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Friday, November 11, 2022
World War I
This Doughboy from World War I is reading a pocket size book in a trench.
My maternal grandfather was a Spanish volunteer in the French Army in WW1. He served the entire duration of that war 1914-1918. The stories he would tell. Bad times, seeing dear freinds killed. Good times, the Armistice. The bitterness that one was drawn into a world war because of the vanity and hypocrisy of Europes royal families. They live it up, while young people they could care less about die. My grandfather was of the opinion that all the monarchies should have been abolished and those bastard kings put on trial. The time his unit built an officers club for those officers who were denied entry into the regular officers clubs because they were not caucasian. (France had officers from their colonies ie Indochina, West Africa, Caribbean) His unit was made up of Spanish, Portugese, Italian, Greek, Armenian, Polish, Irish and yes German expatriats fighting for La Belle France. He ended up being one of the cooks because he was one of the few that knew how to cook. And yes, he learned to cook all the cuisines of his comrades. They loved his Galician stew his grandfather taught him to cook in Spain. The diversions of war, the Polish soldier who would play his violin, the Greek who could dance up a storm, the Italian who could have given Caruso a run for his money, the Irish kid who could draw like one of the masters. The cheesecake pictures on the wall of a tent or the crags of a trench, of Musidora of France and Asta Nielsen of Denmark. The day you could take a descent bath, or watch the sun rise or set. The realities of war, the Italian, the Greek, the Irish kid and the Polish soldier they all died. Insult to injury after the war, th French government would only recognize the contributions of French citizens and not the expatriates. So they received no medals, no benefits for their efforts on defending France. rj /ie
My maternal grandfather was a Spanish volunteer in the French Army in WW1.
ReplyDeleteHe served the entire duration of that war 1914-1918. The stories he would tell.
Bad times, seeing dear freinds killed. Good times, the Armistice. The bitterness that one was drawn into a world war because of the vanity and hypocrisy of Europes royal families. They live it up, while young people they could care less about die. My grandfather was of the opinion that all the monarchies should have been abolished and those bastard kings put on trial.
The time his unit built an officers club for those officers who were denied entry into the regular officers clubs because they were not caucasian.
(France had officers from their colonies ie Indochina, West Africa, Caribbean)
His unit was made up of Spanish, Portugese, Italian, Greek, Armenian, Polish, Irish and yes German expatriats fighting for La Belle France.
He ended up being one of the cooks because he was one of the few that knew how to cook. And yes, he learned to cook all the cuisines of his comrades.
They loved his Galician stew his grandfather taught him to cook in Spain.
The diversions of war, the Polish soldier who would play his violin, the Greek who could dance up a storm, the Italian who could have given Caruso a run for his money, the Irish kid who could draw like one of the masters.
The cheesecake pictures on the wall of a tent or the crags of a trench, of Musidora of France and Asta Nielsen of Denmark.
The day you could take a descent bath, or watch the sun rise or set.
The realities of war, the Italian, the Greek, the Irish kid and the Polish soldier they all died. Insult to injury after the war, th French government would only recognize the contributions of French citizens and not the expatriates. So they received no medals, no benefits for their efforts on defending France. rj /ie