Our Willie……
William Francis McBride was
born on a beautiful summer’s morning on 1st July
1897 in a small shared three bed-roomed house at the back of Moore Street, Dublin. His
father was a Master
Cooper who made barrels in one of the many Breweries that were
dotted all over Dublin at
the time. He was an only son and wanted for very little. With the market
in Moore Street close
by, they always ate well. ‘Young Willie’ as he
became known, never felt hunger in his life.
He went to the nearby Saint Patrick’s Primary School and was quite bright. His mother helped him each night with his homework and she had hopes that he would not have to follow in his father’s trade. She dreamed and prayed for some form of greatness for her son.
At the age of ten, he moved to the Christian Brothers Secondary School in Westland Row the other side of the River Liffey but it was still well within walking distance from home.
He went to the nearby Saint Patrick’s Primary School and was quite bright. His mother helped him each night with his homework and she had hopes that he would not have to follow in his father’s trade. She dreamed and prayed for some form of greatness for her son.
At the age of ten, he moved to the Christian Brothers Secondary School in Westland Row the other side of the River Liffey but it was still well within walking distance from home.
He was an avid reader and unlike most of the
other boys of his age, he always read the morning and evening newspapers. Other
boys at the secondary school teased him but soon learned to leave him alone. He
was capable of looking after himself but the mere threat of force was always
good enough to ensure his peace and quiet.
By the time he was thirteen, there were many articles in the papers about possible war on the Continent of Europe and quickly war clouds began to appear on the horizon. Unusually for a youth of his age, he had formed definite opinions on the rights and wrongs of both sides. Whenever he spoke to his teacher, Brother O’Callaghan, he got a rebuff for saying what he did. He invariably got the reply that "You’d be far better off preparing for the day Ireland fights for her own freedom and leave those Germans and British to their own devices".
He had read a lot about Irish history, but like most Dublin people at the time, he was quite Loyal to the Crown under whose authority Ireland was still being ruled. He had no romantic notions about Mother Ireland.
He followed the newspaper reports on the diplomatic manoeuvrings and the military build-up in Europe with a keen eye. He read avidly the reports of ‘sabre rattling’ between the various states of Eastern Europe and the involvement of Russia. He read of the Serbian government’s attempt to take control of their army without success. He read of the British interest and the various treaties that were being signed left right and centre. He was bright enough to realise that war seemed inevitable.
He left school at fifteen and took employment as a clerk in a shipping office on the Quays on the Liffey. He watched ships with large numbers of soldiers arrive and leave the port. The build-up to war was gathering speed.
On the 29th June 1914 he read with horror the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary the previous day and realised that war would be declared almost immediately. In fact it was.
The War had by now been going on for eighteen months when Young Willie made up his mind what he was about to do. He confided in his two best friends. The following Saturday, he and they, Tommy Murphy and Patsy O’Brien, without a word to their parents, went to the Army Recruitment Offices and ‘signed-up’.
Young William did not have any silly notions about what the others called the romantic side of war. He knew only too well what to expect. He fervently believed, hoped and prayed that this was ‘the war to end all wars’. After signing, they went for a drink then informed their parents.
Mr. McBride took it well but Willie’s mother fainted. When she came to, she cried all night. The next day, Sunday, with a small suitcase containing his clothes, he met his friends at Amien’s Street Railway Station, joined his group and moved out by train to an army camp north of Dublin. They were to join the Irish Rangers.
Their first day was taken up with filling in forms including next-of-kin and religion and getting various injections. Young Willie was then fitted with a uniform, if you can call it a ‘fitting’. Boots and other bits and pieces were literally thrown at him. The three friends remained together and made their way to the wooden building that they would call home for the next six weeks. They would get no leave until they completed the first three weeks basic training.
Young Willie had no problem getting through the training – unlike Murphy and O’Brien. However, at the end of the three weeks, they were given a three-day pass and a travel warrant for the train. They made straight for their homes.
As soon as Mrs. McBride saw her son she screamed in horror "Sure they are starving you to death, me darlin". With that, she began to cook the biggest fry-up he had ever seen in his life. There must have been six of everything. As soon as he had finished his mother insisted on taking him down to the photographic shop and having a picture taken of him in full uniform. Although sad at the thought of him going to war, she was extremely proud when he explained why he was doing so.
By the time he was thirteen, there were many articles in the papers about possible war on the Continent of Europe and quickly war clouds began to appear on the horizon. Unusually for a youth of his age, he had formed definite opinions on the rights and wrongs of both sides. Whenever he spoke to his teacher, Brother O’Callaghan, he got a rebuff for saying what he did. He invariably got the reply that "You’d be far better off preparing for the day Ireland fights for her own freedom and leave those Germans and British to their own devices".
He had read a lot about Irish history, but like most Dublin people at the time, he was quite Loyal to the Crown under whose authority Ireland was still being ruled. He had no romantic notions about Mother Ireland.
He followed the newspaper reports on the diplomatic manoeuvrings and the military build-up in Europe with a keen eye. He read avidly the reports of ‘sabre rattling’ between the various states of Eastern Europe and the involvement of Russia. He read of the Serbian government’s attempt to take control of their army without success. He read of the British interest and the various treaties that were being signed left right and centre. He was bright enough to realise that war seemed inevitable.
He left school at fifteen and took employment as a clerk in a shipping office on the Quays on the Liffey. He watched ships with large numbers of soldiers arrive and leave the port. The build-up to war was gathering speed.
On the 29th June 1914 he read with horror the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary the previous day and realised that war would be declared almost immediately. In fact it was.
The War had by now been going on for eighteen months when Young Willie made up his mind what he was about to do. He confided in his two best friends. The following Saturday, he and they, Tommy Murphy and Patsy O’Brien, without a word to their parents, went to the Army Recruitment Offices and ‘signed-up’.
Young William did not have any silly notions about what the others called the romantic side of war. He knew only too well what to expect. He fervently believed, hoped and prayed that this was ‘the war to end all wars’. After signing, they went for a drink then informed their parents.
Mr. McBride took it well but Willie’s mother fainted. When she came to, she cried all night. The next day, Sunday, with a small suitcase containing his clothes, he met his friends at Amien’s Street Railway Station, joined his group and moved out by train to an army camp north of Dublin. They were to join the Irish Rangers.
Their first day was taken up with filling in forms including next-of-kin and religion and getting various injections. Young Willie was then fitted with a uniform, if you can call it a ‘fitting’. Boots and other bits and pieces were literally thrown at him. The three friends remained together and made their way to the wooden building that they would call home for the next six weeks. They would get no leave until they completed the first three weeks basic training.
Young Willie had no problem getting through the training – unlike Murphy and O’Brien. However, at the end of the three weeks, they were given a three-day pass and a travel warrant for the train. They made straight for their homes.
As soon as Mrs. McBride saw her son she screamed in horror "Sure they are starving you to death, me darlin". With that, she began to cook the biggest fry-up he had ever seen in his life. There must have been six of everything. As soon as he had finished his mother insisted on taking him down to the photographic shop and having a picture taken of him in full uniform. Although sad at the thought of him going to war, she was extremely proud when he explained why he was doing so.
The three days flew past
and it seemed like only a day between leaving the camp and their returning. The
next three weeks were spent with parading, shooting practice and digging
trenches in preparation for going overseas.
On a cold Monday morning in February they boarded a troop ship on the Quay by the Liffey and as they sailed out the estuary their friends and relations waved them goodbye.
Three days later they landed in France. They were given a few days’ rest before they would be taken to the forward trenches. Rumours abounded in the rest camp. There were tales of gas warfare, machine guns, heavy artillery and numerous deaths. Young Willie was resigned to the fact that he might be killed while his two friends were praying for glory.
On a cold Monday morning in February they boarded a troop ship on the Quay by the Liffey and as they sailed out the estuary their friends and relations waved them goodbye.
Three days later they landed in France. They were given a few days’ rest before they would be taken to the forward trenches. Rumours abounded in the rest camp. There were tales of gas warfare, machine guns, heavy artillery and numerous deaths. Young Willie was resigned to the fact that he might be killed while his two friends were praying for glory.
On Good Friday, 21st April 1916, Young Willie, his
friends and 220 other officers and men from their battalion began to make their
way to the forward trenches on the Western
Front, whilst all around them as they got nearer, were sounds of
gunfire and explosions. Young Willie could feel the fear in the air. It was
thick with the smell of both fear, cordite and gunpowder. They rested that
night in the trenches on the outer perimeter and on Easter Saturday they resumed their march.
As they neared the front lines they saw literally hundreds of men being carried on stretchers back the way they had come. The open wounds had not even been dressed and many were dead. As they entered the main trench section that was allocated to them, the group stopped and took up positions. By six o’clock that night all had gone silent.
As they neared the front lines they saw literally hundreds of men being carried on stretchers back the way they had come. The open wounds had not even been dressed and many were dead. As they entered the main trench section that was allocated to them, the group stopped and took up positions. By six o’clock that night all had gone silent.
Word spread that there
was a cease-fire for the Easter weekend
but there was no official confirmation. However, the silence held all Sunday
until midnight when at least a hundred heavy artillery weapons began shooting
at their section. This continued with short intervals of silence until eight
o’clock. Orders came that at exactly 9am they were ‘going over the top’ to
make an attempt to reach the enemy lines.
Young Willie was apprehensive but ready. He had made a will leaving everything he owned or was due to his mother back in Dublin. He prayed silently and awaited the signal. The Priest had heard his confession and had administered Holy Communion. Young Willie was at peace with himself.
At five to nine, the Captain gave the order to prepare. The ladders out of the trench had been readied and bayonets had been fixed. The seconds ticked by.
Young Willie was apprehensive but ready. He had made a will leaving everything he owned or was due to his mother back in Dublin. He prayed silently and awaited the signal. The Priest had heard his confession and had administered Holy Communion. Young Willie was at peace with himself.
At five to nine, the Captain gave the order to prepare. The ladders out of the trench had been readied and bayonets had been fixed. The seconds ticked by.
At 9 o’clock the Captain
blew his whistle. There was a moment’s silence, and then shouts came from the
men who were first to go over the top. Young Willie was to be in the third
wave. He had his foot on the ladder awaiting the order. When it came, he did
not hesitate, but literally ran up the ten-foot ladder. When he reached the
flat ground of ‘No-man’s
land’ on the other side the bleakness and devastation before
him struck him. There were bodies all around with numerous dying men screaming
in agony. It was just like the Hell that
was screamed about by the mad priest in the streets of Dublin on occasions.
For one brief moment the sun actually broke through the clouds as he made his way forward. Young Willie heard the noise of many machine guns rat-tat-tatting in the distance but felt nothing as several bullets entered his body ripping his uniform to shreds. He died instantly. He was 19 years old.
Young Willie was never to know that as he died, back home in Ireland, Padraig Pearse was reading the Irish Declaration of Independence on the steps of the General Post Office in Sackville Street, (later to be called O’Connell Street), Dublin. The Easter Rising had begun.
Private William McBride was buried with the hundreds of thousands of other young men who fell during the Great War in the various War cemeteries scattered all over the war zone. His grave was never visited.
For one brief moment the sun actually broke through the clouds as he made his way forward. Young Willie heard the noise of many machine guns rat-tat-tatting in the distance but felt nothing as several bullets entered his body ripping his uniform to shreds. He died instantly. He was 19 years old.
Young Willie was never to know that as he died, back home in Ireland, Padraig Pearse was reading the Irish Declaration of Independence on the steps of the General Post Office in Sackville Street, (later to be called O’Connell Street), Dublin. The Easter Rising had begun.
Private William McBride was buried with the hundreds of thousands of other young men who fell during the Great War in the various War cemeteries scattered all over the war zone. His grave was never visited.
And
so it remained until more than half a century later, when a young
Scottish/Australian singer, songwriter, whilst on a walking holiday in France,
sat down by Willie’s graveside and wrote a beautiful song, which although pure
in form, has a bitter edge and anti-war message in it.
------------------------
This story was based on that song:
The Green Fields of France:
By Eric Bogel.
Well how do you do Private William
McBride,
Do you mind if I sit here, down by
your graveside?
And rest for a while beneath the warm
summer sun,
I’ve been walking all day and now I’m
nearly done.
I see by your gravestone you were
only nineteen,
When you joined the glorious fallen
in 1916.
Well I hope you died quick and I hope
you died clean,
Or, young Willie McBride, was it slow
and obscene.
Refrain:
Did they beat the drum slowly,
Did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the Death March
As they lowered you down?
Did the band
play "The Last Post and Chorus"?
Did the pipes play "The Flowers
of the Forest"?
Did you leave ‘ere a wife or
sweetheart behind?
In some faithful heart is your memory
enshrined?
And although you died back in 1916,
In that faithful heart are you
forever nineteen?
Or are you a stranger without even a
name,
Enclosed forever behind a glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn, and
battered and stained,
And faded to yellow in a brown
leather frame?
Refrain:
Ah the sun now it shines on these
green fields of France,
The warm summer breeze makes the red
poppies dance,
And look how the sun shines from
under the clouds,
There’s no gas, no barbed wire,
there’re no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard is
still No Man’s Land,
The countless white crosses in mute
witness stand,
To man’s blind indifference to his
fellow man,
To a whole generation that was
butchered and damned.
Refrain:
Ah, I can’t help wonder why, young
Willie McBride,
Did all those who lay here really
know why they died?
And did they believe when they
answered the cause,
Did they really believe that this war
would end wars?
For the sorrow, the suffering, the
glory, the shame,
The killing and dying were all done
in vain,
For young Willie McBride, it all
happened again,
And again and again and again and
again.
Refrain
---------Mike------
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