Fathers and Sons Read Online Free
Author: Richard Madeley
the time he reached sixteen, on 8 April 1913, his goal at last seemed to be, if not within reach, at least within sight. Five more years before he would be twenty-one and free of his father’s and William’s ‘arrangement’; free to rejoin his family abroad. What a year that was going to be! It would be the happiest, he was certain, of his whole life, the point where everything would come gloriously right at last. The date seemed to glow in warm, golden numerals whenever he thought of it.
Nineteen eighteen. The final, apocalyptic year of the Great War.
Chapter 2
FRANCE, FAMILY AND BETRAYAL
L ike most young men in 1914, my grandfather thought the outbreak of war with Germany was rather exciting. This scrap with the Kaiser had been a long time coming and it was time to get it over with. The Royal Navy and British Army were second to none. Our battleships, and an array of crack regiments battle-hardened by the wars of Empire, would swiftly carry the day. Everyone said so. The whole thing would be over by Christmas, and then things could get back to normal.
Rarely in British history has the national mood been so catastrophically at odds with impending reality. The delusion that the coming conflict would be swift, decisive and glorious pervaded every level of society. Young men–and not-so-young men–were falling over themselves to enlist, if necessary lying about their ages and medical conditions in order to fight for King and Country.
Enthusiasm to put on a uniform and pick up a gun ranthrough all the social classes. The influential and well-connected writer, Rudyard Kipling, pulled every string possible to have the son he adored, Jack, accepted for military service. Jack repeatedly failed army medicals because of chronic shortsightedness, but his father would not have his son denied the chance for glory and finally succeeded in wangling a commission for him.
Jack Kipling was killed as soon as he arrived in France. It was a pitiful death. Lost and stumbling somewhere in the mud and smoke of the trenches during an assault, he simply disappeared–he was virtually blind without his thick spectacles–and Rudyard was plunged into guilt and remorse that remained with him for the rest of his life.
The causes of the Great War are argued over to the present day, but it was fundamentally about empire. As a sea-going nation Britain was deeply unsettled by the rapidly growing German Navy, and this rivalry on the high seas was the engine that helped drive the world into madness. Tensions in Europe were so high by the summer of 1914 that it only took a single shot to ignite them into open war. On 28 June a Bosnian Serb assassinated the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne. There was immediate retaliation against Serbia and one by one a long chain of intricate alliances was activated. Declarations of war were tossed around like confetti and within weeks most European countries were at each other’s throats.
Hardly anyone really understood what had just happened but the British cheered enthusiastically anyway when war broke out. At least this was a chance to show the Germans who was boss. Jingoism was nothing to be ashamed of in 1914 Britain.
Life at Shawbury was largely unaffected at first. Geoffrey was seventeen now, and reckoned the whole shooting match would be over long before he got a sniff of the action. He continued to quietly put his shillings aside, and had no doubt that 1918 would see him departing, on schedule, to Quebec.
But disquieting rumours of unexpected setbacks on what had become known as the Western Front began to filter back. Newspapers–more people in Shawbury seemed to be reading them these days–persisted with their jingoistic, upbeat tone, but word of mouth was spreading as the first wounded began to straggle home. There were mutters that the British and French armies were stalled along hundreds of miles of snaking trenches and dugouts. Huge offensives to break the deadlock were being cut to pieces by
Nineteen eighteen. The final, apocalyptic year of the Great War.
Chapter 2
FRANCE, FAMILY AND BETRAYAL
L ike most young men in 1914, my grandfather thought the outbreak of war with Germany was rather exciting. This scrap with the Kaiser had been a long time coming and it was time to get it over with. The Royal Navy and British Army were second to none. Our battleships, and an array of crack regiments battle-hardened by the wars of Empire, would swiftly carry the day. Everyone said so. The whole thing would be over by Christmas, and then things could get back to normal.
Rarely in British history has the national mood been so catastrophically at odds with impending reality. The delusion that the coming conflict would be swift, decisive and glorious pervaded every level of society. Young men–and not-so-young men–were falling over themselves to enlist, if necessary lying about their ages and medical conditions in order to fight for King and Country.
Enthusiasm to put on a uniform and pick up a gun ranthrough all the social classes. The influential and well-connected writer, Rudyard Kipling, pulled every string possible to have the son he adored, Jack, accepted for military service. Jack repeatedly failed army medicals because of chronic shortsightedness, but his father would not have his son denied the chance for glory and finally succeeded in wangling a commission for him.
Jack Kipling was killed as soon as he arrived in France. It was a pitiful death. Lost and stumbling somewhere in the mud and smoke of the trenches during an assault, he simply disappeared–he was virtually blind without his thick spectacles–and Rudyard was plunged into guilt and remorse that remained with him for the rest of his life.
The causes of the Great War are argued over to the present day, but it was fundamentally about empire. As a sea-going nation Britain was deeply unsettled by the rapidly growing German Navy, and this rivalry on the high seas was the engine that helped drive the world into madness. Tensions in Europe were so high by the summer of 1914 that it only took a single shot to ignite them into open war. On 28 June a Bosnian Serb assassinated the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne. There was immediate retaliation against Serbia and one by one a long chain of intricate alliances was activated. Declarations of war were tossed around like confetti and within weeks most European countries were at each other’s throats.
Hardly anyone really understood what had just happened but the British cheered enthusiastically anyway when war broke out. At least this was a chance to show the Germans who was boss. Jingoism was nothing to be ashamed of in 1914 Britain.
Life at Shawbury was largely unaffected at first. Geoffrey was seventeen now, and reckoned the whole shooting match would be over long before he got a sniff of the action. He continued to quietly put his shillings aside, and had no doubt that 1918 would see him departing, on schedule, to Quebec.
But disquieting rumours of unexpected setbacks on what had become known as the Western Front began to filter back. Newspapers–more people in Shawbury seemed to be reading them these days–persisted with their jingoistic, upbeat tone, but word of mouth was spreading as the first wounded began to straggle home. There were mutters that the British and French armies were stalled along hundreds of miles of snaking trenches and dugouts. Huge offensives to break the deadlock were being cut to pieces by
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