Letter To An Unknown Soldier: A New Kind of War Memorial. Kate Pullinger

weeks leading up to the centenary of the outbreak of the First World War. They give us a glimpse of what it means to remember a war that is no longer within lived experience; what it means to remember what cannot in fact be remembered.

      Remembrance is usually conducted in silence. This memorial is made of voices – numerous, various, contradictory, heart-broken, angry, sentimental and true.

      Neil Bartlett and Kate Pullinger,

      November 2014

Letters to an Unknown Soldier

      Dear Unknown Soldier

      Imagine you could read my letter now and see how far the world has come since you were fighting in the war. You may have been Unknown then but not now because you have millions of people writing you letters in which most of them are expressing their feelings for you and saying how much of a good person you are.

      If I could meet you now there would be so many questions I would ask you but for now here are just 3.

      1. What was your family like?

      2. What did you like to do?

      3. Who were you fighting for?

      Shane Cook

      14, London, Holloway School

      Dear Owen

      Your mother called today, I wish I’d been out.

      Anyway I made her welcome.

      She sat in your chair, I don’t know if she was trying to make a point.

      You were very quick off the mark to sign up with your pals.

      Not a thought for me or the kids.

      Why didn’t you take all the clothes I’d laid out for you?

      You’ve only got one pair of smart trousers.

      The heavy thick coat is still where you left it.

      Your mother said you’ll catch your death, what do I care?

      And you’ve left the back gate off its hinge, well I’m not going to fix it.

      Anyway I will send you the back pages of this week’s Gazette Times.

      Mind you by the time you get it the runners and riders have already run.

      I saw the postman again today, I hung out the washing, as all the women do, we all watched him pass, then we all went back inside.

      God Bless.

      Mary

      Mary Moran

      Sheffield

      You don’t know me yet, but I have things to tell you. You’re about to go back, and I’m sorry to say it’s going to be worse than ever this time. You’re going to be wounded, I’m afraid. Very badly. But you’ll survive. You’ll make it home. You have to, you see. Forty years from now you’ll become my grandfather.

      Not that home will be a bed of roses. Wages will be down, and three men will fight for every job. At times you’ll be cold, and at times you’ll be hungry. And if you say anything, they’ll come at you with truncheons.

      And then it will get worse. There are some lean years coming. And I’m sorry, but along the way you’ll realise: the war didn’t end. It was just a lull. You’ll have to do it all again. This time your son will have to go, not you. You don’t know him yet, but you will. But don’t worry. He’ll get back too. He has to. You’re my grandfather, remember?

      And I’ll be born in a different world. There will be jobs for everyone. They’ll be building houses. You’ll go to the doctor whenever you want. I’ll go to school. I’ll get free orange juice. You’ll get free walking sticks. But most of all we’ll get peace. Finally, year after year. I will never go to war, you know. I will never have to. The first time I go to France will be a trip with my school.

      So go back now, and play your tiny part in the great drama, and sustain yourself by knowing: it comes out well in the end. I promise.

      Lee Child

      Writer

      Dear Soldier

      You are strong and brave. You are going to face unknown terrors because you have been told that you are protecting your home and family by fighting the threat of domination and oppression by a foreign foe.

      Your finest emotions of loyalty and courage have been subverted by power-hungry empire builders, both politicians and monarchs.

      The same lie has been perpetrated in France, Germany, Austria-Hungary and Russia, and will be spread across the globe.

      Consequently brave young men across the world have been led to believe that they are doing the right thing by killing one another.

      If you could see into the future you would know that this will happen time and again. Young men, and some women too, will be manipulated by those in power to commit murder for the sake of King and Country/the Fatherland/the Revolution, or for Jihad.

      You don’t have any quarrel with those young men who speak different languages and have different religious beliefs.

      I am asking you to be even more brave.

      TURN BACK.

      GO HOME.

      Show that you can see through the propaganda and that you are not prepared to kill or die for the greed and selfishness of the ruling class.

      Meantime, I wish you well and hope that you return safely, and don’t come back like my grandfather, whose mental and physical health were ruined after nearly four years at the front.

      With love,

      Anna Sandham

      Anna Sandham

      70, Oxford, Grandmother

       The letter I didn’t send

      Dearest Luke

      As I watched you walk away with all the other men, marching off to France, I thought I would die from pain. I wanted to wrench you out of that line, take you home to where you belong and know that you would always be safe, and always be you.

      This fighting is not for you. You have never been a violent person, you are the most kind and gentle man I have ever known and this will do violence to your soul. I am so afraid that you will come home with nothing behind your eyes but horror and a heart so bounded by stone and afraid of the worst that can happen to people. You would never let yourself love anyone again, through fear of the horror.

      I think I fear the damage to your soul as much as I fear you dying. How terrible it would be to live the rest of your life with nightmares, screaming terror and despair.

      May God be with you always,

      Mum xxxx

       The letter I did send

      Dearest Son

      How proud I was of you as you marched off to defend our country from the Germans, and how wonderful you looked in your uniform. We are all thinking of you, my dearest son, and of the adventures you will have in France. Maybe you will learn a little of the language and eat some wonderful food.

      You will be in my thoughts and prayers every minute of every day, my darling boy. Stay well and come home safe to us.

      I love you and may God bless you always,

      Mum xxx

      Sue Oxley

      64, Glastonbury, Mother

       For my father, who did fight in a war and who came home damaged in his soul.

      There