Portraits of the Great War
by Françoise Gourronc
What do you see when you look at this picture?
It talks to me in a very personal way. My first thought is: This is what life looks like. Maybe not yours but mine.
One of those broken soldiers is my paternal grandfather. I exist because he survived.
The picture was taken in December 1914 in a field hospital in Roulers (Roeselare) in Belgian Flanders. It shows some of the few survivors of the battle of Dixmude (Diksmuid-the Battle of Yser). The regiment of the naval fusiliers from Brittany (with the red pompom on the top of their naval beret) was send to fight alongside a company of recruits from Senegal and the Belgian army.
Their effort focused on protecting Dunkirk and blocking the German army’s progress in the race to the sea. You can see the remnant of a troupe of young seamen missing in action and abandoned in the Belgian plains behind the enemy lines.
Once they were able to be transported, they were sent for the rest of the war to a POW camp in the town of Munster (Westphalia-Germay). Joseph, sitting in the grass on the left, was going to turn 25, he would return home three years later in December 1918.
In 1922, he married my grandmother Jeanne, and had kids. He kept his medals in a metallic box, complained about his missing toes when trying to walk for too long and never talked about the war again. He was too aware that the one who wins is the one who returns home alive and well enough to have a future.
He raised himself out of poverty, was a very involved father and husband until the end. On May 11, 1940, he lost his battle with mycobacterium tuberculosis as the Nazi army entered Belgium and France.
This is my maternal grandfather Ludovic, in 1913. He married my grandmother Regina. As this picture was taken, they had just welcomed their first child Eugenie. He was 26 years old when he enlisted as a volunteer in the 154th Infantry at the end of 1914.
He was a sweet man who never meant to fight in a war. Before every offensive, he was loaded with alcohol to numb his fear—but not long enough to develop severe alcoholism.
In July of 1915, he was gassed in the trenches of the Argonne Forest (Bois de Gruerie). After several months in a hospital in Paris, he was able to return home to his family in 1916. He would have three more children, including my mom.
He was convinced it was “la der des der” the war to end all wars. He could not process the cruelty he had faced. He had nightmares for decades to come.
On May 11, 1940, he cried, took a deep breath, and went to help his new neighbors prepare for Joseph’s funeral.
My brothers knew and adored him, he was a great-grandpa. He passed away in 1963.
If he had not made it home safe and sound, I would not be here to tell you about him.
This is Rene my great Uncle (and Ludovic’s brother-in-law). In 1914, he volunteered in the 136th infantry, at 31 years old. Shipped to the front, he left behind his wife Leonie and his daughter Denise. In 1916, at the first battle of the Somme, he was shell-shocked during one of the offensives. He lived until 1960 but never recovered mentally. Denise was his only child. Not everybody got the chance to come back with wounds that could be healed.
Every November, I think about them and my heart sinks.
More than 15 million dead.
More than 20 million wounded.
And how many more in the wars to come?
Francoise Gourronc
Francoise Gourronc was born in France, on the coast of Brittany. After a B.S. in Cell Biology and a Masters in Bioengineering, she received a PhD in Biochemistry. She came to the US as a Postdoctoral Research Fellow.
She has worked more than 2 decades at the Universities of Wisconsin and Iowa, studying how infectious agents or toxic compounds can affect human health.
She is a strong advocate for more sustainable practices in all aspects of our lives.
Find out more about Mary Swander, her books, plays, and podcasts at:
http://www.maryswander.com
I am delighted to be part of the Iowa Writers Collaborative. Read our work in the Sunday Round-Up:
Thank for Francoise Gourronc for this post that is timely not only because tomorrow is Armistice Day/Remembrance Day/Veteran's Day but because so many people's lives are still affected by wars past and present. My grandfather was a chaplain in France in World War One and my father was stationed in France in World War Two. I never knew my grandfather. Like many of his generation and since, my father never spoke of what he experienced during the war. Thank you for sharing the stories of your grandfathers and your great uncle. May we remember.
This is wonderful, Francoise!
I love the way Europe doesn't forget the wars. In every small French town I visit, I look for the Monument aux Morts de la Guerre, and am always moved at the solemn statues above a list of the names of every single person who died in wars since the Great War. Among the names in World War I, you sometimes see three or four of the same surnames -- brothers, cousins, perhaps fathers and sons -- who all died.
This essay is another way that helps us remember how the war affected entire families, and for generations. Thank you!