Armistice at 100
How the Great War came to a close and how the world marked its end
The Armistice brought joy, relief and things we could never forget… but how ould we best remember?
It has been given a place in history as ‘the war to end all wars’; a conflict which saw technology, invention, and man’s ingenuity take warfare to an even more deadly and abhorrent level of mass destruction. For four tortuous years men endured unimaginable conditions in the trenches and on the fields of battle, whilst their friends and family bore their own private and public suffering of anxiety and loss.
For those at home and those at the
Front who had survived, the Armistice brought a mixture of unadulterated joy and overwhelming relief.
But what was it in reality, and how could we keep alive the memories we needed to ensure that we never forget?
In many ways the actual Armistice was something of an inexact science. As an agreement for a ceasefire – actual formal peace was not to come until 1919 – it was signed in the private railway carriage of French General Marshal Foch in remote woodland at 5am on 11 November 1918. It was agreed to come into effect within six hours. Germany’s allies of the Central Powers had weakened and collapsed and she was alone and isolated. The abdication of Kaiser Wilhelm II had been announced just two days before, there was mutiny and unrest at home and a sea blockade strangling the country into submission. Germany was in no position to bargain or negotiate and was set to have its military decimated, territory reclaimed and a huge financial bill for compensation.
During those ensuing six hours many more men were to die – with some estimates as high as 3,000 – and even at the agreed time of 11am the guns were far from silent as artillery on both sides, eager not to have to haul away their heavy shells, continued to fire and exhaust their supplies. But the guns did fall silent, and when the official communiqués relayed the news to the Front each man greeted it in his own way; some with relief, some with jubilation, others with calm resignation. A familiar cocktail of emotions by which each had already found his own way of dealing with the years of carnage all had witnessed and endured.
Telegraph wires were buzzing with the news as it spread rapidly around the world and for many the party began. In distant continents, many of them with loved ones fighting in the war, crowds thronged the streets as an immediate and unfettered response to the ceasefire.
Many marked the occasion with a hurriedly organised parade and plans were soon underway to welcome back their brave and victorious lads. But for hundreds of thousands this was tinged with the sadness and despair that the end of the fighting had come all too late; so many would not be coming home.
As 1918 drew to a close the mood began to swing from celebration of victory to thoughts of remembering the sacrifices made by those who fought. Now ideas of a more formal form of remembrance
“crowds thronged the streets as an immediate and unfettered response to the ceasefire”
began to emerge, many of which we still recognise to this day.
Although the signing of the Armistice had sparked global celebration, an actual day to mark or commemorate the occasion did not emerge until a year later. As a ceasefire the Armistice had needed to be extended three times before the peace conference in 1919 that led to the Treaty of Versailles in June of that year. King George V of England held a dinner in honour of the French president on 10 November followed by a formal parade on the 11 November and Armistice Day was born.
A custom from Cape Town, South Africa, was also soon to spread throughout the nations of the Empire and on to the rest of the world. A two minute silence as an act of respect for the war dead came to the attention of the king who was fully behind the idea and as such it became common practice. People, standing together as one in solemn silence and respect; one minute for those who fell, and one minute for those they left behind. It became, and is still to this day, a powerful show of unified grief, sorrow and remembrance.
“In Flanders Field the poppies blow between the crosses, row on row”
These opening lines of In Flanders
Fields by John Mccrae were to be the inspiration for American academic and war volunteer Moina Michael. After the war she campaigned for the poppy to be adopted by the Americans as a symbol for their war dead. This in turn was taken up by the French and by 1921 it had been adopted by the British Empire as a telling and poignant badge of remembrance for their fallen soldiers, sailors and airmen.
Originally only worn on Armistice Day or Remembrance Sunday, in modern times it has grown into the main icon of both remembrance and fundraising through the Royal British Legion and poppies of all sizes and manufacture adorn people, places and vehicles in the run up to and during the traditional period of remembrance.
In the US poppies are still used for fundraising for both Veteran’s Day and Memorial Day.
So momentum grew for a more fixed and lasting means of remembrance that was to slowly develop.
And nothing could be more permanent than a monument. For grieving families in the aftermath of the war one thing was painfully obvious, they could not visit the graves of their loved ones at their local graveyard or cemetery. The tragic truth was that the fallen were buried in another land, or worse, their bodies had never been recovered and so they had become merely a statistic, a name on a telegram. Such heart-breaking issues posed a dilemma for the authorities and solutions had to be found to help families and whole nations grieve for death and loss on an unprecedented scale, not only in sheer numbers but the varied nations and nationalities involved in the conflict.
The clinical practicalities during the war meant that those who could be buried were done so in makeshift cemeteries of wooden crosses often close to the battlefield where they had fallen. For those who were missing in action they often remained so, their whereabouts unknown.
The issue for repatriation of the bodies of the fallen was to become a controversial social and political issue, particularly for Great Britain and its ally the USA, and each were to take different approaches to resolve it.
In the US there was an undercurrent of unhappiness that their fallen would
“solutions had to be found to help families and whole nations grieve for death”
not be returning home. Under pressure the government finally relented and thousands of bodies were exhumed and transported back across the Atlantic. For Britain and its Empire it was a different story. The government of the day believed that the war dead should be treated as equals and buried in identical graves near to where they fell, regardless of rank or background, leaving us with the acres of memorial stones in neat military file beneath the huge megalithic monuments of remembrance that dot northern France and Belgium, their walls filled with the names of the dead.
At home in Britain and across the world stone memorial crosses sprang up in all shapes and sizes in villages, towns and cities; most able to carry every name of those from that location who gave their lives in the ‘Great War’.
As with the Cenotaph in London which started as temporary wood and ended in permanent stone, this was a focus for a community. A place where they could gather to remember and reflect, a place that for even just one day of the year became a part of the battlefield where their loved one had died, helping them feel that little bit closer once more.
And that tradition continues today. World War I did not ‘end all wars’ after all, but it was the end of war as we had known it. Things would never be the same, and as the grief and horror of war has continued unabated throughout the 20th century right up to the present becoming, if it were possible, even more destructive and terrifying, the need for respectful reflection by peoples across the globe is just as strong.
The wooden crosses are tablets of stone, lovingly cared for, poppies sell in their millions every November and wreaths are laid and a two minute silence observed at memorials across the globe. And in this way World War I can actually be seen as a beginning, not an end, in which reflection on the horrors of all war and respect for those who lose their lives fighting them has become and remains a unifying and undying act of timeless remembrance.
“in Britain and across the world stone memorial crosses sprang up in all shapes and sizes”