Photos that make you think.

Joshua Slocum

LE
Book Reviewer
A bit dusty in here, Josh.

I recently found a local war grave which sparked some interest, and I did a bit of research. Now I'll put a poppy there every year. One story out of thousands and we'll never know all the details. All worth remembering.
the last cemetery was a small one on the top of a hill, my old headmaster ( and my mothers boss) Mr Bacchus always said that it was only his father being considerate enough to get killed in the Great War that meant he went to University
His father was a Rail engineer pre war
Mr Bacchus was a Latin and French scholar, and himself served with the forces in WW2, where they gave him a Motorcycle to ride, he being a totally un mechanical man needed help to start it, and the lads at the next camp would wait for him, run along and bring him to a halt
he could quote Bradstones verbatim
and he worshiped the Railways as the greatest ever invention, so I looked up his surname, a very unusual French one ( his ancestors probably were French) and found his father grave and laid a poppy
My mother said that on the many school trips to France, a country that he loved, he never once mentioned his Father grave or took them there ! they were in a cafe in a small town, Mr Bacchus was enjoying himself socializing with the locals, and the owner of the bar asked my mother who the Frenchman was, was he a guide ?
she said no He is our headmaster and is English being born in Battersea
the Barman would not believe that he was English, he said is is French from his soul to his bones

My mother was pleased to visit his Father Grave, and wished she had known about it earlier

while we chatted an elderly French farmer came along and chatted ( my mother speaks very good French)
he swung his arms about and pointed to everything we could see, 7 generations of my family have lived her and farmed here
this is our home and our land, we hated the Germans who invaded and soiled our land
but these young men, who liberated us, and showed us that they were stronger than the Germans, now rest in my land, and as such they, every one of them, are my Family, all of the schoolchildren visit here, and my children know every name
I tend the Cemetery for which I refuse any payment at all, and consider it an honour
Last night, the entire village was empty, they were here with their family
then he hugged us and kissed us and thanked us for coming to see his land
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Nice post Josh.

The surname Bacchus is indeed an unusual one and is Old English for someone who worked in a bake-house.

By the sound of him socialising in a French cafe you might prefer to think of him as a descendant of Bacchus, the god of wine and shagging (rather than a baker).
 
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Joshua Slocum

LE
Book Reviewer
Nice post Josh.

The surname Bacchus is indeed an unusual one and is Old English for someone who worked in a bake-house.

By the sound of him socialising in a French cafe you might prefer to think of him as a descendant of Bacchus the god of wine and shagging (rather than a baker).
we ripped into him at a school play about that !! he did laugh

I learn something every day, thanks for that , surnames are an amazing thing a link with our past
 
These actually existed! The Met Police could do with a few of these I reckon. French Paras used them in Algeria apparently.
vespa-militare2-jpg-1606762733.jpg
 
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the last cemetery was a small one on the top of a hill, my old headmaster ( and my mothers boss) Mr Bacchus always said that it was only his father being considerate enough to get killed in the Great War that meant he went to University
His father was a Rail engineer pre war
Mr Bacchus was a Latin and French scholar, and himself served with the forces in WW2, where they gave him a Motorcycle to ride, he being a totally un mechanical man needed help to start it, and the lads at the next camp would wait for him, run along and bring him to a halt
he could quote Bradstones verbatim
and he worshiped the Railways as the greatest ever invention, so I looked up his surname, a very unusual French one ( his ancestors probably were French) and found his father grave and laid a poppy
My mother said that on the many school trips to France, a country that he loved, he never once mentioned his Father grave or took them there ! they were in a cafe in a small town, Mr Bacchus was enjoying himself socializing with the locals, and the owner of the bar asked my mother who the Frenchman was, was he a guide ?
she said no He is our headmaster and is English being born in Battersea
the Barman would not believe that he was English, he said is is French from his soul to his bones

My mother was pleased to visit his Father Grave, and wished she had known about it earlier

while we chatted an elderly French farmer came along and chatted ( my mother speaks very good French)
he swung his arms about and pointed to everything we could see, 7 generations of my family have lived her and farmed here
this is our home and our land, we hated the Germans who invaded and soiled our land
but these young men, who liberated us, and showed us that they were stronger than the Germans, now rest in my land, and as such they, every one of them, are my Family, all of the schoolchildren visit here, and my children know every name
I tend the Cemetery for which I refuse any payment at all, and consider it an honour
Last night, the entire village was empty, they were here with their family
then he hugged us and kissed us and thanked us for coming to see his land
View attachment 590305View attachment 590306View attachment 590307
Getting a bit dusty in here.

sniffle
 
Whittemore was born in Charlestown, Massachusetts in 1696. He served as a private in Col. Jeremiah Moulton's Third Massachusetts Regiment, where he fought in King George's War (1744-48_). He was involved in the capture of the French stronghold, the Fortress of Louisbourg in 1745.

On April 19, 1775, Whittemore was in his fields when he spotted an approaching British relief brigade under Earl Percy. Whittemore loaded his musket and ambushed the British Grenadiers of the 47th Regiment of Foot from behind a nearby stone wall, killing one soldier. He then drew his dueling pistols, killed a second grenadier and mortally wounded a third. By the time Whittemore had fired his third shot, a British detachment had reached his position; Whittemore drew his sword and attacked.

He was subsequently shot in the face, bayoneted numerous times, and left for dead in a pool of blood. He was found by colonial forces, trying to load his musket to resume the fight. He was taken to Dr. Cotton Tufts of Medford, who perceived no hope for his survival. However, Whittemore recovered and lived another 18 years.

Memoiral to Samuel Whittemore.jpg
 
Whittemore was born in Charlestown, Massachusetts in 1696. He served as a private in Col. Jeremiah Moulton's Third Massachusetts Regiment, where he fought in King George's War (1744-48_). He was involved in the capture of the French stronghold, the Fortress of Louisbourg in 1745.

On April 19, 1775, Whittemore was in his fields when he spotted an approaching British relief brigade under Earl Percy. Whittemore loaded his musket and ambushed the British Grenadiers of the 47th Regiment of Foot from behind a nearby stone wall, killing one soldier. He then drew his dueling pistols, killed a second grenadier and mortally wounded a third. By the time Whittemore had fired his third shot, a British detachment had reached his position; Whittemore drew his sword and attacked.

He was subsequently shot in the face, bayoneted numerous times, and left for dead in a pool of blood. He was found by colonial forces, trying to load his musket to resume the fight. He was taken to Dr. Cotton Tufts of Medford, who perceived no hope for his survival. However, Whittemore recovered and lived another 18 years.

View attachment 590905
He must have been a fiery chap if he possessed a pair of dueling flintlocks at 80 years of age and a flintlock musket for scaring off Injuns and the odd Britisher. I would give him a wide berth.

Raymond Massey.JPG
 
Whittemore was born in Charlestown, Massachusetts in 1696. He served as a private in Col. Jeremiah Moulton's Third Massachusetts Regiment, where he fought in King George's War (1744-48_). He was involved in the capture of the French stronghold, the Fortress of Louisbourg in 1745.

On April 19, 1775, Whittemore was in his fields when he spotted an approaching British relief brigade under Earl Percy. Whittemore loaded his musket and ambushed the British Grenadiers of the 47th Regiment of Foot from behind a nearby stone wall, killing one soldier. He then drew his dueling pistols, killed a second grenadier and mortally wounded a third. By the time Whittemore had fired his third shot, a British detachment had reached his position; Whittemore drew his sword and attacked.

He was subsequently shot in the face, bayoneted numerous times, and left for dead in a pool of blood. He was found by colonial forces, trying to load his musket to resume the fight. He was taken to Dr. Cotton Tufts of Medford, who perceived no hope for his survival. However, Whittemore recovered and lived another 18 years.

View attachment 590905
Die Young,

Stay Pretty​
Blondie lyric​
I bet he was ugly as sin when he finally gave up the ghost.

Stubborn, stroppy old sod . . .​
 

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