Recalling Grandad Leigh – a ‘Great War’ vet
Posted: Tuesday, November 11, 2008 11:40 AM
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London, England
By Chris Hampson, NBC News Director of International News
LONDON – Remembrance Day has always been a special part of my life. As a kid, my home in the North of England was full of talk about the wars.
My parents had lived, struggled – and danced – through World War II. My nimble-footed dad was the "Master of Ceremonies" at his munitions factory weekly "socials," and whisked his soon-to-be-bride (my mum) off her feet there.
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| Getty Images |
| The last surviving British World War I veterans from left to right, Henry Allingham,112, Harry Patch, 110, and Bill Stone, 108, gather at the start of the Armistice Day commemorations on Nov. 11 in London. |
My uncle had fought the Japanese in Burma, and looked thin and gaunt the rest of his days. That may have been jungle warfare, or marrying my mum’s bad-tempered sister. Either way, it was a battle.
But my grandfather could beat them all, by fighting in what was once called the Great War – ironically, "the war to end wars" – World War I.
A man who could ‘take care of himself’
In 1911 he had lied about his age to join the fledgling Territorial Army – the reserves affectionately known as "the Terriers," and disparagingly as "Saturday afternoon soldiers."
But in the cold and bitter winter of 1914, with the British Regular Army exhausted and barely holding the line in Flanders, 19-year-old James Gordon Leigh and his regiment of part-timers found himself in France, fighting for his country – and probably his life.
In 1916 he’d served the five years he’d signed up for and was discharged. A few months later he was back in, re-enlisting for the duration. In the months in-between, his Army mates had been through the slaughter of the Somme. There but for the grace of God.
He didn’t ever talk to me about his time in the war – he was a stern and gruff man who frankly scared the bejabbers out of me, and my father too. He would sit by the fire wearing a forbidding big leather belt and severe black boots.
I learned only later that he’d suffered a shrapnel wound to his left ankle in one of the battles he’d been caught up in. The boots were the only footwear he was comfortable wearing.
After the war was over, Grandad Leigh lived most of his life just a few yards away from the gate of his old regimental barracks, and would spend many evenings drinking in the Sergeants’ Mess. Family legend has it that he liked to step outside for the occasional beer-fuelled brawl, and knew how to "take care of himself."
But that sense of "mateship" – of having lived through experiences that set him apart – never left him. Or us.
90 years later - three old gents give a reminder
So I watched the dignified ceremony at the Cenotaph in London’s Whitehall today with more than a passing interest.
Ninety years after peace was declared in World War I, the three surviving British veterans took their rightful place at the heart of our remembrance. The youngest is 108. The oldest is 112.
Accompanying them were brave men and women whose courage has won special recognition in more recent conflicts.
My grandfather died many years ago. It is touching – and right – that what he and millions of others went through on behalf of their countries, and what many more have done so since, should not be forgotten.
The three old gents in their wheelchairs today helped make sure they are not.
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