My poor old Mum (died 1991 aged 94) lost both her brothers and a fiancé in the first war. The fiancé was an RFC pilot but I have never managed to discover his unit and the circumstances in which he died. Her brothers were junior officers, one in the South Wales Borderers and the other in the Royal Field Artillery. They were both brilliant, golden youths, educated by my grandfather (a retired Sapper Colonel) at home until they entered the Imperial Service College (ISC - a forerunner of Hayleybury) where one was head boy and captain of rugby and athletics. They were both commissioned into the regular army. They died within a few miles of each other and within a few months in 1916. One is buried in one of the Canadian cemeteries at Vimy, and the other in a small British cemetery in a very rural setting South of Lille. I usually visit France at this time of year to see my grandchildren during the French half-term and sometimes detour to visit my uncles' graves. Both cemeteries are admirable in their own way. Vimy is obviously a CWGC showpiece, visible from the A26 near Lens, and attracts many visitors. The other, much smaller and isolated, is less visited but no less beautifully maintained. Flowers and colourful shrubs abound. Each time I visit I notice that some headstones have been replaced where their inscriptions have become eroded. The landscaping and monumental architecture were just right from the beginning, and both sites are calm, peaceful and somehow raise one's spirits. The CWGC is clearly a dedicated organisation.
Nothing, however, not even time "the great healer", can mitigate the appalling tragedy suffered by my parents generation. The loss of his two wonderful sons killed my grandfather. My grandmother, a Canadian who stood nearly 6ft tall, was a rock. My mother inherited most of her stoicism but was clearly deeply scarred by the loss of three young men whom she loved. There were things of which she would not speak and I could never persuade her to visit her brothers' graves. I remember listening with her and her mother to Chamberlain's speech on the BBC on 3 September 1939 anouncing the opening of WW2. Granny's face was set like stone. Tears streamed down my mother's face. Insensitive little brat that I was, I felt the prospect of war was exciting.
I wonder whether the current generation could withstand tragedy on that scale. And I even wonder whether they should try to.