Lest we forget

I make no apology today for talking about remeberance day. I want to dedicate this blog to Cpl James Fox my gt gt uncle. He was born in the tiny Shropshire village of Leebotwood in 1896 the fifth of six children of Thomas Fox who was an agricultural labourer. His mother Emma died two years later giving birth to his brother Henry. By 1911 he was working as a ploughman in the nearby village of Smethcott. The fact that he was a ploughman at the age of 15 shows that he must have been above averagely capable. I don't know when, or more importantly, why he joined the KSLI (Kings Shropshire Light Infantry) but when he married in October 1915 he was called a soldier on his wedding certificate. I have seen his army record and he appears to have done nothing out of the ordinary . On the morning of 16th Feb he was killed while serving in the Somme, again his record only has the bare fact .He had been married for 14 weeks.

                                            Smethcott Church

I have not been able to find out what happened to his widow, but hope she eventually found happiness. Everything that I have found out about him, which is all from official documents, was presented as matter of fact, which makes it sadder in a way. You get no sense of him as a person, only as a name rank and number, he was never awarded a medal or was mentioned in despatches. My mother, whose Uncle he was, never mentioned him, nor did her father, his cousin. Whether they had forgotten or whether it was something that was not talked about I don't know but had I not come across the memorial in the church his sacrifice would have gone unnoticed. Cpl Fox , for me, stands as an everyman who died in that terrible slaughter.

                                           The War Memorial in the Churchyard

On days like this it is worth spending a few moments thinking about the ordinary blokes, who in many cases did extraordinary things to make this country what it is today. We cannot know if wanting to make this country a better place was his reason for joining up, conscription was not a law at the time; he joined,
as a volunteer, or whether it was an adventure to escape his, doubtless, humdrum existance on the farm.

The memorial stands in the churchyard, which is set on a hill a mile out of the village . It has heartbreaking views of the Shropshire countryside over to the Stretton hills. Even a hardened old peacemonger like me swallowed hard when I stood there for a few minutes, back in August ,thinking about those brave men, those scared men, those family men, those brothers, sons, boyfriends and mates.