I find myself increasingly intrigued by World War I - certainly the battles and the campaigns; perhaps moreso the utter rupture ushered (or hastened) by the war.
Thinking about the finale of WWI today (in addition to the veterans, more generally). The magnificent two-minute silence observed in England (
again this year, as always) (and
discussed so well here).
I've always liked the below vignette - courtesy of the marvelous St. Joseph Parish history book - a scene that took place 98 years ago today - the sentence always strikes me as effectively mixing the prosaic and the sublime. I like to think of my grandfather - up on the hill farm - engaged in what was then a pretty fundamental farming task - no electricity, radio, TV - though certainly plenty of indications in the newspapers that the war was winding down - then the bells start ringing. How many sets could he actually hear? Certainly St. Joe; he cites Livermore; anything else? (Not too many competing motor-noises in those days.) He had just turned 18 years old earlier that year; I don't know if he was at much risk of getting called up; several from St. Joe did go.
[An aside - that same portion of the St. Joe history book recounts the registration of the Berte family. This is the kind of story that I never sufficiently appreciated - August Berte was born in Germany - now his seven sons are registering to fight against Germany! (To connect August Berte to folks we know - he was the great-great-grandfather of Matt Bormann and siblings.)
