My great uncle, Leslie Clark, is buried 'somewhere in France' - one of the hundreds of thousands of young men who died in that bizarre, pointless Great War.
He didn't much want to go to war but, after being sent white feathers and harassed for being a coward, he did go. And won the Military Medal and bar for bravery in the field.
As the Red Cross letter says 'he put up a great fight against Fritz'.
But I doubt that was much comfort for his young wife.
My grandfather, William, and his brother Arthur also fought at Gallipoli and in France. They were wounded and gassed, but somehow survived. And they have living descendants who remember them with love. But Leslie, like so many others, did not - there is no one left who remembers him and I only know him from a box of fragments, and a name on the Roll of Honour at the Australian War memorial in Canberra.