Reginald Elsworth "Polly" Parrott

I've always felt closer to Reginald Elsworth Parrott than "Laddie" Millen because I have a photo of him standing, living, with my grandfather in November 1915. He, especially, looks young and gentle, and anything but a soldier.

He died on March 5, 1916, after being buried alive when a German retaliatory bombardment collapsed the parapet. He was 20. My son just turned 21.

Here's a picture of my grandfather visiting Parrott's grave in the summer of 1922. "Laddie" Millen's grave is next to it, to the right and outside the frame.

In 2006 I was there with my son, then aged 11. 

My sister-in-law has been since. I also have a small vial of earth from his grave that I've been sprinkling at opportune moments in such places as the War Memorial in Ottawa and on a movie set where I was an extra in a trench a few years ago. By these small acts we try to remember those who might be forgotten. 

Are there any Parrott relatives out there? Contact me. Reginald Parrott was the son of John Parrott, Mayor of Saltcoats, Saskatchewan.

John Ernest Lysle "Laddie" Millen

In these years there must be hundreds of significant Great War centenary dates just passed, or soon to come. For the Western Front people are anticipating the Battle of Verdun and the start of the Battle of the Somme.

But every day there is a centenary passing for hundreds of men who died less historic deaths in the trenches. In this blog posting, and the next, I want to remember two men. These men were friends of my grandfather's. They fought with Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry.

"Laddie" Millen worked as an advertising manager before enlisting as part of the 1st University Company that restored numbers to PPCLI in 1915. I know nothing of him but what is written in the book " With The Patricia's in Flanders ". He seems to have been particularly liked by the other men and I can imagine him being light hearted when others were feeling quakey. He must have made his comrades feel good to be alive and feel like picking up their step when spirits were lagging. 

He was shot in the head by a sniper and died on February 19, 1916. He was twenty one years old. This terrible photo was stolen from the web.

As I said, my grandfather was a friend of his. I believe he was the man in one of three stories my grandfather told me when I was thirteen. He told me that he had to relieve a man on sentry duty. As he took up his position the other man yawned, reaching up and stretching. His head went above the parapet and at that moment the sniper had his target. The shot from 700 yards was perfect. As my grandfather told me he held his dying friend in his arms, the top of his head removed like the top of a boiled egg, his brains utterly exposed.

Was this man "Laddie" Millen? I can't be certain but the point is he might have been. In the end what I believe may be what is important because it is in remembering the individuals that we can begin to appreciate the size of the slaughter, and that each death amongst the millions was a devastating tragedy to those left behind, whether distant family or trench mates who remembered the moment for decades and passed that memory to their grandchildren.