Epilogue

There this story ends. Frank started out in 1914 as a young man not knowing what was to happen to him, like millions of others at the time. He survived, not because he was in a safe job or because he stayed out of the firing line; he was as much in the front line as the infantry, and often had to go into No Mans Land, that most dangerous of places, to pick up wounded men. Just like them there must have been many times when he lived in fear of death or injury. No doubt he was as careful as he could be, just like any other sensible soldier, particularly one whose bonds with home, family and sweetheart were very strong. Luck was also on his side on many occasions, like soldiers before him and to this day.

He lost colleagues, friend’s colleagues and acquaintances, lads he had been to school and church with, or worked with or knew as neighbours. He saw death and wounds of the most terrible kind; he tended to men of both sides. Army life sent him to strange places, to suffer hard living conditions, privations, long spells away from home, and all the usual petty impositions inflicted on soldiers. Frank never complained; he got on with what he had to do, and even put himself in harms way to save others from harm. Many of his colleagues had the same stamp as Frank; young inexperienced men, still just boys in most ways, who had to grow up in a few weeks and carry out duties that were unimaginable in their civilian life.