March 21st 1918

“Too many good men have been wounded or lost in battle. Too many mothers have wept at the loss of their sons, those left standing this day will call themselves the victors, but no one has won here, for if the price to be paid is the spilled blood of good men, then there can be no victory for anyone. War is caused by those few who yearn for greed or power, and their blood is always too precious to spill on the grass, so innocent men die in their place. Those that start wars always survive them with greater riches or power, and many families weep for the loss of their young. Tell me Rowan, where is the honour or victory in that?”
Robert of Loxley “Heirs to the Kingdom Book Eight.”

 

 

On the thirteenth of April 2018, I travelled with my father to a service at Manchester Cathedral.

 

Manchester Hill Remembered was a tribute to those who were wounded or killed during World War One, on a small hill just outside the town of Saint-Quentin in Northern France, on March 21st 1918.

 

For myself it was a chance to fit yet more pieces into the puzzle of my family history, and learn a little more about a man I never met, as he died before I was born, my grandfather. For my father, it meant a great deal more, for he remembered the man who returned from war and conceived a male child, who he would grow to love and then lose by age nine. I cannot imagine how my dad felt watching the show, all I could think of was how awful it was that one day after his ninth birthday, he would lose his own father, due mainly to his wounds that he received in service to his country on that cold stark hill in Northern France.

My grandfather William Morgan.

Private William Morgan, was one of many members of 16th Battalion of the Manchester Regiment that fought a brutal fight through fog and mustard gas, which resulted in him being shot in the head and left for dead, on what today is known as Manchester Hill. After the battle where the Germans took 1500 prisoners of war, my grandfather was listed as missing in action. I cannot say how horrible that must have been for my grandmother, who would have waited in hope for a miracle, and prayed her husband was not dead.
It was sometime later that she discovered that my grandfather had been taken by the Germans to a hospital where he was tended to and nursed, and thanks to their compassion, he finished the war as a prisoner, and returned home after a lasting deal for peace was reached. It was after the war in 1938 that my father was born, and then later in 1964 I came along. Thanks to the German forces I am here today, it could have been a very different story if they had left him to die on the battlefield.

 

168 members of the Manchester Regiment stood against a massive German army that day, and only 17 managed to make it back to the British camp when it was done. 79 lost their lives, and the rest were wounded in the brutal fight, or taken prisoner by the German forces. It is startling to realise that they were mostly aged 18 to 21 years old.

 

The total number of killed and wounded during World War One, both military and civilian, is generally estimated to be about 37 million. There were16 million deaths and 21 million wounded. The statistics for those who died include 9.7 million military personnel and about 6.8 million civilians. Allied losses were 5.7 million and the opposing forces about 4 million. Just to put that in perspective, that is a about half the population of the UK today.

 

Most people are unaware of these statistics, most people do not even realise that this year marks the hundredth anniversary of the battle of Manchester Hill, or even that World War One lasted from July 28th 1914, until November 11th 1918. I have asked a lot of people of late, as I knew a while ago I had been booked a ticket for this event, hardly anyone I know remembered that this year marks the 100th anniversary of the end of World War One. How quickly it has faded out of the memory of the masses, and maybe that is why we are still starting wars all over the planet.

 

Tonight I stood in a cathedral in the heart of Manchester, and I witnessed many relatives who attended, talk with reverence about their family members, but the thing that left me lost for words, was that all of them were grandchildren of lost soldiers. My father was the only person there who had lost a parent who had fought in the Great War; it was a surreal feeling as I watched the startled and amazed looks of those who spoke to him.
As I sat on the train tonight travelling home, I thought of my daughter. She is nine years old, exactly the same age as my father was when he lost his dad, and I could not bear the thought of her having to deal with the loss of me. How could anyone ask that of a nine year old? My father grew up watching his dad deal with shell shock and mustard gas poisoning, and the after effects of being shot in the head, in one of the worst days of fighting in World War One. He saw how it affected him, even though he was only nine, he learned to understand that, even though his dad never talked of any aspect of the war, and it breaks my heart to think of that.

 

All my life, I have studied the effects of war, and those of you who know me in person, know how opposed to war I am. For ten years I have been writing Heirs to the Kingdom, a series about life set to a backdrop of fear and war. I have explored all my thoughts and feelings throughout the books, and as you can see from the passage above, which will be in the final book of the series, I cannot and do not understand why we cannot learn the wisdom we have gained from fighting two world wars, let alone all those that have followed.

 

No one wins in war. It is easy as Brits to fill our chests with pride, and boast about how we won two World Wars, but did we really?

 

37 million dead, how is that a victory?

 

A whole generation wiped from the slate forever, and 37 million families destroyed with grief. Was it not bad enough we did not learn from one World War, and we had to have another 20 years later? If we cannot look to the past, to learn for the future, how can we even call ourselves a race of humanity?

 

Too many have forgotten that our free speech and democracy were bought and paid for in the blood of two world wars, we must learn to move forward in understanding of that sacrifice, and strive to live in peace. Schools betray our children by not teaching them enough of our history, so they too can learn the lessons of our past and prevent them from being our future. It bothers me that Gallipoli, The Somme, Manchester Hill, Dunkirk, and Normandy are no longer important aspects of modern education, no one should forget that most of those soldiers who died, did so to make a difference in the world, and give all of us the freedom to live as we have chosen today.

 

I shall not forget this night, watching a proud son share the story of his brave father, and I shall never forget the sadness on his 80 year old face as he did so, for it was clear how much he has missed his father. I have been anti-war and a flag bearer of personal freedom for most of my life, but tonight it hit me hard. For it was whilst I stood in the beautiful surroundings of Manchester Cathedral, a sacred place to so many, I watched a screen about those brave men and I realised why I have so much freedom. My grandfather survived the war, I am so lucky as from that brave recovery my father was born. But as the names of those who lost their lives slowly slid up the screen before me, I understood that those were the names of the men that gave me their freedom to live as I chose, and it is a mighty precious gift indeed.

 

We should never forget them.

 

There is no victory for a country that has to pay such a high price, as the blood of our sons on the grass of a distant nation.