Thoughts on Harry Patch

This year marks a century since the start of the First World War. In 2009, a gentleman named Harry Patch died. Harry was one of the last known British soldiers to have survived the war. He was 111 when he died. He only spoke about the war when he was 100. For more than three quarters of a century he avoided films and books on the subject. Hid from any reference to it whatsoever. He simply couldn’t go there.

I’ve thought a lot about Harry. He used his last decade of life to try and bring some context to the futility of war. To articulate why, in his words, “war is the calculated and condoned slaughter of human beings". And why no political agenda can justify it. He said, “It wasn’t worth it. No war is worth it. No war is worth the loss of a couple of lives let alone thousands. T’isn’t worth it … the First World War, if you boil it down, what was it? Nothing but a family row. That’s what caused it.” No other person can speak with the same authority on the subject. Harry was there. He saw it all. And try as he did, he was never able forget it.

Harry has made me think about how I have a son. He’s five now. I can take a long blink, open my eyes and he’ll be 15. Then 18. Followed by 20 and so on. That’s how it works. We all know this. All of the years ahead will pass by in a haze. Filled with life. All kinds of it. The mundane. The spectacular. The tough. But life nonetheless. A century ago, it could’ve been my boy at 18 called up by his country to serve in the war. Called up to fight to protect a government’s ideal. To defend. To kill. And the odds are that he would have been one of the casualties in a fight that was not his fight. As so many were. Young men. Boys really. Barely out of their teens. Each boy with their own history. The owners of a collection of unique experiences and memories. Gifted with life. Until it was gone. Taken. And the boys who made it back home haunted by a terror they couldn’t escape. A terror locked in their hearts and minds. Lives changed forever. Harry described a harrowing memory of his own:  “We came across a young lad from A Company. He was ripped open from his shoulder to his waist by shrapnel and lying in a pool of blood. When we got to him, he said: 'Shoot me'. He was beyond human help and, before we could draw a revolver, he was dead. And the final word he uttered was 'Mother.' I remember that lad in particular. It's an image that has haunted me all my life, seared into my mind."

As much as I think of my son here, I think too of each of those mothers who sent their sons to do their duty for their country. Held their boys one last time. Flesh of their flesh. Waved goodbye. Pride and fear sitting uncomfortably together. Helpless. Vulnerable. One can only imagine their trauma. And the sense of their grief and loss. And anger. “All those young lives lost in a war which ended across a table. Where's the sense in that?” Harry asked. There is no sense in it. In any of it. Not to Harry. Not to a generation of soldiers and their families. Not to me looking in a whole century later.

I think of my boy now and as his mother, I cannot comprehend living in a time where the innocents are led to the slaughter in such a way. Except the sad truth is that I don’t have to imagine it. None of us do. We don’t have to go back 100 years. Or even 75 years to the Second World War,  67 years to start of the Cold War, 58 years to the Vietnam War or 24 years to the Gulf War... There's simply no need. War is being waged right now. This very second. Men and women are fighting under the tenets of freedom, religion, money and power. Killing each other. Families are still being torn apart. Mothers are still grieving the loss of their sons. We live in a world where at the absence of constructive dialogue, the default setting is still violence.

I can’t help but think that surely there can be another way? I’m no fanatical. I have no hippy tendencies. No pet goat. I’m a simple girl with simple ideologies. But even I have to ask…surely there’s an alternative to all the bloodshed? Just how united is the ‘United Nations’? What went on at Davos besides a whole lot of fine talk, fine food and wine and a flurry of selfies? As Harry says, “Politicians who took us to war should have been given the guns and told to settle their differences themselves, instead of organising nothing better than legalised mass murder." Food for thought indeed Harry. As much as we’ve come a long way from 1914, have we really? Sometimes I'm not so sure...

Damascus, Syria - 2014

Paris, France - 1914

Cook Plumbing and Electrical

When I was a young girl, I wanted to be a teacher. This career aspiration sadly had little to do with being a nurturer of young minds or steering burgeoning talent. I loved more the idea of dressing fancy, knowing all of the textbook answers and telling people smaller than me what to do. Being able to write neat big words on a chalkboard ranked high too. In my teens, Ally McBeal and LA Law inspired the lawyer within. I also wanted to wear short tight skirts, flick my hair and skip in stilettos up the stairs to a court. Psychology was the next phase. I practiced my thoughtful face and envisaged my impeccably suited self in an office with a massive fish tank and abstract art. As a young adult, I dreamed of being a magazine editor. With my nose and celebrity fixation, I reckoned the editorship of Heat magazine the ideal job for me.

I currently do not teach, nor do I practice law, psychology or edit a jot of content. And those professions are undoubtedly richer for my absence. Life does have a way of getting in the way of the best-laid plans. Usually for the right reasons. If you’re hell confused. Time will explain. I am still not entirely sure what I’m going to do when I finally graduate to grown-up so until I figure it out, I think a lot about what my children will be. Yes, yes, of course it’s happy. And confident and self-aware and all the things every parent says they want for their kids. I’m talking now about how they’ll pay their own bills. And hopefully mine.

Oliver is an observant little chap. He can see things. Thank Christ it’s not dead people. I mean he can see patterns. He design things in his head and figures out how to reproduce them in real life. Robots, dinosaurs, even a farmer for his school project. He makes a mean paper aeroplane. Way better than mine, I’m ashamed to admit. He’s a rational thinker our boy. I’ll hazard a guess that he’ll end up in some kind of design/ structural/ building field. This perhaps after he’s finished being a train driver, fireman or Santa Claus - the professions top of his list at the moment. He’s also said to me that when he grows up he wants to be a dad. I said, “but what about your real job?” He sighed and answered with an earnest little face: “Don’t you know…being a dad is a real job Mom!”. I considered myself suitably chastised by my five year old. I’m hoping though that he aspires to the dad part later in life (way later). In his forties preferably. Being a teenage dad is a tricky balance to figure out. What with school and football practice and stuff. And the having no fixed income thing.

Gabriella is anyone’s guess. She’s a talker. A very expressive one. Her flair for the dramatic is epic and her ability to cry at will is a real talent. She’s fond of books and reading. She’s probably going to work with people. Doing something where she talks. And reads. And writes. And talks some more. She’s a confident soul so will work well in most industries – if she can control her temper. She’ll also have to stop hiding in the cupboard with the bin, lose her dummy and stop putting her potty on her head. Baby steps.

It’s fun to guess their careers based on their current characters. It’s like starting a new book that you’re desperate to read. You open the first page and can’t wait to read more. I know however that I am going to interfere. Like any good mother. I intend to steer their aspirations toward what I believe is the best path for each of them. Because I know best. Naturally. To me, the best path to pursue in life is one that includes the electric or plumbing trades. Massively underrated professions with great career opportunities and a never-ending market. Good old-fashioned honest hard work and they’re well-paid too. Just think about how much you have to fork out to have a geyser installed or when you need any re-wiring done? Proper cash. Usually in installments as the initial problem gives birth to more problems. Ollie has flooded the bath, constantly breaks the seat off the toilet and once locked himself so spectacularly in the bathroom that the entire door handle had to be removed by a construction guy working in the house next door. Methinks we’ve laid a good foundation there. Gabriella blew up a car in the microwave, fiddles with the light in the fridge every time I open it and has decimated about four torches – so a “Gabriella Cook Electrical” is not too far off.  In 25 years or so time, I reckon.



The truth is that I have no idea what these two little people will grow up to be. Neither do they. And that’s ok. There’s enough pressure in life without having to add the future on top of it all. The here and now can be hard enough to deal with. I will do my best to let them dream and never discourage any idea. This will be hard for me. Like dentist root-canal hard. But I will restrain myself. I have had good role models. My parents were great at letting me dream. Even when I wanted to be an air-hostess for little more reason than an unhealthy obsession with their glamour and high-heels. My mom put paid to the idea though when she explained that the hostesses actually worked on board and didn’t just strut up and down the aisle with perfectly coiffed hair and very red lipstick. Who knew?

So for now, I’ll quietly research the scholarship criteria for plumbing and electric trade colleges and try to work out what I’m going to do next with my own career. Planning my future is way less fun though. I wonder if you can still be an air-hostess if you're on the wrong side of 30, have two kids and would rather skip the hand-signalling and serving part of the job? I'm completely fine with the lipstick, heels and travel. I'll drop British Airways a line right now...

Robo-construction-engineer in the making.

2013: A Year in Review

- Oliver started big school. He now takes a six and a half hour school day in his stride. Seven and a half hours if you count the day he has football after school and his day then ends at 16:40. Add to this daily homework and school projects. He’s five years old.
- He learnt (again) how to ride a bike without training wheels. The first time was when he turned four at home in South Africa. After three of his bicycles were stolen out of our garden, he (unsurprisingly) lost the skill and the inclination to ride. He’s now re-mastered it. And (unsurprisingly) his bike hasn’t been stolen out of our garden. One because we don’t have much of a garden to speak of and two because children’s bicycles aren’t high on the British hit-list of hot items to fleece. Thieves here seem to prefer cash or electronics. Funny that.
- Gabriella has learnt to speak. She has conquered this milestone with aplomb. She speaks very well. And in abundance. Even in her sleep. We’re not sure whether we should enrol her in a school for the Gifted of the Gab or buy a muzzle. A muzzle is cheaper so we’re inclined to head more in that direction.
- Our children now share a room. And a bunkbed. This tandem bedding down kicks the ass out of any sleep sense CD, book or sleep training schedule we’ve heard of, but never done. At 7:30pm we close their bedroom door and leave them to it. Eventually they’ve exhausted each other, instead of us.
- We visited Spain. It was awesome. I caught warm puke in my hands and sat with chunks of masticated oats and regurgitated milk for four hours in a car and a two-hour plane ride. But it was still awesome.
- We visited Paris. We ate so much cheese that I dreamt of boats of Bree floating in a river of Gorgonzola in the county of Camembert. It too - was awesome. The cheese. And the city.
- Tim visited New York (thrice), Dubai, Russia (twice), Denmark (twice), Turkey (twice) and Amsterdam (twice). He now needs a new passport with more pages for all his customs stamps. I would hate him. But he’s my husband and I figure we’ve got at least another 30 years of passive aggression in our marriage before the hate sets in.
- I had my first proper car accident. Ok yes, I’ve nudged poles and brushed past gates. But this time, I reversed straight into a parked car in my own street after I realised I’d left the oven on. Shameful is to have to write a note that reads: ‘I am so sorry I bashed your car”. More shameful is the fact that I had to do it in my pyjamas.
- I dropped a brand-new i-phone into the loo. We resurrected the phone by leaving it in a container of rice for 24 hours and letting it dry out in the cupboard that houses our boiler. I have never been more complimentary of Apple’s technology or resilience to dummies. Respect Apple. Sorry Samsung - it's just never going to happen.
- I locked myself out of our house. Twice. The second time my daughter was inside. Alone. I was stranded outdoors with my son. We were freezing. Shoe-less in our pyjamas. I discovered that while British homes don’t have burglar bars, they’re ironically very difficult to break into. I also discovered that feigning humour with pathetic jokes in moments of intense stress is my default setting for coping.
- I have started receiving voucher coupons in the post for wine and nappies from my supermarket. These are my most regular purchases. To me they go hand-in-hand. If you need to buy nappies, you sure as hell need to buy wine.
- I started a new job. After I had the same one for almost seven years.
- I drive a 4x4 vehicle and I don’t even know what that means – except that I pay more for petrol.
- Tim now exercises. Like proper. He walks 10 kilometres to and from work. And does Pilates twice a week. I can’t even mock him, because I do nothing. The most I do is get out of my car and walk the 50 metres to my office door.
- Tim saw Manchester United play at Old Trafford for the first time. This experience ranks top of his lifetime achievement list alongside having children and getting on a waiting list for a Playstation 4.
- I left a bag with my purse and all four of our passports in a supermarket baby changing room. I got them all back. The same day. Along with every pound I had in my purse. I didn’t even have to create a Facebook Appeals page or offer a reward. Someone just did the right thing and handed it in. My heart overfloweth with gratitude.
- On a work trip after an evening function, I couldn’t remember which station my hotel was located at. After traversing back and forth for an hour trying in vain to find my bearings at each stop on the line, I eventually started to cry. A stranger helped me. He suggested I calm down, stop crying and call my boss for help. I did. And it worked. My faith in the humanity of the random British stranger has been restored. So too has my resolve to master the public transport system once and for all.
- While I was cooking and my attention was diverted, my two year old daughter who was sitting on the kitchen counter ‘helping me’, put one of my son’s dinky cars in the microwave and turned it on. The wheel exploded and caught on fire. We escaped a serious accident, but at least my daughter will most likely avoid a microwave for the rest of her life. Silver lining in there somewhere.
- We said goodbye to our best friends, reunited with old friends and have started making some new friends.
- At our first dinner with aforementioned new friends, I drank two bottles of white wine and spoke at length and increasing volume about how colonialism instituted by the British was the start of apartheid and corruption in South Africa. This theory gained little support. I arrived home after falling on the pavement, was violently ill in my own bed and awoke in the morning amidst a sea of lamb curry vomit. I have never felt worse than I did that morning hunched over a bath of bleach scrubbing lamb curry out of my white bed linen. I learnt a big lesson that day. Don’t drink white wine with lamb curry. Stick to red. Possibly also reconsider white linen.
- I have bought more second-hand clothes and shoes than new ones. Vintage is the way forward. That or Gap. On a sale.
- We moved to a new home. In a new country. On a different continent.
- We started a new life.

2013 was a big year for our little Cook family.

Here's to 2014 - you show us yours, we'll show you ours.

2013