Nothing But Bad Times: Chapter Nine, Part One
As Mary Ann approached the door, she dared not focus on anything else about her. Maybe Frank had come back home from the war? Maybe Patrick and Peter had made it? Maybe all three of them had come home to surprise her?
Alas, as she opened the door, the anticipation inside her died a sudden death. Looking down towards the floor was a small, yellow envelope with a stamp on the back that read “The War Office”. She picked it up and glanced to see who had put it there, and across the road stood a man in uniform, who said to her “Notification from the Front, lady”, before getting on his horse and riding away into the distance. Mary Ann closed the door and sat down alone for the kids were at school in Carfin. Half way through the letter, Mary Ann burst into tears and sank to the floor. The telegram reported as follows:
“It is my painful duty to inform you of the death in action of Private Peter McMillan, who was killed on the evening of Saturday November 4 1916. Please accept my deepest sympathy, and the sympathy of my regiment at the passing of a well liked and charming young man. I am privileged to have been his commanding officer both in the A&SH and the Machine Gun Corps. We owe Peter a great debt of great gratitude. Peter died instantly of his wounds sustained on the battlefield, and we buried him that same night in an unmarked grave outside of the village of Les Boueffs. We are all saddened by the loss of such a friend. I hope and pray that the sympathy of the regiments is of some comfort to you”
I am finding it quite difficult to find the right words after that. All I can do is imagine the shock and grief that must have rushed through Mary Ann. I can picture a scene where she stumbles street to street to inform her siblings of their nephews death in the field of battle. Yet, as tragic as this story is, Peter was one of millions killed in the First World War. He is one of millions who died to defend our freedoms, and for that, I couldn't be more proud. No matter which side someone is on, if they do what so many did do in this respect, in my opinion, their ultimate sacrifice is one that should be reciprocated with the most fervent respect. How strange a thing to ponder that, unbeknown to them, there are people in France today who are walking on the spot Peter was buried, and don't know it. Ye he still rests there in peace. He is also commemorated on the Theipval Memorial in France. It is one of my goals as as researcher to get a photograph of his name engraved eternally into that memorial, and pay my own respects too.
I can't imagine what affect this had on the family, but it had to have been hugely detrimental. Yet we must not forget that at this point in time, Patrick and Frank were still fighting. Patrick had written home from Topsham Barracks at Easter 1915, and had begged his mum to send him some money so that the captain could send him home, and not go to France, for he had heard stories about the carnage transpiring there. Mary Ann simply could not afford to give him the money, and so Patrick was sent to France. In the letter he wrote to his mum (which is now in possession of my grandmother), he makes a chilling plea for help “For God's sakes mum, if I cannot get home it will break my heart... Please wire [the money] on before next Tuesday”. Poor Patrick must have been terrified to go to war. I have an oil painting of him taken in 1915, just before he left for service. He seems like a shy person, and looks a lot like his younger brother Barney in the face. He is certain to have been shaking like a leaf when he got over to France.
A year had passed since Peter's death, and Patrick would always write, up until early 1917, when suddenly the writing stopped. A fortnight later, back home in Scotland, Mary Ann received another knock at the door...
Copyright © Matthew Reay, 2008
