Official British WW I Journals On Line

The British National Archives has announced that in this 100th year anniversary of the beginning of WW I,  (August), that official journals, required to be kept by each unit, will be put on-line as they are digitized.  These are not personal diaries which, if available, are at the Imperial War Museum, but those kept by officers and adjutants per orders.  It is fascinating, therefore, to see direct, unexpurgated descriptions of the events and conditions.

It looks like they are not browseable as yet.  Searches can be done by unit name or number and much of the work is being done buy crowd-sourcing so by volunteering  to categorize you can read through the section you are assigned.

Those I can see are more like ships’ logs, lists of events and observations day by day.  The one excerpt quoted in several newspapers gives a misleading idea of what will be found, as it is in fact a private diary kept by Capt. James Paterson, First Battalion South Wales Borderers.

“Trenches, bits of equipment, clothing (probably blood-stained), ammunition, tools, caps, etc, etc, everywhere. Poor fellows shot dead are lying in all directions. Some of ours,” he said.

“Everywhere the same hard, grim, pitiless sign of battle and war. I have had a belly full of it.”

“One is very likely to kill one’s own men, and from wounds I have seen since, I am sure some of them were hit like this.”

BBC and NYTimes and the Times of India

WW I Photo cover

Steven Erlanger mentions three recent histories of the war — with many more to come:

The three most prominent books so far have been by Christopher Clark, “The Sleepwalkers: How Europe Went to War in 1914,” which was quoted at a summit meeting by Chancellor Angela Merkel of Germany; Margaret MacMillan, “The War That Ended Peace: The Road to 1914”; and Max Hastings, “Catastrophe 1914: Europe Goes to War.” But this is just an early skirmish: Publishers plan many more, including novels and the reissuing of classics like Barbara Tuchman’s “The Guns of August” and Erich Maria Remarque’s “All Quiet on the Western Front.”



WW I in Paris: Murder in Aurora

The Past Recaptured (1932), the US title and Frederick Blossom translation of Le Temps retrouvé, is the seventh volume of Marcel Proust’s immortal  Remembrance of Things Past, [more recently In Search of Lost Time: À la recherche du temps perdu – you decide.]  In Great Britain the translator was Stephen Hudson (psuedonym for  Sydney Schiff) and the title, Time Regained (1931).  I find the Blossom translation more felicitous but that’s not my point here.

A good portion of the novel concerns the experience of WW I on his menageries of characters, mostly in Paris, but in rural Combray and Tansonville as well. Here he is talking about the literary-political salons held every evening in the circle of which he is a member.

 They certainly thought of these hecatombs of regiments annihilated and passengers swallowed by the waves; but there is a law of inverse proportion which multiplies to such an extent anything that concerns our own welfare and divides by such a formidable figure anything that does not concern it, that the death of unknown millions is felt by us as the most insignificant of sensations, hardly as disagreeable as a draft.  Mme. Verdurin, who suffered even more from her headaches now that she could no longer get croissants to dip in her breakfast coffee, had eventually obtained a prescription from Cottard permitting her to have them specially made in a certain restaurant of which we have spoken. This had been almost as difficult to wangle with the authorities as the appointment of a general. The first of these special croissants arrived on the morning on which the newspapers reported the sinking of the Lusitania.  As she dipped it in her coffee and gave a series of little flicks to her newspaper with one hand so as to make it stay open without having to remove her other hand from the cup, “How horrible!” she said.  “This is something more horrible than the most terrible stage tragedy!”  But the death of all those drowned people must have been reduced a thousand million times before it impinged upon her, for even as, with her mouth full, she made these distressful observations, the expression which spread over her face, brought there (one must suppose) by the savor of that so precious remedy against headaches, the croissant, was in fact one of satisfaction and pleasure.”

This passage came to mind as I read about the murders in Aurora, Colorado, as hundreds of thousands of others were also reading, all of us, as Proust tells us, with the enormity of it reduced by a factor of several millions, depending on our distance from any of the victims — or the centrality of a certain ideology as spokespersons, or adherents of the National Rifle Association were quick to demonstrate.

It has seemed to me for decades that one of our greatest failings as human beings is the failure of the imagination.  Most of us are unable to imagine the consequences of a shooting, or a war, and so we proceed, lathered in our own grievances, or in patriotism, to do, or approve,  the most terrible act of all — taking the lives of those we do not know and can not imagine.

Read more of this post