The first world war has been on my mind lately, coming from various places. It began with Netflix delivering our latest movie to us, A Very Long Engagement. Its a movie about love during WWI, as Audrey Tautou’s (of Amile fame) character searches for her missing fiance. The movie shows the war in unflinching, shocking detail, exposing its mindlessness and savagery for what it is. Once it was over, I couldn’t help wondering how those frightened kids felt in their trenches.
Yesterday, Metafilter had a link to accounts from the last remaining WWI vets. Their personal stories are gripping, alive as the days they lived them. So sad. As Harry Patch (aged 107) said:
Why should the British government call me up and take me out to a battlefield to shoot a man I never knew, whose language I couldn’t speak? All those lives lost for a war finished over a table.
Now what is the sense in that? It’s just an argument between two governments. Neither Charles nor I ever want any other young man ever to go through what we did again, but still we send our lads to war.
It made me think of my uncle at the Battle of the Bulge hunkered down in a Belgium forest, a kid fighting the bitter cold and the German army. He knew all too well what those WWI soldiers went through. He never talked about it. How could he explain it? How could anyone?
Today’s paper ran the obituary of Rene Moreau, whose death this week left just six remaining French WWI veterans. Moreau finally joined the comrades he left on the muddy fields of the Western Front ninety years ago. Soon all those who faced this horror will be gone forever.
Almost a century gone by and what have we learned?