Not Dead Yet: Time For Some Serious Reflection.

Our next planned stop after Bruges was something I had wanted to do for a long time. Something that really meant a lot to me.

As a child I was told by my Grandma that her older brother had died in the First World War. I also knew his name was in a book, in The Hall of Memory, in Birmingham, just alongside the new Library.

I didn’t full understand the significance then but there used to a be a series on the telly back then on a Friday night, which was when I would stay at Grandma’s house. It was called The World at War. The sombre music and black and white images gave me probably more understanding than a child really needed.

In later years when I started researching the family and with the help of the Internet, realised, my Great Uncle Albert was one of the many thousands who died in the Ypres Salient, who had no known grave, as their body has never been found, or, identified.

My son, Simon, is in the Royal Navy and in 2004, was invited to go to Ypres for the evening ceremony at the Menin Gate. In his early 20s, Simon saw this as a bit of a jolly. Only when I told him about Albert, his thoughts on the trip rather changed. A strange thing happened, the date Simon crossed the Channel was actually the anniversary of Albert’s death and what had started out as a jolly holiday, turned into something much more meaningful for Simon, who took the time to visit many of the battle sites.

Since then I have wanted to go to Ypres myself and finally I was getting the chance.

We arrived at the town in the afternoon and I had already researched where we were going to park. It was free and easy walking to the Menin Gate.

In the afternoon we visited the Museum in town, dedicated to the 1914-18 War. It was interesting but there were some school parties going round and they did rather spoil the experience. However, some glares directed at the teachers, a bit of sighing and sitting in a resigned, I’m waiting sort of a way, did produce a fair amount of shooshing from some of those in charge.

In the evening we walked down to The Gate, where the traffic is stopped every night for the ceremony. We turned up about 20 minutes early. I suppose there were around a hundred people there. By the time the ceremony started, there must have been a thousand.This happens every night because the people of the town never want to forget the debt they owe to those who died, to give them freedom.

Not ashamed to say, I quietly cried throughout the whole thing.

The pictures below show Albert as a child, in a family group. He is far right. My Grandma is far left.

The other two photos are of him with three of his children, probably aged around 30. Then Albert in his uniform. He was 35 when he died. He was a talented singer, footballer and father of 4

The colour photos are from my evening at the Menin Gate.

The last black and white photo, taken from the Museum, shows how unrecognisable the countryside around the town became during the fighting.

Albert in his uniform, this is a section from his last known letter, written in September 1915, just before he died.

" This is part of Albert's last letter to Sarah, his wife written in September 1915.

I am writing this hoping it will not be necessary to forward it, I will leave it to someone to post, when they have certain news I am dead or missing.
During the next few days we shall be very fortunate indeed if we are not killed. There is a big attack coming on and my Battalion is in the front line. Our orders are to take two lines of trenches, so you see, this cannot be done without risk.
In addition, prior to the attack, a mine is to be exploded just a few yards away and as we shall be lying in the open, there will be some weighty things flying about. Then there is the bombardment, the holding of the trenches… if we capture them, then a counter attack. Altogether it is odds that a few of us will cop something.
I hope you will not get this letter but if you do,
Remember my last thoughts were with you.
Albert died 25th September 1915."