Forgive me for not blogging in aaaages. Believe it or not my blog is one of my favourite things in my working (not really working is it?) life.
But excuses excuses I’ve had a lot going on personally the last few weeks and I knew I couldn’t give it the attention it deserved.
Anyway, the blog will be back with a VENGEANCE a RESURGENCE a REFOCUS and any other fancy words that work, in a few weeks and I can’t wait!
But for now, I just want to write a quick word about remembering World War One, and something I discovered about my family history this week.
I’m fairly ashamed to admit that I don’t know a lot about World War One, but I don’t think I am alone.
History lessons at our schools were fairly terrible. I remember learning about the wax seal used on the Magna Carter and that is about it. I wish now that I’d taken it as a subject at GCSE but the teachers were so uninspiring and crusty that I chose Geography instead, not that they were much better.
But it definitely left me with a knowledge gap that I am not proud of. I think because World War Two seems so much closer to us, we know more about it and relate to it more.
Even though my Nan was only a girl during World War Two – growing up she taught me a lot about things like Anderson and Morrison shelters, being evacuated to the Isle of Wight and what rationing was really like.
But I think the way the country has come together this week for the Centenary of World War One has just been wonderful. From the touching words spoken at the various services to the ‘lights out’ on Monday night.
And something that touched me personally was this picture my Uncle Frank, who lives in Spain, posted on his Facebook page.
This handsome chap is Sergeant John O’Brien 3rd Btn, Royal Irish Regiment. My Great Grandfather.
And this is the first time I’ve known of him I am sad to say.
According to my uncle who is fairly knowledgeable about our family tree – John O’Brien was apparently wounded in action and sent back to Dublin to recuperate. Unfortunately he caught pneumonia and died on 22nd March 1915.
And that is all I know of him – my Great Grandfather, who served and lost his life in World War One.
But suddenly the family attachment makes it all the more poignant and real.
As you get older you definitely have a greater desire to know ‘where you came from’ don’t you? I am pleased that this week, I learned a tiny bit more.
photo courtesy of ladyjaynesreadingden.blogspot.com