sunday
had a few drinks at rob's house last night, and it seems to have ruined my sunday... waking up the wrong side of noon, and i feel somehow cheated out of the day. i'm in a reflective mood, so please bear with me; this could turn into a long one.
i was thinking about a conversation we were having about what a strange job astronomy is, and why we do it. for me, i always struggle to explain to people what the point of it is - my argument being that for me astronomy is about knowing as much about the Universe in the broadest possible sense, and i couldn't bear going through my life looking up at the stars and not knowing what they were. of course, i love the business - i'm almost certain this is what i'll do for the rest of my life... yet i always feel slightly awkward explaining this to people with real jobs.
this got me thinking about my life (i said i was in a reflective mood), and the things we worry about. i wonder what our ancestors would have thought of us - would they be proud or ashamed when we told them that we spend most of our time trying to figure out how the Cosmos goes, and the rest of it either drinking silly amounts or writing blogs? what with John's genealogy project, this reminded me of a letter i have from the first world war from someone probably younger than me now which kind of puts things into perspective, and makes me think that any of our concerns pale in comparison to the things some of our ancestors had to go through for us to beable to do what we do. thought i'd share it with you here, because it's pretty interesting.
it is from a friend of one of my great great uncles who became very sick during the war (with TB i think) to his parents:
Dear Mr Broad,
Thank-you so much for your most kind and welcome letter which I received on the 9th. I am awfully sorry to hear of Tom being so very ill, I quite remember his illness at Border camp, as I was taken ill with pleurisy about the same time. I left Border camp to go on my over-sea leave just before Xmas 1915, I was feeling queer at the time, so I went to a private doctor in London, and he ordered me to bed. I was in bed three days when I had to be taken into Fulham Military Hospital where I lay for some weeks, had I have not done as I did, probably I should have been in the same state as poor Tom is today; had he have had the proper attention in the first place no doubt he would have been alright up to this present day. When he was taken ill he lay on the boards in a cold Barrack Room for days without food. I could see a great difference in him then, it is usually the way in the army, one has to be half dead before receiving the least attention. Tom was always in the best of health and spirits, until we left our billets for deep out camp Farnborough and then it seemed to me he lost all heart of soldiering, and finally grew worse. Him and I were always the best of friends, I met Tom the day I enlisted at Fulham and we arranged to be billeted together. We had a very comfortable billet, and we had everything I think we could wish for, it was more of a holiday than the life of a soldier, but I may say I have had some terrible hardships since.
I often thought of the good times Tom and I had, while I was in the thick of the fighting for weeks at a stretch. I had my first experience of warfare at Loos, from there I went to Ypres, where I got a small dose of gas, but not enough to get me home. I then got well and was back in time for the attack on St. Eloc. We were moved from there on to the Somme the beginning of 1916. I went all through the bombardment, and was there for the great attack on July 1st. It was a terrible sight, I shall never forget it and I must thank the Lord that I am alive up to this day. I came home suffering from shell shock, I am still a bit shaky, and I shall not be fit for some time to come. I was buried alive two days in succession, the second time being more severe. There were six of us in a small German dugout - two of my mates were killed outright as they stood at the mouth of the dugout, the remainder of us were at the bottom, and had it not been for two of the Royal Engineers, we should have been there now, but as you say Mr Broad, I think myself Tom would have chosen going out and trying to do his best, in preference to what he has had to suffer, but I sincerely hope and trust that he will be spared to you. I am sure it has been a great trouble to Mrs Broad and yourself.
Dear Mr Broad you are quite right about Mr Jack Grey, it is the same one who used to attend South Downs Secondary School, and was in Mr Richards class. He wishes me to send his kindest regards to you. I should very much like to come and see Tom, but leaves are very scarce at present; but should I ever have the luck to come that way, I should be delighted to call on you. Now I must conclude, please give my best love to Tom.
Kindest regards to Mrs Broad and yourself.
I beg to remain, yours sincerely,
J. L. Evans.
PS- Dear Mr Broad, enclosed photograph I would like for Tom to have.
I think this is a fascinating window to probably one of the worst times in our ancestor's pasts. Makes me think that pretty much all my worries and misgivings about my life are frankly a bit stupid. I wonder what we would do in a situation like that.
Sunday reflection over.
i was thinking about a conversation we were having about what a strange job astronomy is, and why we do it. for me, i always struggle to explain to people what the point of it is - my argument being that for me astronomy is about knowing as much about the Universe in the broadest possible sense, and i couldn't bear going through my life looking up at the stars and not knowing what they were. of course, i love the business - i'm almost certain this is what i'll do for the rest of my life... yet i always feel slightly awkward explaining this to people with real jobs.
this got me thinking about my life (i said i was in a reflective mood), and the things we worry about. i wonder what our ancestors would have thought of us - would they be proud or ashamed when we told them that we spend most of our time trying to figure out how the Cosmos goes, and the rest of it either drinking silly amounts or writing blogs? what with John's genealogy project, this reminded me of a letter i have from the first world war from someone probably younger than me now which kind of puts things into perspective, and makes me think that any of our concerns pale in comparison to the things some of our ancestors had to go through for us to beable to do what we do. thought i'd share it with you here, because it's pretty interesting.
it is from a friend of one of my great great uncles who became very sick during the war (with TB i think) to his parents:
Dear Mr Broad,
Thank-you so much for your most kind and welcome letter which I received on the 9th. I am awfully sorry to hear of Tom being so very ill, I quite remember his illness at Border camp, as I was taken ill with pleurisy about the same time. I left Border camp to go on my over-sea leave just before Xmas 1915, I was feeling queer at the time, so I went to a private doctor in London, and he ordered me to bed. I was in bed three days when I had to be taken into Fulham Military Hospital where I lay for some weeks, had I have not done as I did, probably I should have been in the same state as poor Tom is today; had he have had the proper attention in the first place no doubt he would have been alright up to this present day. When he was taken ill he lay on the boards in a cold Barrack Room for days without food. I could see a great difference in him then, it is usually the way in the army, one has to be half dead before receiving the least attention. Tom was always in the best of health and spirits, until we left our billets for deep out camp Farnborough and then it seemed to me he lost all heart of soldiering, and finally grew worse. Him and I were always the best of friends, I met Tom the day I enlisted at Fulham and we arranged to be billeted together. We had a very comfortable billet, and we had everything I think we could wish for, it was more of a holiday than the life of a soldier, but I may say I have had some terrible hardships since.
I often thought of the good times Tom and I had, while I was in the thick of the fighting for weeks at a stretch. I had my first experience of warfare at Loos, from there I went to Ypres, where I got a small dose of gas, but not enough to get me home. I then got well and was back in time for the attack on St. Eloc. We were moved from there on to the Somme the beginning of 1916. I went all through the bombardment, and was there for the great attack on July 1st. It was a terrible sight, I shall never forget it and I must thank the Lord that I am alive up to this day. I came home suffering from shell shock, I am still a bit shaky, and I shall not be fit for some time to come. I was buried alive two days in succession, the second time being more severe. There were six of us in a small German dugout - two of my mates were killed outright as they stood at the mouth of the dugout, the remainder of us were at the bottom, and had it not been for two of the Royal Engineers, we should have been there now, but as you say Mr Broad, I think myself Tom would have chosen going out and trying to do his best, in preference to what he has had to suffer, but I sincerely hope and trust that he will be spared to you. I am sure it has been a great trouble to Mrs Broad and yourself.
Dear Mr Broad you are quite right about Mr Jack Grey, it is the same one who used to attend South Downs Secondary School, and was in Mr Richards class. He wishes me to send his kindest regards to you. I should very much like to come and see Tom, but leaves are very scarce at present; but should I ever have the luck to come that way, I should be delighted to call on you. Now I must conclude, please give my best love to Tom.
Kindest regards to Mrs Broad and yourself.
I beg to remain, yours sincerely,
J. L. Evans.
PS- Dear Mr Broad, enclosed photograph I would like for Tom to have.
I think this is a fascinating window to probably one of the worst times in our ancestor's pasts. Makes me think that pretty much all my worries and misgivings about my life are frankly a bit stupid. I wonder what we would do in a situation like that.
Sunday reflection over.
posted by jim at 4:16 PM
1 Comments:
great letter Jim. I do like a bit of history from the words of the people who were there. I dread to think what would happen if we'd been there. I'd like to think we'd be in our trench trying to keep our spirits up by singing a few songs and reading poetry sent to us from girls back in blighty but I suspect there would be little to cheer in the somme valley.
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