A very important event took place 106 years ago today. On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in the year 1918, there was an armistice which heralded the end of the First World War. This had been the worst war the world had ever witnessed with huge loss of life especially among soldiers many of whom were teenagers or in their twenties. For four years there had been a stalemate on the Western Front in France and Belgium with both sides unable to make progress. Day after day shells were shot into the enemy trenches causing horrific injuries. It was a war where lives of young men on both sides were needlessly slaughtered.
When war was declared in 1914, there was a great surge of patriotism and many young men rushed to volunteer for the armed forces. They wanted their share of the action before the war ended as it was widely expected that the Germans would be defeated by Christmas 1914. However, by 1916, many of these young men were injured or lying dead on the devastated battlefield. As there was a shortage of manpower, the British Government introduced conscription which meant that young men were required to register for the armed services. There were some men who, for political or religious reasons, had a conscience about fighting. They were known as conscientious objectors and they were labelled as cowards and traitors in their communities and some were put in prison for the duration of the war.
My grandfather and his younger brothers were conscientious objectors and they suffered for their stance. As a boy I used to hear stories of the mistreatment of COs (Conscientious Objectors) in prison. When I was teaching this topic to my history classes, many of my pupils found it hard to sympathise with conscientious objectors and they had some admiration for the women who distributed white feathers to those men who were not in uniform. I have searched my heart to answer a question which has plagued me for most of my adult life. Would I have been prepared to fight or would I have been a conscientious objector? I can appreciate the anger at those who were unwilling to take up arms. I have every respect and admiration for the many who gave their lives on the battlefield. However, I can also understand the horror for a Christian having to kill the enemy - usually by machine gun fire or by sending explosive shells into the enemy lines.
One thing I would like to point out is that probably none of the young men who found themselves in the trenches in the Western Front could begin to explain why this war had broken out. In the early 1970s, I studied the causes of World War One when I was a student in the Department of Modern History at Glasgow University. I have read many scholarly books, but I still find it baffling that the assassination of an Archduke of Austria-Hungary should spark off this world war. As we remember those who gave their lives in this conflict and those who have given their lives in so many conflicts since then, I thought I would share this short extract from a book written by a Christian who saw this war as an opportunity to serve the Lord.
Here is an extract from a book called, Stranger than Fiction by J.H. Brown.
The first of these stories takes us back to the First World War of 1914 to 1918. I had been a Christian for about a year and six months when that war began, and I was between eighteen and nineteen years of age. I wanted to be clear about what part I would need to play in that World Conflict, so I prayed a great deal for guidance. Eventually, I felt I had the mind of the Lord about it. I had already passed many exams in First Aid Work and Casualty Work of various kinds. Someone would have to care for the many soldiers who would be wounded, maimed for life, minus limbs, blinded; and if gave myself to that kind of war service I would doubtless have many opportunities of bringing before them their need of Christ as Saviour. I would not only be caring for their bodies but also for their precious souls. So I volunteered to serve in The Royal Army Medical Corps. When they knew the details of my training in medical work, they did not send me for further training but posted me to the Embarkation Staff at Southampton Docks.
For many months I was occupied in the work of removing the wounded from the Red Cross Ships to the Red Cross Trains, and these took them to hospitals situated in many parts of England, Scotland and Wales. The work was always heartbreaking because so many of the men were in a pitiful condition. Many still had the blood-stained dressings on, it had not been possible to give them further treatment. Some the men were practically in three pieces, and we hardly knew how to lift them from the beds to get them on to a stretcher. When some big advance had taken place, we were kept at this work day and night; those wounded men had to be got to some hospital as soon as possible. I always had a few tracts and a few of the Gospel of John in my pocket to give to the men, and I was ready to have a few words with them, but it was not at all easy in those circumstances. Later on I had a spell on one of the Red Cross Trains, and although every moment seemed to be occupied caring for the men in one way or another, I always had a tract and a Gospel of John in the paper-rack above each bed. On the longer trips of up to 18 hours duration, there were many opportunities to talk to the men.
In addition to the work in the ward, I also had to be ready to work in the small operating theatre on the train. There were many small emergency operations that had to be performed, sometimes rather a critical one, and for this the train would have to come to a standstill. Secondary haemorrhage was what we were always on the lookout for, and which was usually well advanced before it was detected.
[From a book I was given after the death of our much loved brother, Harry Strang from Maddiston. The book is called Stranger than Fiction by J.H. Brown. ]
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