Back to writing again

The impetus for writing again was the NEAT14 festival which is drawing special attention to the fact it is approaching 100 years since the first world war.

I started to look into the breadth of vibrant events covering this and other subjects in the festival-

http://neatfestival.co.uk/2014/festival-diary

It got me thinking about the topics I covered in my last post- wanting to do and see the best for Alex and my sake, for the good of our minds.

In addition to this, I was thinking of my own mother Barbara Pacey, (nee Sharlot) and the life experiences she has passed on to me. The roots of where I and Alex have come from.

It led me to want to tell the story of her father Harry George Sharlot who actually served in the first world war.  Most times we are asked to remember those that served in wartime we are thinking of those who died in the line of duty, and rightly so.  However this chap was one who served, fought bravely, suffered as a result and most importantly survived.  This is someone I actually knew, and have fond  memories of.

He was born in 1898 in Coventry and on leaving school at 14, went "into service" ie was a servant to landed gentry.  My mother has said it was somewhere in Scotland, but we don't know many finer details of his early life.  Then on growing taller, aged sixteen he started work on the railway as a guard.

His Baptism record

Aged seventeen, he wanted to volunteer to join the British Army and went along to queue up with the other young men of his community.  The recruiting officer asked him if he was eighteen yet, as they could only take men over this age. The queue of people meant that the Army weren't meticulously checking the young men's identities and ages with id-documents as would be the normal expectation today. Harry said he was just short of the age requirement, the officer nodded at him to indicate he should rejoin the queue. So he did, and the second time said he was eighteen- and was enlisted.

Enlisting document

He became Private HG Sharlot of the Coldstream Guards- he trained and in among postings for sentry duty at Buckingham Palace, fought as a sniper in the trenches. We know he had suffered trench-foot at some point due to the living conditions for the men- however he absolutely refused to talk about his experiences (as was the "done thing" for men of his time).

It is my hope that the piece "All Quiet on the Western Front" from the NEAT14 festival will help me to better understand the conditions and emotions that were at the forefront of peoples lives at the time, being told from the point of view of a German soldier.  It explores the theme of stagnation and the insignificance of the individual during the war.

A Coldstream guard sentry

It seems almost unthinkable to modern times not to share experiences and stories of what was witnessed.  We should remember that communications and transportation were very different to now, and that people rarely moved outside of their immediate community unless out of necessity (such as seeking employment), never mind going abroad.  In addition attitudes to emotions were very different- the over riding idea of the age was that you would not feel so bad about the horror of what was seen if you didn't make yourself re-live it by talking about it.  Keeping silent on war experiences was meant to keep the horrors seen, on the battlefield and not bring them with you to civilian life.

Harry suffered a head injury from schrapnel and went back from the front to be treated and recover in the military hospital in, family have said was in Rhyl, Wales.  A google search indicates that this hospital was within an Army training camp called Kinmel Park Camp.

Pictures of this army camp can be seen on:

http://www.flickr.com/search/?q=kinmel+park+camp&f=hp

It was during his time in hospital that his mother and sisters came on the train to visit him from Coventry.  During this train journey they got into conversation with Ethel Mary Carnell who was from Ongar in Essex . She was born in 1902 (died in Long Eaton in 1981), and had been in service in London. It is said that the Sharlot sisters offered Ethel to stay with them in Coventry when she needed to look for work as there was a factory that produced coils of copper wire for radio communications.

Whilst in Rhyl she met Harry who she eventually married. They produced four children, one of whom was Barbara, my mother.

From left- son David, Harry, daughter Barbara (my mum) and son Geoffrey
eldest daughter Joyce took the photo, and Joyce's children Nigel, Gavin and baby Hillary surround Ethel

Like I said above, this was a man I knew when I was a small child.  My memories of him are brought up every time I smell fresh tomatoes growing in a greenhouse (and no shop bought ones ever have this exact smell) and of a match lighting pipe tobacco.  I remember the sugar lumps he used to spoil us with from a container that looked like a mini coal scuttle.  Back as a little girl I had no concept of war, of the life he must have seen- I just knew I loved my Grandad, a kind family-centered man.  As a grown woman I begin to realise the great debt we owe to him and his peers.

Time to blog again....

After a prolonged break I have decided that it time to blog again.  I want to extend the ideas and opinions fizzing away in my head to share with people again. I don't consider myself a “creative” or an arty person, so why should I write?

I have undergone a profound shift in my outlook since my son Alex was born last December.  It has made me question and re-evaluate my creativity and why it matters.

Having a baby might not seem such an unexpected turn of events for a woman in her mid thirties.The unexpected part for me was the essential shift inside.

Motherhood has thrust me into a new world- shops I would never have gone to before, articles I never would have read before, and groups I would never have considered joining. My thoughts, feelings and opinions have gained a new prominence because I now have my baby's experience of life to take into consideration. Am I showing him the right things? Modeling the right behaviour? Spending our time together wisely?

As children we are taken on outing and trips (if we are fortunate) to museums, galleries, libraries and historic sites. We might question why but on the whole accept that these things are things we need to see and experience for our growth and education. Such things give us memories and knowledge to feed our current ideas, opinions and aspirations for the future.

Adults get to opt out- just as we get the freedom to eat ice cream for breakfast and not sensibly feed our bodies, we also are no longer required by others to feed our minds sensibly. Adults without children tend to go on far fewer outings, in my experience. We take for granted the knowledge and memories that going on such visits give us, in addition to the daily grind of our responsibilities with work and domestic chores taking up so much valuable time.

I remember clearly how it felt to hold my son for the first time, and to learn to feed him in his first few days. I have a responsibility now to feed myself, not only for me but for him too. My actions are a model for him, and my language and tone have a direct bearing on his experience of life. Never before have I felt that what I said and did had such an impact.

I want to be able to show him beautiful and interesting things, the unexpected, a view through someone else’s eyes. It will educate and be good for him- and I suspect for me too. My love for him wants the best I can find to see and do. This means finding out about events, about what people have created, and the topics that inspire them. I will form my opinions, gain new knowledge and make memories with my family because these things now matter.

I am not arty, but look here.... I wrote this blog post, I created something.

I will in the coming days share with you the reason I was spurred into action to write again.  It feels exciting to me and I hope you will indulge me by looking out for my next posts in good humor.