“When I was born the speed limit was two miles an hour. They’d only just repealed the law where a man had to walk in front of every motor car waving a flag.” 
Rachel Lucas
The world’s oldest man, who was a British veteran of WWI, died yesterday. I’d never heard of this man until then; I was again at the gym on the elliptical (it was actually the same day I discovered the song I last blogged about), and the BBC had giant Breaking News headlines that said “Henry Allingham has died.” I thought to myself that he must be some UK celebrity of little note or else I would know about him as an American. I was incorrect; he was of much, much more note than I’ll ever be.
He was born in south London in June 1896 and brought up by his mother and grandparents following the death of his father, from TB, in 1897.
…In 1914 he tried to join the army as a despatch rider but his mother, who was ill, persuaded him to stay at home and nurse her. She died a few months afterwards, age 42, and Henry, who later remembered feeling completely alone and with no purpose in life, joined the fledgling Royal Naval Air Service as a mechanic.
After his training he was posted to Great Yarmouth, where he maintained sea planes involved in anti submarine patrols in the North Sea and acted as an air gunner in operations to counter German Zeppelins.
He was drafted onto HM trawler Kingfisher which headed north, in May 1916, as part of the British force sent to intercept the German High Seas Fleet at Jutland.
…In what became the only major naval battle of the war, the British lost 14 ships and more than 6,000 lives, but the German fleet never again threatened to put to sea against the Royal Navy.
Allingham later recalled watching shells flying across the sea. “There were a lot of dud shells and that saved us from a lot of harm.”
In 1917 he was posted to the Western Front where the RNAS was tasked with supporting squadrons of the Royal Flying Corps which was operating sorties over the battlefields of the Somme.
He found himself in the trenches where he was ordered to neutralise the booby trapped bombs left behind by the retreating German soldiers.
From The Guardian:
It was his experiences during the war that defined the man, but for more than 80 years he refused to speak about it. After the war, Allingham went into the motor industry, eventually joining the design department at Ford before retiring in 1961.
He was finally persuaded to talk about the past by Dennis Goodwin who, as founder of the First World War Veterans’ Association, organised reunions and trips for old soldiers.
“He’d answer the door and not let me in,” recalled Goodwin, his carer and the ghost writer of his memoirs. “He’d say, ‘I want to forget the war, I don’t want to talk about it’. But I sent him letters about the reunions and gradually he let me in and we got talking. Eventually I got him out of his flat in Eastbourne and took him to the pier. He met other veterans and started to think, ‘I could do this’. It was a very slow process – he’s essentially a very private man.”
Once Allingham started talking, it became clear that the scenes he witnessed of soldiers waiting to go over the top at Ypres never left him. “They would just stand there in 2ft of water in mud-filled trenches, waiting to go forward,” he said. “They knew what was coming. It was pathetic to see those men like that. I don’t think they have ever got the admiration and respect they deserved.”
He remembered spending a night in a shellhole in Flanders. “It stank,” he said. “So did I when I fell into it. Arms and legs, dead rats, dead everything. Rotten flesh. Human guts. I couldn’t get a bath for three or four months afterwards.”
This is why I love reading about people who live so long:
In recent years, Allingham attended remembrance events at home and abroad, gave interviews to the media, visited schools to talk to children at least 100 years his junior and completed an autobiography, published last October.
He and his wife, Dorothy, were together for more than 50 years. “I’ve only ever kissed one girl: my Dorothy,” he said. “We met in 1915 and married in 1918. She died in 1970. I never gave my cherry away when I went to the front. I know a lot of men who did.”
Allingham leaves a family that includes five grandchildren, 12 great-grandchildren, 14 great-great grandchildren and one great-great-great grandchild.
Until the end of his life, Allingham’s memory was sharp. Born the year the first modern Olympics were held and Queen Victoria’s became the longest reigning monarch in British history, he was able to recall times that are long lost history to most of us.
“When I was 15, I came downstairs one morning, picked up mother’s newspaper and, oh, what a shock! The Titanic had gone,” he recalled. “The ‘unsinkable’ ship – but it had gone down so simple.”
The former Ford worker remembered a time when cars were a rarity. “People drive fast today,” he said. “When I was born the speed limit was two miles an hour. They’d only just repealed the law where a man had to walk in front of every motor car waving a flag.”
He had two explanations for his longevity. The first, which proved age had not dimmed his sense of humour, was “cigarettes, whisky and wild, wild women”.
The second, however, was perhaps more thoughtful. “How have I lived so long? I never worried. In the 20s there were millions of men out of work. You couldn’t get a job anywhere. I wasn’t worried. I’m not worried now,” he said. “I was cycling along Rotten Row one day when I saw George V come along on his horse. I took my cap off, and the King tipped his riding crop. And I said, ‘Give me a job, sir, I’ll do anything for you.’ But it was lost in the clatter of the hooves.”
Max Arthur, author of the first world war oral history Last Post, had yet another explanation: “He was a very dignified, very gentle man. He was so surprised to survive the first world war that he saw whatever came next as a reward. He made the most of his life. It does exemplify in my mind that, whatever age you are, never give up, and when in doubt, sing, which is what he still does. Sheer defiance is the reason he keeps going.”
Last month, Allingham seemed to agree: “I’m not the kid I used to be, but I still get around. You make your own happiness, whatever age you are. Seeing the funny side of life is useful, and I’ve always had a sense of humour. People ask me, what’s the secret of a long life? I don’t know.”
The world’s oldest man, who was a British veteran of WWI, died yesterday. I’d never heard of this man until then; I was again at the gym on the elliptical (it was actually the same day I discovered the song I last blogged about), and the BBC had giant Breaking News headlines that said “Henry Allingham has died.” I thought to myself that he must be some UK celebrity of little note or else I would know about him as an American. I was incorrect; he was of much, much more note than I’ll ever be.
He was born in south London in June 1896 and brought up by his mother and grandparents following the death of his father, from TB, in 1897.
…In 1914 he tried to join the army as a despatch rider but his mother, who was ill, persuaded him to stay at home and nurse her. She died a few months afterwards, age 42, and Henry, who later remembered feeling completely alone and with no purpose in life, joined the fledgling Royal Naval Air Service as a mechanic.
After his training he was posted to Great Yarmouth, where he maintained sea planes involved in anti submarine patrols in the North Sea and acted as an air gunner in operations to counter German Zeppelins.
He was drafted onto HM trawler Kingfisher which headed north, in May 1916, as part of the British force sent to intercept the German High Seas Fleet at Jutland.
…In what became the only major naval battle of the war, the British lost 14 ships and more than 6,000 lives, but the German fleet never again threatened to put to sea against the Royal Navy.
Allingham later recalled watching shells flying across the sea. “There were a lot of dud shells and that saved us from a lot of harm.”
In 1917 he was posted to the Western Front where the RNAS was tasked with supporting squadrons of the Royal Flying Corps which was operating sorties over the battlefields of the Somme.
He found himself in the trenches where he was ordered to neutralise the booby trapped bombs left behind by the retreating German soldiers.
From The Guardian:
It was his experiences during the war that defined the man, but for more than 80 years he refused to speak about it. After the war, Allingham went into the motor industry, eventually joining the design department at Ford before retiring in 1961.
He was finally persuaded to talk about the past by Dennis Goodwin who, as founder of the First World War Veterans’ Association, organised reunions and trips for old soldiers.
“He’d answer the door and not let me in,” recalled Goodwin, his carer and the ghost writer of his memoirs. “He’d say, ‘I want to forget the war, I don’t want to talk about it’. But I sent him letters about the reunions and gradually he let me in and we got talking. Eventually I got him out of his flat in Eastbourne and took him to the pier. He met other veterans and started to think, ‘I could do this’. It was a very slow process – he’s essentially a very private man.”
Once Allingham started talking, it became clear that the scenes he witnessed of soldiers waiting to go over the top at Ypres never left him. “They would just stand there in 2ft of water in mud-filled trenches, waiting to go forward,” he said. “They knew what was coming. It was pathetic to see those men like that. I don’t think they have ever got the admiration and respect they deserved.”
He remembered spending a night in a shellhole in Flanders. “It stank,” he said. “So did I when I fell into it. Arms and legs, dead rats, dead everything. Rotten flesh. Human guts. I couldn’t get a bath for three or four months afterwards.”
This is why I love reading about people who live so long:
In recent years, Allingham attended remembrance events at home and abroad, gave interviews to the media, visited schools to talk to children at least 100 years his junior and completed an autobiography, published last October.
He and his wife, Dorothy, were together for more than 50 years. “I’ve only ever kissed one girl: my Dorothy,” he said. “We met in 1915 and married in 1918. She died in 1970. I never gave my cherry away when I went to the front. I know a lot of men who did.”
Allingham leaves a family that includes five grandchildren, 12 great-grandchildren, 14 great-great grandchildren and one great-great-great grandchild.
Until the end of his life, Allingham’s memory was sharp. Born the year the first modern Olympics were held and Queen Victoria’s became the longest reigning monarch in British history, he was able to recall times that are long lost history to most of us.
“When I was 15, I came downstairs one morning, picked up mother’s newspaper and, oh, what a shock! The Titanic had gone,” he recalled. “The ‘unsinkable’ ship – but it had gone down so simple.”
The former Ford worker remembered a time when cars were a rarity. “People drive fast today,” he said. “When I was born the speed limit was two miles an hour. They’d only just repealed the law where a man had to walk in front of every motor car waving a flag.”
He had two explanations for his longevity. The first, which proved age had not dimmed his sense of humour, was “cigarettes, whisky and wild, wild women”.
The second, however, was perhaps more thoughtful. “How have I lived so long? I never worried. In the 20s there were millions of men out of work. You couldn’t get a job anywhere. I wasn’t worried. I’m not worried now,” he said. “I was cycling along Rotten Row one day when I saw George V come along on his horse. I took my cap off, and the King tipped his riding crop. And I said, ‘Give me a job, sir, I’ll do anything for you.’ But it was lost in the clatter of the hooves.”
Max Arthur, author of the first world war oral history Last Post, had yet another explanation: “He was a very dignified, very gentle man. He was so surprised to survive the first world war that he saw whatever came next as a reward. He made the most of his life. It does exemplify in my mind that, whatever age you are, never give up, and when in doubt, sing, which is what he still does. Sheer defiance is the reason he keeps going.”
Last month, Allingham seemed to agree: “I’m not the kid I used to be, but I still get around. You make your own happiness, whatever age you are. Seeing the funny side of life is useful, and I’ve always had a sense of humour. People ask me, what’s the secret of a long life? I don’t know.”
No comments:
Post a Comment