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First World War Veteran (State Funeral)

I rise to open this short debate on the proposal that we grant a state funeral to the last surviving veteran of the first world war resident in the United Kingdom. Unusually for an Opposition politician, I begin by thanking the Minister for his remarkable co-operation, help and support, and also that of his officials, who have been incredibly co-operative and positive. I commend them for that, and I hope that the House will recognise the spirit in which the Government have approached the proposal. This proposal originated with an approach some time ago from a constituent who was himself a veteran of the second world war. The idea was not unique to him—I believe that it had been around for a little while. He said that a state funeral would be a good idea and asked me why we could not do such a thing. I asked about the veterans of the second world war and so on. My father was one, and they all fought incredibly bravely. My constituent immediately said that the first world war was different, and that everyone who fought in the second world war recognised that. There was something peculiar about the conditions and nature of that conflict. My constituent's proposal gave me food for thought, but the issue really came home to me when my wife and I were clearing out boxes of papers that, like other families, we had accumulated over the years. I found her on her knees, pulling papers out of a battered old briefcase. I was struck by the fact that she had been crying. I could not understand why, so I asked her, ““What is the problem?”” She had in her hands a series of letters from her great uncle, who had fought in the first world war. He was 17 years old when he left school. He was a scholarship student—a very bright man with a phenomenal future. He left school early and joined up in 1914. He was sent to the western front in 1915, and in the autumn of 1915 was wounded in action and died about a week and a half later of septicaemia, which is something that today we can cure with antibiotics. My wife said, ““This is our son.”” Our son was just turning 18, and I immediately imagined what it must have been like for mothers across the land who would have been staring at letters like those at that time. That brought the matter home to me in a way that normal discussions might not have done. For so many families, the tragedy was enormous. It covered income scales, family backgrounds and social positions. Men of different positions and backgrounds died in the same way, and their mothers and fathers wept for them in the same way. Therefore, I was enormously pleased that so many colleagues of all political parties, including those here today, supported my early-day motion, in which I proposed that we give a state funeral to the last surviving veteran of the first world war living in the United Kingdom. Why make the proposal? It is, of course, not just about an individual but about the representative of an entire generation. The caveat is that the individual concerned and their family must agree to the proposal beforehand. As the Minister knows from our discussions, the fall-back position is that there should be some form of commemoration if the family do not wish to have a state funeral. Ultimately, we will be guided by their sense of what would be right. I stress, however, that the priority position for me and many people to whom I have spoken about the matter is that we have a special occasion, and the most powerful way to commemorate it, even if it is not the only way, is through a state funeral. In the past, state funerals invariably have been granted only to members of the royal family or to those of the great and good, even if they were commoners, who rose in political or military terms. This state funeral would be unique: it would be for an ordinary person who had served their country, a representative of the peculiar generation that started a peculiar century—the 20th century, which was the century of the common man. The suffering and the casualty lists show why such commemoration is necessary. Perhaps I could remind the House of some of the staggering figures. The number of British and empire soldiers, sailors and airmen who were mobilised and who served was just under 9 million, of which just under 1 million died and 2 million were wounded. I should remind the House that the bodies of 500,000—half the total who died in service—were never found. Other aspects of the first world war that made it so peculiar were the nature and horror of it. Gassing occurred for the first time. Some 8,000 British and empire servicemen died directly and immediately as a result of gas attacks, but it is estimated—we will never know for sure—that some 200,000 of our servicemen suffered from wounds and long and lingering illness directly as a result of gassing, which did not happen in the second world war. Our servicemen were not alone: all around the world, the casualty lists were staggering. The conditions were breathtaking. To give an idea of what that sort of warfare was like, perhaps I could read a small section from John Keegan's excellent book on the first world war. He states:"““A young British officer, Gerald Brenan, crossing subsequently captured ground in the fourth week of July, found the bodies of soldiers wounded on 1 July who had””—" as Mr. Brenan wrote—"““‘crawled into shell holes, wrapped their waterproof sheets round them, taken out their bibles and died like that'. They were among thousands whose bullet-riddled bodies gave up life that day””—" that was during the battle of the Somme—"““or afterwards, beyond the reach of stretcher bearers or simply lost in the wilderness of no man's land. Even among those found and carried back, many died as they lay waiting for treatment outside the field hospitals, which were overwhelmed by the flood of cases.””" The conditions were peculiar, as was the nature of their service: that strange sense of duty and determination that carried them through such appalling conditions. I have been most struck in the course of our debates and discussions by the attitudes of the young. I have received a flood of letters from people all over the country about this matter. I have been moved by many who have written to or contacted me or my office, but perhaps most moving has been the pile of letters from young people at school who, whether with their teachers or individually, have chosen to take up this subject and write about it. It has been heart warming to realise that they also understand the need to remember. I shall read short quotes from the letters of two young girls in year 9 at a school in Watford. The first one states that"““holding a state funeral for the last soldier . . . will bring back memories of all the soldiers and show all new generations how important those soldiers are to us.””" Her classmate wrote:"““I also believe it would mark the end of a brave generation””." That generation included people such as my wife's great uncle, who wrote this about one small episode in the trenches on 2 June 1915:"““You can best imagine the state of things here when I tell you that Capt. Webb and myself are left to man the company alone, while no. 9 and 10's fighting strength is reduced to 25 or 30 apiece.””" I remind the House that he was 17 and a half years old, and in charge of a company. He continues:"““Poor Davies, you know was last seen on the parapet of the Redoubt, and never returned: he is either . . . a German prisoner, or was buried by them the next day””." I believe the matter to be important because we must mark and commemorate the passing of this generation and remind ourselves that all of our commemorations started with the burial of the unknown solider from the great war. A society that forgets its past and is embarrassed about remembering the sacrifice of those who have gone before is one that loses its past and, with that, loses its future. As those young people I referred to were able to remind me and many of my colleagues, there is something special about pausing to remember. We are not dwelling on or glorifying war, but remembering the sacrifice of those whose sole responsibility was to aid and abet their colleagues and to protect and defend the society in which they lived, and which nurtured them.