World War I:The Skeleton of My Youth

By Craig: I became fascinated by books at an early age. History books and adventure books were my favorite. I also enjoyed books dealing with the natural world. As a boy I was enraptured by the Time-Life and the American Heritage books that were chock full of photographs. These books helped my developing mind and in some ways shocked it. One of the books published by American Heritage was The History of World War I by Brigadier General S.L.A. Marshall.  I believe that I was in the third grade when I first found this book in the Hubbardston Massachusetts town library. The book was full of maps and illustrations and I can remember perusing its contents on many occasions. I was particularly drawn to one image...a disturbing image that probably first gave me pause, and time to reflect as to the brutal nature of WAR.
The image is black and white, grotesque in its finality. It is a skeleton of a man, a German soldier still in tattered uniform. The corpse is mangled, distorted and revolting. A broken arm folded across the neck. The hollow skull stares at the camera as if it knows that it is the subject of the cameraman's fancy. "Here" It says, "Come closer and get a better look for I have a story to tell!"
The shattered right arm lays casually at its side, the hand seems to want to beckon the viewer, but at the same time the left arm contradicts the right. "No! Stay away! War is Hell!" It is confused..."What has happened? What have I done to deserve this wretched fate?"




The caption below the image quotes a young French officer who was fighting on the line at Verdun. "Humanity...must be mad to do what it is doing, What scenes of horror and carnage!...Hell cannot be so terrible."




As an impressionable eight year old the image was disturbing and haunting. I kept going back to it, and would often think about it. Years after I first saw this image I found myself in the Marine Corps, and sometimes I would think about it. Would fate deliver me a similar hand? That skeleton had once been a living, breathing human being just like myself. He had dreams, ambition, and a desire for a fruitful productive life. I wondered about his past. Did he have a mother and father? A wife waiting for him to return? What were his dreams that had been snuffed out capriciously without another thought. The world did not seem to care. He was a rotting shell, but the sun still came up in the eastern sky the next morning after his death. The Earth continued to spin on its axis without him...and one day it will do the same without me... and you who reads this.