Tyne Cot Memorial, Passchendale

Tyne Cot Memorial, Passchendale
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From Langemark we travel on to the Tyne Cot Memorial at Passchendaele, passing Vancouver Corner on the way. A memorial to the Canadian war dead called “Brooding Soldier” stands here. As we travel around the flat, unassuming countryside we pass more and more reminders of the turbulent past.

The Tyne Cot Memorial is my main reason for making this journey. I’m searching for my Great Uncle, William George Benjamin Taylor, who was killed in 1917. I had checked the War Graves Commission website before coming away and but had printed off the wrong details. Luckily I remembered that his name was on the 148^th panel, particularly as the soldiers are recorded under separate regiments rather than alphabetical order.

As we head back to the car, I collect a handful of rose petals from the ground amongst the headstones.

Entrance to Tyne Cot Memorial, Passchendale
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Frank found the name for me and we chatted about him for I while. I explained that William was 15 years older than my Grandfather, so he had very little memory of him. I was probably the first member of my family to visit this little piece of England in 90 years. Just working this fact out now brings a tear to my eye. Talking to Frank in front of a long forgotten hero affects me more that could ever have imagined. I explain that I have never, and will never, understand the atrocious waste of young life in this pointless war. Suddenly my voice begins to crack and I find myself fighting back tears. I spend a while standing in front of the grave trying to regain my composure before going back to join the group but part of me doesn’t want to leave. It feels as if time has stopped and I am being engulfed by the past. Even as I write this I can feel the same powerful emotions of the visit engulfing me and again the tears well up in my eyes.

Memorial to the missing, Tyne Cot Memorial, Passchendale
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Eventually I tear myself away, with the same sadness you feel when parting from a loved one. Each step brings me forward in time and the weight of history begins to subside. Everyone else has realised that I have a connection here. In a way they feel it too and are grateful for it. The English couple both had Grandfathers who fought in the First World War. His was killed and his voice begins to falter as he talks about him. For the first time I see the tattoos on his hands and arms and get the impression he was once in the services. His wife’s Grandfather was gassed whilst fighting at the Somme. He survived but suffered from the terrible after-effects for 19 years, before finally succumbing.

Cross, built on a German gun emplacement, Passchendale
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We stroll around the graves within the cemetery admiring the order and organisation that exists here. Each head stone is identical in size and shape (with the exception of four square cut stones that mark the graves of German soldiers). In the most part the inscriptions follow the same precise format. Only the regimental badges and religious symbols change (Crosses for Christians, Star of David for Jews and Arabic text for Muslims). A few also bear the Victoria Cross. We visit one such grave. When we ask what the soldier had done to earn the medal, Frank turns and points to a pillbox a little way beyond the cemetery wall. The soldier had single-handedly stormed it, saving the lives of countless in the process. Amazingly he had survived, but was cruelly killed in a bomb attack a few days later. It is another useful reminder that we are not just visiting a cemetery, but are currently standing on the blood soaked battlefield.

Entrance to Tyne Cot Memorial, Passchendale
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As we head back to the car, I collect a handful of rose petals from the ground amongst the headstones. Hopefully I will be able to press these when I get back.