Remembering the Uncle Toms of all wars

This morning I had coffee over the phone with my aunt. Together we remembered her Dad/my Grandad who served in WW1.

We also talked about Uncle Tom. That's what Fay and Dad called Tom Mainprize. He was in the army with Grandad and like many soldiers, he returned home a broken man.

Tom was gased and was in and out of an asylum. When he was well my grandparents took him in. While he stayed with them Tom was mostly ok but there were times when Fay and Dad were told that Uncle Tom wasn't so well/good.

He had no family and nowhere to go and his friend looked after him. I'm glad that my grandparents took Tom into their home. I imagine it was at times stressful especially for Grandma when Grandad was at work and he was there with her.

Sadly Uncle Tom committed suicide. As Fay said, "it was the war that killed him". He was missed by the Pearces. She described him as "a nice fellow, a good man".

At university in the 80s I used to see scores of old alcoholic men living rough in Latimer Square, trying to live with what they'd seen, endured, and done in WW1. A friend who was a social worker at the City Mission worked with them. Their stories were harrowing.

War is terrible.

Today I've thought a lot about the Uncle Toms of every war. May they rest in peace and rise in glory.

I've done nowhere near the weeding I thought I'd do this weekend. I could have today but it was the sort of day that cried out for a bike ride. On the way home I stopped at the clock tower up in the township. The wreaths and messages left at the base are quite moving.

Today's gratitude: For the relative peace and freedom we know in NZ.