Thinking of Harry Patch

Today Harry was laid to rest.

He had been offered a State funeral. He declined. He wanted a private burial. And he’ll get that. But he could not avoid his fame and the need for a public funeral, which took place at the Cathedral in Wells.

I first heard of him simply as the oldest Englishman who had died at the age of one hundred eleven. Turned out he was also the last survivor of the trenches of World War One.

And then it turned out in addition to some heroics during the war he was an unalterable opponent of war, requesting that “Where Have All the Flowers Gone” be sung at his memorial.

Still there had to be some military component and his coffin was carried by six English infantrymen. But accompanying them were two Belgium soldiers, two French soldiers, and most tellingly, two German soldiers. All privates. I’m not sure if officers were not invited, but it really, really, seemed right.

I wish no one the terrors of his youth. I wish all of us the wisdom this simple plumber brought to life…

Good bye, Harry.

Rest in Peace…