting for their own beliefs and we should never forget that they were willing to lay down their lives for their cause.

My 5 Favourite War Films Part One

I have decided to change tack for my latest blog. I hope this will be a light-hearted guide to the greatest films ever committed to celluloid. As with any arbitrary list which appears in one of those awful buzzfeed articles, I will have to put them in some kind of numbered order. However, I am unable to pick which is the best, so instead, I will do them alphabetically. Each of these films is absolute cinematic gold. Every single one had a rousing soundtrack and have a heavy dose of grit, stiff upper lips galore and bravery, the likes of which we shall never see again! So sit down, pour yourself a glass of something French and red, break off a piece of stilton, and gorge on my favourite war films of all time...

A Bridge Too Far (1977)

When Dirk Bogarde as General Boy Browning declares "We're going to fly 35,000 men 300 miles and drop them behind enemy lines", you know the moustachioed thesp may have bitten off more than he could chew. A few concealed divisions of SS troops, for example. This recreation of Operation Market Garden, where the allied airborne forces were given the task of securing three bridges over the Rhine, at Eindhoven, Nijmegen and Arnhem, gives a swashbuckling account of the bravery which saw almost 2,000 British Paratroopers killed fighting house to house in the Dutch town of Arnhem, before XXX Corps, the British armoured division, could reach them.

It starts with a Dutch lady explaining how the war had progressed thus far and how the allies were giving Jerry a damn good kicking. This is spoken over archive footage of some Field Marshal Montgomery and the Allied Expeditionary Force strutting their stuff over Europe. She ends by saying how the plan was '...meant to end the war by Christmas and bring the boys back home'.

What follows is some top quality military snare drums with a fanfare of trumpets, finished by some serious bass. And by bass, I mean Tubas and Sousaphones, none of that modern nonsense. We are then treated to a long list of the topshelf acting talent on board. It would have been quicker to make a note of who wasn't in the film...

What follows is more stiff upper lip than a collagen'd  trophy housewife, particularly from Edward Fox as Major Brian Horrocks of XXX Corps. Even Gene Hackman as the least convincing turn as a Polish man (General Sasobowski)  in the history of mankind can't ruin it. Larry Olivier does a grand old job as a Dutch man and even though I know the outcome before the end, I always hold out that Edward Fox and Michael Caine will break through to help Anthony Hopkins. I won't spoil it, but it's a bloody good film.

Best Bit: When Major Carlyle (based on Major Digby Tatham-Warter) decides the best way to attack a crack SS armoured division is to walk slowly at them with an umbrella.


The Dam Busters (1956)

Some people find black and white films inaccessible. These people are morons. The Dam Busters tells the true story of the RAF's 617 Squadron breaching two enormous dams in the heart of Nazi Germany. They flew their 4-engined Lancasters at night. At 60 feet (its wingspan was over 100 feet). Dropping a bomb which skipped across the water. Which weighed 7 tons. With no margin for error. These men were ridiculously brave and very skilled. Of the 19 Aircraft which set out, 8 didn't return. Each aircraft had seven men on board. This film stands as an incredible tribute to them.

It opens with the Dam Busters March by Eric Coates, which everyone with functioning ears should be familiar with. We pass through clouds until we are told the film stars Michael Redgrave and Richard Todd, so immediately we are aware we are in for a treat. It follows Barnes Wallis's struggle to have the bomb recognised as a plausible weapon for attacking the dam. When asking the Minister of Aircraft production for assistance, the Minister remarks that for testing:

"You'll need a Wellington Bomber, they're worth their weight in gold. What possible argument could I put forward to get you one?"

Wallis coolly retorts: "Well, if you told them I designed it, do you think that might help?"

The film immediately cuts to a Wellington getting airborne with Wallis and Mutt Summers, the chief test pilot at Vickers. Great stuff.

We get to meet Guy Gibson, played by Richard Todd, and best of all, we get to see three real Lancasters flying around, none of that CGI nonsense. There's great banter amongst the crews and although the 1950s special effects are rather dated, the raid itself is incredibly tense. The ending is heartbreaking. We see the dining room where hours before the boisterous crews were having their pre-flight meals but now there are endless rows of empty tables.

This probably has the greatest musical score of cinema history, even if I am totally biased. Todd plays Gibson with appropriate levels of stiff upper-lippery and it was made so soon after the raid itself, that the design of the bombs itself was classified!

Best Bit: Just before the raid, all the aircrew are sat about, some are playing cricket, others having a little nap or a read, some are writing letters home. Gibson pops along and tells them it's time to go. The theme tune kicks in and the men are driven out to their Lancasters as they chuckle and wave away, some of them never to return.

Three more films to follow....

World War One Commemoration

The 14-18 Now programme has announced 26 cultural commissions as the art world chooses several ways of commemorating the Great War. One of them, the painting of two ships in 'dazzle camouflage' drew a broadside from the Guardian Art Editor, Jonathan Jones, who claims such a piece is a "a disturbingly celebratory way to remember a monstrous war". Like an opening salvo from an Italian Warship, he seems to have missed the point by a few nautical miles. By explaining how the allies won the conflict, some critics seem to think this glorifies war and all children will soon be joining up in a neo-Kitchener's army to hunt down the boche for the rape of Belgium. By celebrating the genuine heroism of men who went over the top to meet a wall of machine gun bullets and high explosive shells, walking gingerly through shell holes and barbed wire, some critics will have you believe we will foster a military state where the next generation will be thirsty for the blood of any Prussian on horseback. 

To gauge just how well-informed, hip and up to date Mr Jones is, he draws on a classic 1960s opinion of the war, lazily attacking 'the Generals' who sent men to their deaths. Does he include General Hubert Plumer? Whose creeping artillery barrages and devastating victories at Messines Ridge and Broodseinde in 1917 set the blueprint to break out of trench warfare. Horace Smith-Dorrien had fought in the Anglo-Zulu War and was one of the handful of British soldiers to escape the slaughter of Isandlwana. Even Douglas Haig, the so-called 'butcher' of the Somme, was open to new ideas, approving the use of tanks which broke the deadlock for some time at the latter stages of the Somme battle at Flers-Courcelette. It is also the fund that bears his name that collected millions of pounds for the veterans of the Great War and subsequent conflicts by selling poppies. Such criticism of generals is a lazy one; the fact that most had enormous moustaches akin to General Melchett in Blackadder Goes Forth means lazy journalists will insist that men were shot at dawn for eating a lovely plump breasted pigeon called Speckled Jim.

                    

Plumer, Smith-Dorrien and Haig - All Generals. All with moustaches. Must have needlessly sent men to their deaths.

The great tragedy of the conflict is that the tactics and technology of the age meant after lines of infantry, armed only with rifles and a light machine gun per company, were at stalemate in the winter of 1914, strategy dictated that the men were required to 'dig in'. Once the belligerents lined up across the fields of Belgium and Northern France, the old tactic of bringing the cavalry onto the battlefield to soften up the flanks was not an option. As the armies of Marlborough and Wellington had done so on the same ground years before, the British infantryman would be forced to face his enemy head on. They would no face musket ball or cuirasseur, instead, they would be met by the dawn of mechanised and industrialised warfare: heavy artillery and machine guns. Tactics would change but Generals of both sides were generally constrained by the mindset and knowledge of the time; the tin helmet was not issued to the whole of the British Army until 1916. The 'Tommy' was forced to faced the shrapnel bursting above with just a cloth cap on his head.

British Troops during the retreat from Mons in 1914. Not a tin helmet in sight.

Mr. Jones would like to focus on the gritty poetry of Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen which gives us a deep understanding of the hell of the trenches. But by ignoring the fighting and everyday travails of each soldier, we are doing a great disservice. They were both officers in the Army; and very brave ones. Sassoon's soldiers only felt safe with him and he was awarded a Military Cross for charging a German trench with a handful of grenades. After objecting to returning to the Front, he would finish the war back on the Western Front. Owen would die days before the end of the conflict and his 'Anthem for Doomed Youth' perhaps colours our perception of the conflict unlike any other piece of work. Both men felt an allegiance to their men and it is this bond, this camaraderie which should be celebrated and not attacked.



 In 1914, Britain's hegemony was threatened by Germany. Not since Napoleon a century before had this happened. Men had joined up to protect their country and their way of life; something they felt strongly about and something that should not be sniggered or scoffed at by modern journalists and scholars. The bond men felt meant that the 11th Batallion of the East Lancashire Regiment was mainly made up of friends and work colleagues from Accrington. On the first day of the Somme, these men, mostly civilians before the war, went over the top at Serre. Out of the 720 men who made the attack, 584 were killed, wounded or missing. They would cease to become an effective fighting unit. Hundreds of wives were widowed in that small Lancashire town and hundreds of mothers lost their sons. Despite the losses and despite such desperate odds, the men stood firm:

"The result of the H.E. shells, shrapnel, machine-gun and rifle fire was such that hardly any of our men reached the German front trench. The lines which advanced in such admirable order, melted away under fire; yet not a man wavered, broke the ranks or attempted to go back. I have never seen, indeed could never have imagined such a magnificent display of gallantry, discipline and determination." Brigadier General H.C. Rees

Men of the 11th Battalion, East Lancashire Regiment 'The Accrington Pals', still without their uniforms on camp.

We should never forget such sacrifice; no matter how fruitless it now appears with hindsight. Instead, one must consider the teenage mill worker from Lancashire. Schooled about the mighty British Empire and the heroes; Gordon of Khartoum and Kitchener, whose pointed finger, glare and bushy moustache urged him to join the ranks. He followed his friends to the recruiting office, ready for a great adventure, ready to fight for his country; there were many reasons. He trained with his friends and on the morning of 1st July 1916, he stood on the firestep of a trench near Serre and listened to the birdsong which could be heard as the artillery ceased. It would be punctuated by the shrill whistle of his platoon commander who was the first to climb the wooden ladder over the parapet. He would follow the example of the junior officer and clamber up the ladder with his friends either side, laden down by 70lbs of kit. If he was not hit by the machine gun bullets sweeping the parapet, he would pick his way through the shell-cratered earth as his friends fell beside him. He may make it to the German trench to find the barbed wire had not been destroyed as promised. He would then be picked off by the German defenders. 

This was not blind faith. This was a true human bond, which is rarely seen and is one of the very few good things to come from war. This is the humanity which can shine through. So in the face of criticism of art projects by Guardian art critics whose biggest daily struggle is whether to have soy or goat's milk in his latter, let us instead remember the ordinary Tommy. The ones who couldn't write eloquently like Sassoon or Owen. The one who had to sign with an 'x' on his attestation paper, who never wrote their memoirs because he had to forego education in Edwardian Britain. Let us remember the ones whose first taste of combat ended as soon as they peered over the parapet. We should never forget the slaughter and our own ways of commemoration should not be attacked or critiqued. Whether you quietly read a book, visit the battlefields, watch a film or visit your local war memorial, just make sure you remember.

Music of the Great War

Soldiers have always gone to war singing. In the first Gulf War, US Abrams tanks rolled into Baghdad to the strains of 'Rock the Casbah' by the Clash, angering the pacifist Joe Strummer. A string of Motown hits were popularised during the Vietnam war and became soundtracks to the films that followed. Watch Charlie Sheen act stoned (exemplary acting) in Platoon to "Tears of a Clown" by Smokie Robinson. The anthem for peace, 'War' by Edwin Starr being a popular choice amongst US soldiers who were becoming ever more disillusioned with the conflict in Indochina. In World War Two, sentimental songs such as 'Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye' by Gracie Fields and 'Bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover' by Vera Lynn ensured soldiers would not forget their loved ones at home as they embarked on trips to North Africa, France and the Far East. By the Second World War, wirelesses were popular in households across the country, bringing music into the homes of people from all parts of society. Previously, expensive gramophones and vinyl records meant music at home was the preserve of the rich.

Most of the Tommies who went to the Front in the Great War would have had limited experience of popular music in their homes, but that is not to say it wasn't accessible. Music Hall was at its zenith at the turn of the century and folk music was still popular, with songs being sung in pubs and in homes. In the boredom of the trenches, men would begin to sing, often corrupting popular songs of the day. Most days would consist of periods of sentry duty, trench repairs, kit cleaning and eating when a major offensive was not on. The trenches could be reasonably safe if one's head did not stray above the parapet, as German snipers lurked across No Man's Land, ready to take a shot. The biggest threat would be from the artillery barrages which would often punctuate the boredom, as shells would rain down on the troops. The zig zag of the trench system would offer some protection if a shell fell down the line, but trenches could also collapse under the force of a barrage and dugouts, which offered shelter for the men could be buried and their occupants never seen again. Artillery casualties make up approximately two thirds of all dead and wounded on the Western Front and is the reason why so many men have no known grave. It is unsurprising then, that the soldiers made up many songs about the deadly, often unseen, foe.

Below, I hope to introduce some popular songs of the period, where possible, they are original recordings of the period. The crackly records seem to add a poignancy to the music and it adds another dimension when we think of the experience of soldiers in the Great War.

'Hush, here comes a whizzbang' illustrates the black humour which the British soldier has been famed for since the beginning of time and continues to this day. The description of the lottery of being under shellfire is well described. The only defence against a giant high explosive shell was simply to pray. It seems incredible that whilst such slaughter continued, the soldiers were able to maintain a sense of humour and make fun of the situation they found themselves in. Other songs such as 'Bombed Last Night' also describe the shellings but makes a reference to the use of gas...

"Gassed last night, and gassed the night before.

Going to get gassed tonight if we never get gassed anymore.

When we're gassed, we're sick as we can be.

For phosgene and mustard gas is much too much for me."

It is well documented that the Germans began singing 'Silent Night' on Christmas Eve 1914, the precursor to the Christmas Truce the following day. The Tommies also had opinions of their foe across the barbed wire and would feature in some trench songs, often with some rather strong, less than complimentary views of them, the song "Three German Officers Crossed The Rhine" featured the line

"'My only daughter's far too young', parlez-vous
'To be fucked by you, you bastard hun', parlez-vous"

Which was a take on the occupied French reacting to the advancing German with his trousers round his ankles. The song was sung to the tune of 'Mademoiselle from Armentieres', a popular song both at home and on the front line. The Tommies on the front would delight at altering the lyrics to suit their particular interest at the time, usually laden with expletives which would make their sweethearts back home blush.

Sometimes, music would serve as a soothing reminder of home whilst suffering the horrors of the trenches. Some such as "Goodbyee-ee!" will be forever associated with families bidding their loved ones farewell, many never to return. 

It has an anthemic chorus which lends itself to be sung on route marches and in pubs on leave and one can imagine columns of men heading up to the front singing such a song. "Goodbye-ee!" is probably one of the most popular and recognisable songs of the era. Another, "Keep the home fires burning" continues the theme of soldiers remembering their homes and the hope that they would one day return, with their sweetheart's love for them burning ever-stronger. The song was popular in the Second World War, too and was written by a certain Ivor Novello, whose name still adorns a songwriting prize awarded each year to this day. Recipients include Craig David, The Darkness and Adele, which compares rather starkly to Novello's Edwardian masterpiece...

With a greater social attachment to the Second World War, it seems the music of Glenn Miller and Vera Lynn dominates our memory of war music. Gramophones and records were much more widely available by World War Two and it seems music of the Great War has been neglected. Hopefully this has given the reader a taste of the music the young men who can be seen going 'Over the top' in grainy contemporary footage listened to and sang in the quieter moments of the conflict.

The final song is one which the author was taught at primary school on the 80th anniversary of the beginning of the conflict. The song is 'Pack up your troubles' and the lyrics implore the listener to 'smile, smile, smile' despite the troubles. Such stoicism in the face of murderous artillery and machine gun fire and mud, blood and disease would win the day in the end...

Rudyard Kipling, World War One and the Lost Generation

As we approach the centenary of the First World War this year, it is perhaps an appropriate time to look at the memorialisation of it and subsequent conflicts. Each year, on the Sunday nearest the 11th of November, the BBC, with David Dimbleby solemnly describing the ranks of veterans passing the Cenotaph on Whitehall, seems to broadcast almost identical services each year. Why is this? Why do we only remember the conflicts from the Great War onwards, and why are aspects of the memorialisation of that conflict still used today?

One must remember the First World War was truly a global epoch. It was the first time the world was engaged in conflict and Total War was first coined as a concept. For the first time, civilians from both sides found themselves firmly in the firing line. In Britain, conscription would be introduced and latterly rationing would also come into effect. Women would find themselves engaged in essential war work; slaving tirelessly in munitions factories, which would have been unthinkable in rigid Victorian society. It was the first time war was inescapable. The Napoleonic wars were simply not on the same scale and was during the age of musket, cannon and galleon. The Great War found itself in the age of machine gun, howitzer and dreadnought. The war was relentless; thousands died daily and the march of men and materials over the channel continued for over four years. It is the symbol of the fertile fields of post-war Flanders, the poppy, which we still use today. It was set up by the Earl Haig fund, the former Field Marshal Haig who would seemingly send hundreds of thousands of his men to death. Whilst revisionism is much kinder to Haig, undoubtedly a man of his time, constrained by the resources and techniques at his disposal, it is clear the high command realised how the conflict had surpassed anything before it in terms of casualties, political repercussions and social change. By devising a way of remembering his fallen 'Old Contemptibles' which continues to this day, encompassing all those who have died since, Haig has ensured that we have not forgotten the Great War.

The Cenotaph

The Cenotaph itself is the striking, white wide obelisk-type structure in the middle of Whitehall which forms the focal point of remembrance in the UK. The realisation that the Great War should not be forgotten and should be commemorated suitably was agreed by all sectors of society. At the top, King George V decreed a period of celebration following an end to the war in July 1919 following the Treaty of Versailles (11th November saw the cessation of hostilities; the top brass, still achingly Edwardian needed seven months to divide the spoils). The eminent architect, Edwin Lutyens, the designer of the Brighton Pavilion, designed a wooden structure to stand in the centre of Whitehall as the men filed past on 19th July 1919. The stark, white structure, lacking any triumphalism which could be seen on war memorials from the previous century, struck a chord with the British public and it was decreed that the monument should be re-made in stone. The word 'Cenotaph' comes from the Greek kenotaphian  meaning 'empty tomb' and after a war when hundreds of thousands of soldiers had no known grave and those that did were on the battlefields they fell, the Cenotaph offered a place to grieve.

The Cenotaph after its unveiling in 1920. The coffin of the unknown soldier sits on a gun carriage to the left

Written on the cenotaph are the words 'The Glorious Dead'. Suitably grand and Edwardian, the phrase seems to hold an element of triumphalism, echoes of the old Empire; the glory of those who died fighting for King and Country. It should come as no surprise then, that the man tasked with finding the language for such such monuments should be a close friend of the King and champion of Empire; Rudyard Kipling.

Rudyard Kipling

Kipling is perhaps best known for his Jungle Book stories, later adapted for film by Walt Disney. Having been born in India and watched first hand the work of the Imperial administration, Kipling believed strongly in the hegemony of the British and the work of Empire and this would become obvious in some of his work such as "The White Man's Burden" of 1899. Whilst this would be seen as totally politically incorrect today, it called for Britain and Europe to help advance the 'uncivilised' countries of the Empire and further afield. Kipling was a patriot and foresaw the beginning of the Great War, later working tirelessly, campaigning to get the young men of Britain to join the army. This continued in his own home where he fought for his son John to be allowed into the army despite failing his medical on account of his poor eyesight. As a friend of Earl Robert, Chief of the Imperial General Staff and Colonel of the Irish Guards, Kipling managed to pull the appropriate strings so that John 'Jack' Kipling was commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant in the Irish Guards in August 1914.

Rudyard Kipling (left) and 2nd Lieutenant John 'Jack' Kipling in the uniform of the Irish Guards

The slaughter of the Western Front began with the retreat from Mons in August-September 1914 and despite beginning as a mobile, fast moving conflict, the main belligerents found themselves entrenched in bloody stalemate from Nieuport on the Belgian coast in the West to the Swiss border in the East. Soon, dugouts would be joined into sprawling, zig-zagging trench systems and the daily artillery bombardments would be punctuated by offensives designed to push the enemy back. The little gains made would invariably be reversed at the cost of more life. One of those to fall would be 'Jack'. Like so many others in the Great War, details of his demise are sketchy to say the least. John led his men at the Battle of Loos on 29th September 1915 when he was hit by shellfire and his body badly disfigured. Fighting continued and John Kipling's body lay on the battlefield. Due to the nature of Great War battles, with the same thin strip of land fought over and chewed up by shellfire, and offensives lasting for days, the recovery of bodies was difficult. When it was possible, bodies had to be identified by personal effects on the body, the introduction of two fibre dog tags on the body helped and sometimes they were identified by their comrades who recovered them from the battlefield.

As John's body was not identified, he was officially posted as 'missing presumed dead'. Rudyard and his wife, Carrie searched field hospitals and interviewed comrades in the vain hope they would find him. His father threw his weight behind the Imperial (later Commonwealth) War Graves Commission to ensure his son would not be forgotten. Rudyard felt a great sense of loss and guilt for having gained John entry into the army despite failing his eyesight test. In 1992 John Kipling's grave was identified after the body of a Lieutenant of the Irish Guard was discovered in the St Mary's Cemetery in Haisnes, but current theory suggests this is actually the body of Arthur Jacob, another young officer in the same unit.

Kipling Senior's work with the Commonwealth War Graves Commission can still be seen scattered across the fields of Belgium and Northern France. The neat Portland stone headstones in cemeteries are inscribed with the rank, name, age and unit of a fallen soldier. Of the nearly 1 million British and Commonwealth soldiers that died in the war, 526,816 have no known grave. Instead, their names appear on the monuments to the missing, with the largest at Thiepval on the Somme and the Menin Gate at Ypres. However, there are 187,861 unidentified graves. Given headstones, theirs simply bear the inscription "A soldier of the Great War. Known unto God"; another of Kipling's influences we can see across many Commonwealth War Grave Commission sites across Continental Europe.

The war changed Kipling's life. It robbed him of his only son and he poured his energies afterwards into ensuring John and his comrades would not be forgotten. The rows of pristine stone tablets which mark the earth where the British army went to battle almost 100 years ago are a timeless reminder.

Happy New Year! A year of World War One Centenary Celebrations

As I stood with my cigar in one hand and a glass of port in the other mulling over a new year, my dull intoxication did not, perhaps appreciate the significance of the year 2014 as Jools Holland went nuts on a Steinbeck. I had often thought about the upcoming year and already some of the official plans had brought criticism and to a much lesser extent, admiration. Eric Pickles' idea to have poppy seeds spread across every grass verge, Tesco car park and abandoned warehouse smacked of an April Fools joke, but the idea of paving slabs to celebrate each of the 627 different recipients of the Victoria Cross in towns and villages across the country seems like a sound plan. The Empire's ultimate award for bravery was awarded irrespective of race, creed, colour or background and singled out acts of heroism in the crucible of the war. Walking over one of these slabs will hopefully make people take a moment to think and even go home and research somebody who may have followed their daily commute over a century before.

Inevitably, commemorations have been attacked, with many calling the plans a 'celebration of war', which I feel rather misses the point. The First World War was so abhorrent, ghastly and deadly that it should never be forgotten. It is true that many wanted to fight for their country; an idea ridiculed today. Many more simply wanted adventure and an escape from the 'dark satanic mills' which spread across the country or the backbreaking work in the fields. Whatever people's motivation, we must never forget that nearly 1 million British and Commonwealth soldiers died in the conflict. 250,000 a year. 20,833 a month. 672 a day. 28 an hour. One every two minutes. Not to mention the millions injured, mentally and physically. Why would anybody celebrate the war? Despite such losses, British forces never mutinied and we must pay tribute to the systems which ensured they remained an effective fighting unit: their regiments and the cameraderie within.

It is, therefore, rather disheartening to see that 5 days into the New Year, we already have a quarrel between the Education Secretary, Michael Gove, and the actor (and Labour grandee) Tony Robinson. Whilst I can never agree with Gove's style of teaching history, Robinson's take on the First World War appeared to be edging towards Bolshevism on Sky News this morning. He consistently blamed the 'officer class' for leading thousands to their death. It is unclear whether Robinson has read any decent history books or simply watched re-runs of 'Oh What a Lovely War' and waxed lyrical about Baldrick in 'Blackadder Goes Forth', but this is a myth. The young officers, or Captain Blackadder and Lieutenant George, for Robinson's sake, had a life expectancy of just six weeks in the trenches. It is true that in peacetime, some of these regular army officers had a charmed life, but after 12 months of war, the junior officers of the British Expeditionary Force had been all but wiped out. Whilst the public schools are now easy whipping boys (excuse the pun) for churning out career politicians, it is worth remembering that 1,157 old Etonians died in the First World War and 13 won the Victoria Cross. Junior officers advancing across no man's land were often singled out by German snipers and machine gunners, easily identified by their jodhpurs, pistols or pace sticks.

Whilst many senior officers were kept far from the lines, planning offensives, the idea that they stayed away from the lines totally is also false, with 78 British officers of Brigadier or higher, killed during the war. The Royal Mint released plans of its new currency to commemorate the conflict, with the £2 coin featuring the famous image of Lord Kitchener summoning Britons to join the army. Kitchener has been given the reputation by some as a warmongering Imperial overlord who led thousands of men to their deaths. One must appreciate that in 1914, Britain's standing army numbered just shy of 400,000, whilst the German conscript army was close to 2 million. Thanks to Kitchener, within 2 years, 2.5 million men had volunteered to join hiss new armies, ready to help France take on the might of the German army. It is perhaps also worth considering that Kitchener was killed by a German mine before his battalions saw the light of the day in the Battle of the Somme. Horatio Herbert Kitchener had commanded the British Army in its triumph at the Battle of Omdurman in the Sudan in 1898 and his realisation that a quick campaign of conscription would save the day in the First World War are achievements that must never be forgotten.

This year will see much debate about how commemoration should take place. Baldrick has already managed to turn it into an argument about political ideologies. The commemoration should focus on the lives of the men lost. The Old Contemptibles who had spent the latter part of the 19th Century fighting throughout Africa, who would die in the fields of Northern France during the first, mobile months of war. The young men who joined up in their droves with their friends and who would be slaughtered, shoulder to shoulder, in the first moments of the Battle of the Somme. Men like Noel Chavasse, the Medical Officer who would receive two Victoria Crosses for immense bravery, the second awarded posthumously. Tubby Clayton, the army padre who established Toc H house, an oasis of peace and calm within the slaughter and horror of the Ypres salient.

The First World War saw an uneasy clash between generals who were used to fighting vastly inferior forces in the reaches of Empire suddenly against a well-trained and well-equipped German army of vastly superior numbers. It saw warfare become truly mechanised, where innovation was used to develop the best way of delivering toxic chlorine and mustard gas and the heaviest artillery possible. This created a stalemate across the Western Front which resulted in an horrific crucible within which men were poured. We must never forget their sacrifice. At the time they fought for their friends, their families and, as it may seem unpalatable for some in our modern age, they fought for their country.

Their Name Liveth For Evermore