Gagged

I arrived in pouring rain at North Weald Airfield early this morning. It's celebrating its 100th anniversary this year but today Epping Forest District Council had organised a service of commemoration for the Battle of the Somme. The trench that had been dug was realistically filling with water. The service started with taped sounds of battle and a smoke generator discreetly added to the atmosphere. I sang lustily at first.

Councillor Gagan Mohindra read On Somme by Ivor Gurney. I could hear a skylark singing. I read in the programme that Gurney suffered terribly from shell shock after the war. I could sing no more. Tears and raindrops mingled on my cheeks. My grandfather served in The Great War. He too suffered from shell-shock and eventually took his own life. 

The shame. The shame of suffering from mental illness. The shame on the family of suicide. My forebears were gagged. My sisters and I know next to nothing of our grandfather. I grieved today for him, for us, for my parents, who married against the wishes of my mother's family who warned her of a tendency to mental illness on my father's side. I grieved also for all affected by war.