My grandfather fought in the Battle of the Somme during the First World War. We should never forget the bravery, actions and sacrifices men like him made for our freedom

Exclusive | 2 min read | Remembrance Sunday

During the 1916 Battle of Somme, my grandfather, Ernest Benjamin Harmer, carried an injured officer on his back out of no man’s land and into safety. He was a private in the 24th Battalion Northumberland Fusiliers, and came home to be awarded a medal for his bravery. But he never talked about his service in the First World War - it was too painful.

Despite his silence, my grandfather’s bravery has remained a source of immense pride and humility in my family. Now, as an author myself, I have penned this letter to try and capture for future generations, the spirit of those soldiers before them that fought for this country’s freedom. We must never forget them, the fears they faced, the battles they fought or lost, and the sacrifices they made…

To the Future Generation

This will be the last letter I ever write. I am filled with such fear my hands shake uncontrollably as I desperately struggle to hold the pencil and paper in my hand.  No letter has ever been as important as the one I write now to you, the future generation.  

I want you to know that not only do I die defending my country, but to ensure that you, people I do not know and never will, can live a life of freedom.  

I die so that you can rise every morning without fear and face each sunrise safe in the knowledge that you can stand tall and proud in a country that will protect and take care of you.

I confess to feeling proud as I took my first steps towards the battlefield knowing that my country would call me a hero if I didn’t make it back, as I’m quite sure I will not.  There must therefore be a point to all this fighting and hatred.  I do not want to fight but I must.  

As I raised my rifle at dawn I realised there must be an end to all this because for me to survive I must kill another young soldier who, like me, has a family waiting for him.  They too will be living in fear of that knock on the door telling them their son, father, brother will not be coming home.  

The war rages on, the gun fire is deafening, but for me the battle is almost over.

I will never see my son grow up or be the father I so desperately wanted to be. Neither will I hold my wife in my arms or say the words I love you to her again. She too must be brave, for I will not be there to support her through the grief and loneliness that is to follow.  

Stiff upper lip they will tell her, you are not alone.  Be proud of the hero he was.  I can see her face now as I close my eyes and almost hear her angry words as she screams out to the universe, ‘why, for God’s sake, why? What is the point of all this fighting? Tell me, please.’  

Over the roar of battle I feel as though I can hear my mother sobbing and it breaks me to know that her greatest fears are about to be realised.

My father will stand tall, putting on a brave face whilst his fists are clenched and shaking. He will tell everyone his son was a hero and will never be forgotten and generations to come will remember with pride those who fought and fell for their country. These words will be repeated until he has convinced himself that it is true and it was all worth it.

Hero. It’s a word on many people’s lips, but not mine. How can I possibly be a hero when I lie here terrified, broken and cold, not feeling the slightest bit brave?  I wonder, is there a Heaven? Will I see the white light they all talk about?  Will I truly feel peace wash over me and finally understand what this earthly life was all about? I’ve never given God a second thought, to be honest, until this moment and I begin to pray in earnest that it is all true and He is waiting for me with outstretched arms.  

The gunfire has ceased and I listen as the cries of pain and terror seep through the ghostly smoke filled battlefields and reach me where I lie. I am finding it difficult to move now.  I can no longer crawl and I watch as the young lad beside me takes his last breath and it brings new tears to my eyes. His last words were simply ‘Mum.’ I never knew him and yet I grieve for him and the family he leaves behind.

I force myself to move my arm although the pain is beyond excruciating. Slowly I reach out and close his eyes, whisper goodbye, then reach for his hand. Nobody should die feeling alone. There is nothing I could do for him but maybe when I reach those shiny pearly gates I will plead with God to let his mother know that she was the last thing on her son’s mind. This, at least, I can do for him. I smile suddenly as I realise it’s going to be a busy day up there today.

As death crawls ever nearer, a feeling of acceptance washes over me knowing I have given my life for my son’s freedom and for all of you, the future generation, in the hope that this will never happen again.  

I die so your child will be more than a photograph on the mantelpiece or a name on a plaque.  

I die so you will be free to live your life without fear.

I die so you can stand up for your beliefs and make yourself heard without recrimination.

I die so you will never have to face the horrors I experienced.  

This I do for you.  

On behalf of the men and boys who have given, and will give, their lives for you, I ask only one thing.

My prayer to you…

Do not let this be in vain

I die so you’ll be free

Dear children of the future

Please remember me.

Like this article? Please help us commission more like it by donating the cost of a cuppa on Ko-fi. Sharing this article on your social media, and following us on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter are also a great way to support our independent, self-funded platform.

We encourage debate, but trolls are not welcome. Please read our comments policy before contributing.