Shells in the Mud

I've been busy lately trying to find out about an old relative of mine. In 1917, he was killed in Flanders around the time of the Battle of Passchendaele. He was the oldest of thirteen children having been born in 1898, making him only 19 when he died. For anybody who doesn't know, Passchendaele (or the 3rd battle of Ypres) was one of the bloodiest of the entire war with somewhere in the region of 250,000 British and Allied casualties. The Germans are said to have lost about 400,000 although they've never confirmed it. My Great Uncle was killed on 27th August during a lull in the fighting but there wasn't enough left to bury him and the only resting place he has is on a wall at Tyne Cot cemetary in Belgium. One day I hope to go over there and pay my respects to what was after all, a boy.

There is a church in east London with a memorial with him on it and also a junior school around the corner that I've arranged to visit on Friday. The office staff have told me that they'll try and look up any old school records from the time so here's hoping!

"At the going down of the sun, and in the morning.....

We will remember them"