Answer:
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Explanation:
On the 4th August 1914, Britain declared war on Germany and the First World War began in earnest. It drew in people from every continent, killing millions and bringing down empires. But did we learn our lesson?
A symbolic picture of the First World War
Last week, I flew back from London across the channel and the Belgium coast to my home in Germany. High up in the sky, I looked down on a calm Europe, the patchwork of fields twinkling in the sun.
I then turned to talk to my German husband. We looked together at pictures of a new installation at the Tower of London to mark the centenary of the outbreak of war and, as always, the poppies brought a lump to my throat, remembering the bloodshed, death and destruction that they symbolize.
A picture of the war cemetery in Alsace.
Europe is calm now but have we learnt our lessons?
The striking red ceramic poppies flowing across the lawns on the banks of the river Thames are a poignant reminder that the world really was a very different place for our great grandparents. My marriage would never have come into being for a start, or if it had, it would have been brutally ripped apart.
Opposing sides
Our great grandfathers fought on opposing sides in the so called Great War. Facing unemployment in the early part of the twentieth century, my great grandfather joined the Royal Marines and was sent to fight at Gallipoli – he thankfully returned. He kept a diary which my uncle has now, his experiences pawed over by our family for clues to what life was like for him then.
A picture from Alsace in 1918.
Death and destruction was a reality for our great grandfathers just 100 years ago.
My husband Maik's great grandfather was a railway-man and so perhaps, luckily for him, he was in charge of building the rails that transported the big guns for the artillery to the front in France which he then operated at Verdun. The big guns were positioned behind the front lines and although they, too, suffered casualties, Maik's great grandfather managed to return home as well.
One Christmas I sat with Werner, Maik's dad, as he got out his memory box and showed me photos and postcards that Maik's great granddad sent home from Verdun. We looked at his conscription book and at postcards where he talked about what he had seen in France outside of the battle. We still have a knife which he took from a farmhouse in France as the army retreated, so desperate were they for something to eat and for something to cut the bread and cheese that they had purloined.
