Remembrance Sunday

This is a true story about a man called Joseph Bowen, his brother William Bowen and their cousin The Rev'd. Oliver Bowen. William Bowen was my grandfather but this story is the same for millions of families through out Europe.

PONTYCYMMER RIFLEMAN KILLED IN ACTION

On Saturday last, Mrs Elizabeth Bowen, 51 Alexandra Road, Pontycymmer, received the sad official notification that her husband, Rifleman Joseph Bowen, 2nd Kings Royal Rifle Corps, was killed in action in France on 26 July. Rifleman Bowen joined the Army soon after the outbreak of war, and had seen 14 months' active service in France. Prior to enlistment he worked as a collier at the Blaengarw Colliery. He was highly respected throughout the valley, and we regret to state that he leaves a widow and three children to mourn his loss.

Glamorgan Gazette September 1st 1916

The Commonwealth War Graves Commission has the following information...
Joseph Bowen died 25th July 1916, service number /5283, buried Warloy-Baillon Communal Cemetery Extension, Plot 5, Row B, No 23.
There is no other information.

But the book: Men Who Died In The Great War shows that he was born in Amroth, enlisted in Bridgend, resided in Pontycymmer Glamorgan, and died of wounds.

These simple details hide the agonies he must have gone through and do not tell of the misery experienced by his family afterwards, especially his wife and three small children. All over Europe, the same high price was being paid by other ordinary families. For these thousands of families, there had always been hope that their men would return.

William Bowen of Pantygog, my grandfather received the following letter from The Rev'd. Oliver Bowen BA, Cardiff (late of Pontycymmer):-

My dear Cousin,
I have at last been able to fulfil my promise to visit Joe's grave. I have passed through many trials since I came out here, but this experience is quite unique. I failed to reach the cemetery before the darkness came on, and not knowing the number of the grave I had to search for it with the aid of an electric torch, but eventually I found it.
It would be difficult to describe my emotions as I stood by his grave in the dark. Many things came into my mind as I stood there for a while. I felt I was a lonely mourner representing his family far away, and I realised in some measure the sorrow which would have been theirs had they stood at the same spot.
When I thought of his mother, and wife and children especially, my tears mingled with the sacred soil that covered his mangled body. However, other thoughts passed through my mind. I recalled him as I saw him a month or so before he received the fatal wound, and I had the feeling that the grave is not his goal. He seemed to me to have survived that death, and to be vividly near to me in spirit.
It will be a consolation to you all to know that his, and all the other graves in the cemetery, are tidily and even beautifully kept, showing the humane work of sympathetic hearts and hands. The cross stands at the head of the grave bearing his name, number and regiment, and the date of his death in the Somme battle.
He is surrounded by a goodly company of heroes from all parts of the British Empire, and I wished it were possible for me to send a message of consolation to the loved ones of all whose bodies lie there after they had made the supreme sacrifice. I am sure it will have been some comfort to you all to know that I have stood by his grave.
I remembered that Joe volunteered at the call of duty, when he might have kept out of it altogether, and as I turned to come away I thought of the words, "Greater love hath no man than this that a man may lay down his life for his friends." When I return home on leave I will give you more detailed information. With love to Aunt and all the family,
Yours very affectionately,
Oliver.


Some 92 years after, the graveyard is still as well tended as it was then. It lies between the towns of Albert and Amiens along a long straight road that Roman army built to help communications with the different parts of their empire. As straight as the road is, Joseph Bowen must have felt every bump and jolt along it as he was taken from the field of battle to a medical station. His must have been a painful and protracted death: one that he could never have visualised; one thankfully that his immediate family could never know about.