Remember...The War to End All Wars

This past Spring I made the journey to Ypres, Belgium to tour the many monuments and battlefields that stand in remembrance of the First World War. Known also as the Great War, an estimated 66,000 Canadians lost their lives fighting for the Allied Powers. Now, 100 years after the first official acts of war were conducted, many nations across this world are embroiled in their own battles. It’s the curse of history that those who forget it are doomed to repeat it. I understand the need, the desire, to draw comparisons between now and what occurred a hundred years ago – it’s human nature to try to find some sort of comfort in familiarity, even if it’s a horrible, deadly familiarity. But today, I don’t look at the comparisons to the conflicts in the Ukraine and Gaza. Today, I look solely at the Great War.

German War Cemetery of Langemark

There are three things that stand out to me about my trek to Ypres. Three moments of time that will forever be etched in my memory. The first is the German War Cemetery of Langemark. The first of many stops along the tour I was a part of, Langemark is a morbid and isolating look at the German side of the war. Germany was the aggressor, the enemy, and the people of Belgium, unsurprisingly, are less sympathetic to the German soldiers who died on Belgium soil. Even so, this little plot of land exists in West Flanders and provides a resting place for 44,000 German soldiers, including 3,000 university students who died during the First Battle of Ypres (also called “Kindermord” in German). It’s a beautiful place, surrounded by towering oak trees, but lacks the openness and, honestly, the warmth, one finds at the Commonwealth cemeteries in the same area. Walking along the grave markers, I note about 8 names per grave, some named, some not. A mass grave welcomes visitors, a grave that holds almost 25,000 soldiers.

Site of the Mass Grave at Langemark

 It’s sad. These too were men and boys, fathers and husbands, brothers and sons. Where most soldiers on the Allied side have their own graves in the Commonwealth cemeteries, these men must share a resting place with others. As I walk through the cemetery my heart aches and tears well in my eyes (much like they do right now as I remember). I have German ancestry – my father was born a German citizen just as the Second World War was ending. My heart reaches out to those buried here due to some, however vague, tie to my heritage. The sacrifice, not just by Allied soldiers, but by German soldiers is haunting.

Tyne Cot Cemetery

The second memory, of course, is of Tyne Cot Cemetery, the largest Commonwealth cemetery in the world.

Canadian graves are marked by a Maple Leaf

I think the magnificence of the site is particularly highlighted once one has visited Langemark. Perfect lines of white headstones. Beautifully manicured lawns. Countless bouquets of flowers, some left by visitors, some planted in the soil.

The Tyne Cot Memorial lists names of soldiers lost in the Great War. The Cross of Sacrifice stands on top of a German pill box, flanked by three others left over from the war as a reminder of what took place on the soil the visitors stand upon.

Much like I did at Langemark, I walk along the graves, now noting the graves of fallen Canadian soldiers and the vast number that are unnamed. My initial reaction to this is guilt. Why do I only look at the Canadian markers? Don’t those from other nations deserve my notice, my attention?

But I push that thought aside, rationalizing my actions as those of some kind of patriotism; others from all over the world visit their soldiers and remember them. I will remember the Canadians. And I do. I walk through the cemetery whispering under my breath, “I will remember you. I will remember you. I will remember you.” Even more tears come to my eyes and I am thankful for my sunglasses. 

My breath catches in my throat. 18 years old. 22 years old. 22 years old. 25 years old. 19 years old. These boys are my age and younger.  These would have been my classmates. My friends. My first loves. This beautiful, serene country side now hides its horrible, dark, painful past; even with the stones to remind me, it’s hard to imagine these men, these boys dying here.

Finally, I will always remember what the people of Ypres give back to those who fell to save their city. In 1927, the triumphal arch at Menin Gate was revealed as a memorial to British and Commonwealth soldiers who died in the Great War. It’s a towering reminder of the First World War.

Picture from Wikipedia

 Names of missing soldiers, whose remains were never found, are listed on its walls. To this day, remains are found in fields in Belgium and if these remains can be identified, the name of the soldier is removed from the Menin Gate and he is given proper burial in an appropriate cemetery. This arch in itself is enough to give you pause, but it’s the actions that occur under the arch that I will never forget.

Since July 2, 1928, the people of Ypres sound the “Last Post” every single evening as a reminder of what was lost during the First World War. The road is closed, buglers take their positions and wreaths are placed along the steps of the Gate. This memorial event takes place every night. Every single night. It only paused during the Second World War when the area was occupied by Germany.

The Buglers take their places.

A wall with Canadian names

Witnessing this event is, for lack of a better term, inspiring. I don’t know why that word is what comes to my mind, but it does. These people, one hundred years removed from this war, still take the time to thank the foreign soldiers who came to their aid. When Canada’s last known World War I veteran died in 2010, the Canadian government did little to mark his passing except issue a news release thanking him for his service. The people of Ypres take almost an hour, every single day, to honour our fallen soldiers.

Following the ceremony, my mother and I lay simple crosses and Canadian flags at the base of a wall with Canadian names etched in it. I bow my head. Even though my ties to God are fleeting, at best, I offer a little prayer for these men, asking Him to embrace them, thank them, and tell them, “I will remember you.”

One hundred years ago, the Allied Powers went to war with Germany. Millions of people died: 66,000 from Canada and Newfoundland, 13,000 from Belgium, 908,000 from the United Kingdom, 1.3 million from France and 1.7 million from the German Empire. All in all, estimates indicate that about 8.5 million people lost their lives during the Great War. But this number does not begin to tell the full story. During war, casualties include not just those who die, but those who are injured as well. All in all, there were an estimated 37.5 million casualties during World War I, almost 60% of the forces that were mobilized to fight. Those numbers are catastrophic. Those numbers are hard to comprehend in a world where we largely measure the dead by the tens, or in the worst cases, hundreds. (Statistics Source)

One hundred years following Germany’s violation of Belgium’s sovereignty, I sit, staring at a computer screen doing something, however little it may be, to mark this anniversary. 

To remember.