My mother’s name was Smith. Her father, Pete Smith, was killed in the First World War so, of course I never met him. I’m not even sure I saw a picture of him. There was a medal, but that’s all I remember.
He was Canadian so I tried to look him up at the Imperial War Museum in London. There was a guy at the computer doing his own checking and I asked him if he’d be long. “No, it doesn’t take long,” he said, “unless the name is Smith”. All the main characters in the 1969 film “Oh what a lovely war” were named Smith. That’s also the name Orwell gave to his tragic hero of “1984” Winston Smith. That’s because he is Everyman, symbolized by the most common English name. The end of the film is as powerful and poignant as any anti-war movie. Young Private Smith follows a red ribbon through the signing of the Armistice , past his now all-female family picnicking to lie down in the grass alongside other young men—the last soldier to die in WWI. But not the last young man to die in battle. There is a large sign in the Imperial War Museum that says: Over 100 million people died in war in the 20th Century.
One of my favorite poets, Phillip Larkin, wrote;
…Courage is no good: it means not scaring others.
Being brave lets no one off the grave:
Death is no different whining at than withstood.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave. I confess to being very cowardly about this. I can’t even look at the hopeful young faces on the Honor Roll of the dead at the end of the PBS News Hour. To me, they’re all Smiths.
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