On an August day the papers advertise the season,
How the holidays are in full swing by the silvery
sea.
So as the public stroll at Folkestone, hardly aware
of army
Departures from the dullish port of Southampton
docks.
On ships of war ‘happy’ troops drift to
Boulogne-sur-Mer.
Among such positive soldiers, leaving in the
holiday season,
Was Private John Parr - ironically for his age
called ‘Ole Parr’ -
Among his mates the mood was good, despite a quiet
departure.
No band played, no flowers thrown with ladies to
see them off
This was it, after so much talk of war they were
heading to the fray.
Barely 18 years of age Parr joined the 4th
Battalion of the Middlesex
Regiment - Perhaps then realising he was a cog in a
machine.
5ft 10 inches, brown hair and eyes, Parr had a
streak of independence.
This must have seemed a long way from his golf
caddie days.
What then filled the minds of these men as they
neared the edge
Of war. Leaning on the rails, looking over an
expanse of silver sea
Were these keen adventurers, tempered by some small
trepidation?
Next being packed into troop trains, winding from
France to Belgium
This was a professional army; this was the job
waiting for them.
Amid this eager company our Private Parr acted as a
reconnaissance
Cyclist, as part of the forward Unit heading to a
town called Mons.
Beside a canal some 12 kms from that town, they
billeted in Bettignes.
Dawn - 21 August, was not to be an ordinary day for
Parr.
Now given a task with a fellow cyclist, he was to
be sent to Obourg,
Near the Belgium border, east of Mons-their
mission, to find any enemy.
It seems today almost a sign of a silly season, to
go for a cycle ride,
With a rifle on a shoulder on a summers day, not
for pleasure or race,
In the knowledge of their likelihood to encounter
dangerous invaders.
So follows an account, based on suggested fact of
what likely happened.
Parr, and for the sake of this account, his
colleague we shall call 'Albert',
Were biking along. For some time seeing nothing but
contemplative quiet
Country of green, trees, birds and sky, they believed
almost like England.
Perhaps they came round one narrow corner when they
faced the foe -
At a dreaded short distance ahead, the greys of a
German cavalry patrol.
On rattling bikes Parr and 'Albert' wobbled almost
comically to sudden halt
Our Private John Parr caught a sudden loss of
breath. Having joined
The Middlesex Regiment in 1912 he had never seen any
foe so close –
Face to face, each side probably stopped,
considered poised and stared,
Probably only for seconds, upon seeing the uniform
of their opposition,
One emerging from a tunnel of trees, the other on
bicycles down a lane.
The German grey realising these were not blue and
red Belgium types,
But khaki British – in a splitting second 'Albert'
yelped out a warning.
Parr for a long moment stared, observing a rifle
lift in a German’s hands.
'Albert' was already turning his bike around -
poised on the pedal.
Parr followed, fumbling with his feet, in a panic
moment loss of balance.
Jumped the bike about, just as the crack of a first
bullet shot, swift by.
'Albert' stopped, waiting for his mate, hesitating
a pace behind him.
‘Go on! Go on!’ yells Parr. ‘Get a shift on
Bert! Get going sharpish,
And tell'em that he enemy’s here!’ Parr’s mind must
have raced
With what he was going to do? Ride or fight? – a
bullet zinged as it hit
His mate’s bike. Parr yelled again to get going and
off 'Albert' sped.
Another bullet sparked his own bike as he sped a
few yards
About a sharp corner, he leapt awkwardly from his
bike,
Landing by a neat cut hedge - possibly where he
lost his cap.
Dropping his rifle, he reached for it and felt the
zing of a shot.
He was not hit but self conscious to fight, he had
yet to fire back
Shrinking back into pathetic cover, Parr became
aware of someone
Behind – He saw a small girl in a blue dress with
brown ringlets
She stared – In meeting of eyes he snapped ‘go!’
waving a hand.
But still she stood quizzically, as if the shooting
meant little to her
Other than a local hunt – John Parr yelled again
and from the house,
A woman screamed, running outside. Soldier, woman
shared a look,
And a bullet ripped through the hedge into our
young Parr’s shoulder.
Blind to any pain for the first time squeezing the
trigger, he fired back.
The distraught mother pulled her daughter back towards
the house.
Parr considered how the enemy were edging forward
very slowly.
They did not know how many of the unexpected
British there were.
He gave them rapid fire, changing the angle of his
aim so quickly,
In the attempt to suggest that a whole load of
others were with him.
The enemy were weaving down the narrow road,
closing in, closer.
He took another shot, to the left and right -
hearing a German yell
Suggesting that one of the enemy had been hit and
now fell.
In the neat garden Parr lay stretched - his fire
held them at bay.
In the small brick house behind him, the woman and
child hid.
Parr found the neat grass was cool against his
firing hand.
They were closing in. He edged back, knowing of
little time
To do something, now that 'Albert' was safely gone
-
There was the shelter of a brick house – but the
girl and woman
Were safer without him - there was a field beyond
the garden,
With trees at the edge to hide - he would have to
run fast and hard.
He fired his rifle to gain him a little time, then
he quickly stood
Holding up his rifle to aim at the man, who aimed
at him.
An odd looking man with pointed helmet and a heavy
moustache.
At the close focus of his stern face and his eyes
down the barrel,
Private Parr did not hesitate; his finger pulled the
trigger to see
Both barrels flashed. Then came the thud of dulled
pain.
Knocked from his feet, his hands flexed and dropped
his gun.
The German face looked down at him blankly then
took his gun.
The woman appeared, hand over mouth in horror. The
German
Glanced at her then left, calling to his comrade of
what was done.
The firing stopped as the Belgium woman ran to this
young soldier.
She knelt to him, gently reaching and touched his
pale forehead.
Her soft words came as he tried to talk, despite
his bloodied mouth.
But neither understood. The little girl ran to them
despite her mother.
Private Parr spying two angels against a clear blue
sky, tried to smile.
At their feminine faces and concerned voices,
gently fading away,
As if they were the ghosts of something he would
never have.
This account is pure conjecture, of young John Parr
Believed to be the first British soldier to die in
World War 1.
The retreat from Mons meant there was no evidence
Of his death till later, with the suggestion he
died
On the 23 August in the Battle of Mons, or perhaps
Under friendly fire. There now, he lies beneath
this earth,
His place lays in the peace and quiet of St
Symphorien.
Mistaken as 20 he takes his place a hundred years
To the day when a few words of commemoration from
Royalty, presidents, prime ministers and
descendants
Recount a memorial of a young, brown haired lad
Called to war –
100 years ago.
Still a war to end all wars is yet to be found,
As the killing fields still grow around the world
Now terrorism rises in holy wars, finding victims
Other than soldiers who go to war, to help or
report.
Almost on the same day as John Parr, James Foley,
Less than 2 days to a 100 years, is brutally killed
-
Murdered in a cowardly way, in a so-called Holy
war.
by
Jamie Mann
Anon., 2014. John
Parr (British Army soldier). Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. [online] 9 Aug. Available at:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Parr_(British_Army_soldier) [Accessed:
21st August 2014].
Mann, J., 2014. 100
years Ago - Poems by Jamie Mann. [letter] (Personal communication, 21
August 2014).
O'Brien, D., 2014. WWI Centenary: First casualty Private John Parr shrouded in
mystery. Barnet & Whetstone Press. [online] 4 Aug. Available at:
http://www.barnet-today.co.uk/news.cfm?id=26099&headline=WWI%20Centenary:%20First%20casualty%20Private%20John%20Parr%20shrouded%20in%20mystery [Accessed: 21st August 2014].
Tourist
Office of Mons. 2014. Mons 14 - 18 -
Battlefield Guide. Mons: Office du Tourisme de la Ville de Mons.
#WW1centenary
#GreatWar #WW1 #WW1poem #GreatWar #ww1centenary #worldwarone
#worldwaroneremembered #JohnParrWW1
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