On this day 105 years ago, the guns fell silent along the Western Front, marking the end of the “war to end wars”. The physical cost of World War I, in terms of the numbers of dead and wounded, was phenomenal, but the psychological impact was massive, too.
I recently came across a story that became a cause célèbre in its time: a returning French prisoner of war who had lost his memory. I found it all the more fascinating because he spent some time in our region.
Psychological effects
As World War I descended into a war of attrition, the psychological effects took their toll. Men who had rarely manipulated anything more murderous than a pitchfork or a lathe were pitched into relentless bombardments and constant fear. Shell shock began to gain recognition as a genuine disorder and not a means of ducking out of fighting.
When prisoners of war also began to return, some before the end of the war, doctors recognised the effects of confinement on them, too. They termed this ‘la pychose des barbelés’, barbed wire psychosis.
Man without a memory
In February 1918, a man was wandering about aimlessly on a Lyon station platform. He was part of a convoy of French soldiers whom the Germans had repatriated because they were ill. The man couldn’t remember who he was and could barely speak. He had no papers or ID tags, and his threadbare uniform had lost its regimental insignia. The press got hold of the story and quickly nicknamed him ‘le soldat inconnu vivant’, the living unknown soldier.
Judged incurable, the man moved around from asylum to asylum (as they called psychiatric hospitals). Eventually, he was confined in the psychiatric hospital in Rodez, Aveyron. He had acquired the name Anthelme Mangin, based on the few syllables he could pronounce. He remained in Rodez for sixteen years.
The director of the hospital set the wheels in motion to try to find Anthelme’s family. Newspapers published his photo and description, which were also posted in mairies around France.
Overwhelming response
The response was overwhelming. More than fifty families contacted the hospital, claiming that he was a son/brother/husband lost in the war. Some families even initiated lawsuits to prove that he “belonged” to them. Anthelme’s sparse brown hair, brown eyes and beard, pale complexion and height of 1m64 didn’t help. Without any particular distinguishing features, he looked like so many other men.
The families’ response is astounding but perhaps hardly surprising. Among the casualties of the war, more than a quarter of a million soldiers were simply classified as missing, presumed dead. This left families in limbo with no body to bury, no concrete proof of any kind, no possibility to grieve adequately. Also, they had no opportunity to move on honourably. Widows were expected to mourn their dead husband and not remarry in indecent haste.
There was always the hope that the missing person might return, having been a prisoner of war or seriously wounded and in hospital. Bereaved relatives grasped at whatever straws floated past in the form of amnesiac former POWs. Anthelme fitted the bill and even more so as time went on and other amnesiacs died.
Identity confirmed
The bickering about ownership of Anthelme went on into the 1930s, when the authorities finally discovered his true family. His real name was Octave Monjoin, and he came from the town of Saint-Maur in the Indre département of central France.
Anthelme/Octave seemed to confirm this himself when he found his way unaided from the station in Saint-Maur to the family home. He also appeared surprised not to see the church bell tower, which a lightning strike had destroyed.
However, another family refused to accept the court judgement and lodged an appeal. The court case went on for so long that by the time it finished in 1938, both Octave’s father and brother had died. And once his identity had been definitely confirmed, the other families lost interest. He had nowhere to go.
Octave remained in psychiatric hospitals until his death in 1942. His sad story has a kind of happy ending. In 1948, a wealthy former World War I soldier had his remains transferred from a communal grave to his own tomb in the cemetery in Saint-Maur.
The Unknown Soldier
An unidentified French soldier was buried in a tomb beneath the Arc de Triomphe in Paris on 11th November 1920. Another soldier, Auguste Thin, chose him. Le soldat inconnu symbolises all French soldiers who have fallen in war.
The eternal flame at the tomb was lit on 11th November 1923 by André Maginot, Ministre de la Guerre – he of the impregnable defensive Maginot Line, which the Germans simply circumvented in May 1940.
Remembrance ceremony
As always, we attended the remembrance ceremony today in our village, which commemorates the sacrifice of French people in all wars. We stood in pale sunshine while soldiers from the nearby military training camp formed a guard of honour.
The maire read the customary official discours, but he encouraged us in his own words to practise fraternité and toleration. If only.
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Hi Vanessa. How very moving and so sad.
MJ
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It is a sad story. And I suspect that some of the families that claimed him as theirs were principally interested in his war pension.
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My paternal grandmother’s favourite brother died at Paschendale and is listed as a driver but that meant driver of horses pulling a gun carriage. He is buried in a Belgium war cemetery that my brother and one of my sisters have visited. My nan treasured his button hook that came back with his affairs and passed it to my mother with the note ‘i know you will look after it’. My mother passed on her love of history and family history to her children and when she died I took on the custody of this precious link to the family past.
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Another sad story, but it’s good that you have his button hook. These small everyday items mean so much when they are passed down the line. They are a way of keeping the person’s memory alive.
Animals suffered horribly, too: horses, dogs, carrier pigeons. Not to mention the farm animals that were probably caught in the crossfire at times. Such a terrible, terrible waste of lives.
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My grandfather who died before my parents married due to the after effects of being gassed in the first world war had to shoot his own beloved horse because of its injuries. I have a photo of him proudly astride her amongst my family history bits. So many losses. 😥
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How awful for him to have to shoot his own horse. The suffering for the horses was dreadful. I imagine there must have been psychological effects on them, too. If people can suffer from shell shock, I’m sure horses can. And the mustard gas…there’s a Wilfred Owen poem about it, which is horribly graphic. What terrible things humans devise to kill one another with!
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A compelling tribute to just one victim of World War 1. My grandfather and his older brother both served in France. They had both worked together in Queensland as chartererd accountants. James the older brother was found to have overstayed his leave when in Egypt and was sentenced by his Lieutenant Colonel to the permanent (non negotiable) military status of gunner. Gunner James received shrapnel wounds in the last weeks of the war in 1918 and was moved from a French military hospital to London where he died soon after. My grandfather was clever enough to serve as a military driver in France and Belgium. Their Brisbane family received a letter from James written by the soldier in the next hospital bunk two days before he died. He stated he had no feelings in his legs but that he would be given some physiotherapy after his operation. There were letters to his mother and brothers to follow, which I am now the keeper of. James is one of thousands buried in a London military cemetery. He was handsome and a champion at sculling in Brisbane prior to the war. My grandfather was definitely left scarred by the death of James, by the senseless warring and by the British officers who treated young intelligent Australian men like my grandfather as no better than a mangy dog. He hated the British for the rest of his life.
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What a sad story. The phrase “lions led by donkeys”, although coined much earlier, is certainly applicable to WWI. With hindsight it all seems so unnecessary. The conflict affected people for generations afterwards and was never really resolved at the time. The letters you have in your possession are precious.
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How gracious and moving your reply to me is, Vanessa. Donkeys leading lions indeed. I must read Paul Ham’s account of Paschendale. I appreciate that my grandfather’s collection of physically small memoirs from getting to France (including photos) being there, including the obligatory but iconic photo of Australian army troops in front of Palais de Versailles and James’ letter etcetera are so precious. I have a cousin who was a senior nurse and she researched James’s wounds and medical treatment. James is not forgotten. My grandfather was a kind but broken man, carrying grief throughout the rest of his life. He was clever and watchful and chose to live simply, close to nature at the most beautiful beach, where he could fish. Thank you again for sharing your empathy.
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I believe it’s so important to keep individual people’s stories alive. When one talks about how many millions died in WWI, it is somehow difficult to envisage what they experienced, because the numbers are simply too big, whereas stories like those of your grandfather and great-uncle bring it home. It’s good to know that the memory of people like James lives on.
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Nice piece as usual. We’ll be attending our own remembrance parade tomorrow. This year sadly overshadowed by Palestinian protests.
105 years is a long time and younger memories lack understanding and empathy. ‘Les Immortels’ are fading from our collective consciousness.
As one putative march was headlined : “never again” is now.
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I think even World War II is fading from collective memory. After all, it will be 80 years next year since the Normandy landings took place. There aren’t many veterans left from that now. One of the sad lessons from history is that we don’t learn from history.
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