Surprisingly Extended Generations.

Surprisingly Extended Generations
My maternal grandparents: Lenard Knowles and Polly Harland were born in 1868 and 1867 respectively, at the time of writing 155 years ago, why am I still here?

Lenard and Poly Knowles and family
My wife Brenda’s father (not grandfather), Lenard Martin was born in 1895 he was at school in Castleford with the famous sculptor Henry Moore and a combatant in the first (not second) World War; thankfully, she is still here too.

Lenard and Lily Martin
My paternal grandfather: Lenard Wood (that’s a lot of Lenards). Unfortunately I don’t have a photograph of him, not only fought in the First World War he fought in the Boer war too; I know that because I have his medals. As can be seen our generations were quite extended. I wish I had been able to ask them more about their lives they would have been able to regale this site about memories but the latter, Len Wood my paternal grandfather was really the only one I was old enough to ask him about his life, I wish I had known him better but there was some sort of rift between him and his son, my father, so I was not encouraged to be close to him.
It is difficult for an immature child to strike out and do anything other than follow Father’s line. The result was: that I recall my paternal grandfather as a rather frightening old guy with a gruff voice who lived in a tiny house full of Victorian clutter.
It never even occurred to me to explore for myself the reasons behind this family rift but thinking about it now – with the benefit of 90 years of hindsight – it is easy to consider the plausible scenario: Grandfather (Len) returns home, in-jured and brutalised by his First Word War experiences, to a world that seems to be doing nothing for returning heroes and to a young teenage son – my father – who probably resented his own life being turned upside down by the return of a strict Victorian father and showed it. Hence a bad relationship is formed. Dad told how his father was very strict and in addition made him sell fruit from a handcart around the streets; a job he came to hate. In the end Dad ran off to join the Royal Navy himself at the age of seventeen (originally without parental con-sent) in order to get away. Of course I may never know the full truth of it all but naturally, being as I was a child, I never questioned Dad’s interpretation of this unhappy family schism.
Sometime after Grandfather’s passing the current occupier of Len’s old house presented me with two medals complete with tattered ribbons; they had been about to be thrown out with a load of other rubbish and the person kindly wondered if I would like to have them. It was a kind consideration for which I am truly grateful. Those medals have lain in a drawer for a long time; occasion-ally I have come across them when rummaging for something else and passed over them. But the other day I held them in my hand and it struck me how little I knew of the man to whom I owe my very existence.
One of the medals is part of the ‘Pip, Squeak and Wilfred’ trio, which were issued to First World War veterans. Grandfather served in the Royal Artil-lery in that war. My estranged grandfather was a genuine ‘Tommy Atkins’! Perhaps he actually survived the battles of: Ypres, Passchendaele or even the Somme where the flower of Britain’s youth died together on that infamous date: July the first, 1916? Could it be that even his gruff voice was a result of a gas attack?
The other medal was awarded for his service in the Imperial Yeomanry, fought out against the Boers in South Africa. This medal bears two clasps: one inscribed: South Africa and the other Cape Colony. Perhaps he saw service at theatres with such iconic tags as: Ladysmith and Kimberley. Who is to know now? Maybe he witnessed the lifting of the ‘Siege of Mafeking’ in 1900,

giving rise to the famous cry: ‘Mafeking has been relieved’ and allowing those super staid Victorian to have a day off and let their hair down in 21st century style. As volunteers fought out both the South African and the First World War it follows that Grandfather had volunteered to serve his country on two separate occasions.
Surely this warrants that I make a more positive assessment of the man. ‘Among my souvenirs’ there is another reminder of those distant conflicts. It is a lapel badge bearing the words for ‘King and Country’. These pieces, I believe, were issued to combatants invalided out of World War One, to be worn as a testimony that they had already done their bit for ‘King and Country’. Hence, giving them space from the so-called ‘shirkers’ so vehemently despised at the time. I cannot vouch that this badge did in fact belong to my grandfather. It just seems to have been around as long as I can remember. Inscribed upon it is a number that I must check out someday
Unfortunately, it is unlikely that I will ever find answers to these ques-tions now, of that stern old disciplinarian who lived his declining years amongst his Victorian clutter but I have come appreciate that his eyes witnessed events, which makes him still the grandfather and me the grandchild. I will not question my father’s actions, of course.
(Dad must have somewhat relented anyway, for I am told my name was going to be ‘Len’ after his father (yet another Lenard in prospect) this was headed off by Mother). But in retrospect I have revised my own assessment of Grandfather Leonard Wood. I can perceive a positive side to a guy, who volunteered to serve ‘King and Country’ in those two separate and diabolical conflicts. I know what I’m going to do now: I’ve sent off for a mug painted with the ‘Pip, Squeak and Wilfred’ medals and inscribed ‘Cheers 1551 Wood L’. I’ll not put it on a shelf, I’ll just drink my tea out and when it breaks I’ll get another. And sometimes when I drink I hope I will remember to say: ‘Cheers Len Wood – Granddad,’ I’m proud of you; I wish I had been of an age to know you a little better!