Remains of First World War Soldier Identified

OTTAWA – Almost 90 years after his death, Private Herbert Peterson will be laid to rest with his comrades in arms at La Chaudière Military Cemetery (Commonwealth War Graves Commission) during ceremonies in France in April 2007 to commemorate the 90th anniversary of the Battle of Vimy Ridge.

During a night raid on June 8th and 9th, 1917, 16 members of the 49th Battalion, Canadian Infantry, were reported missing and presumed dead on the German front near Vimy Ridge.

In October 2003, two sets of human remains were found during construction south of Avion, France in the vicinity of Vimy Ridge. Due to their location, associated artifacts and uniform buttons and badges, they were believed to be members of that same battalion.

The Directorate of History and Heritage, as part of their responsibilities regarding casualties and war dead of previous conflicts, is conducting a comprehensive investigation of the circumstances of the death of these two soldiers. A multi-disciplinary team with historical, documentary, forensic and genealogical expertise has successfully identified one of the two soldiers – Private Herbert Peterson. Efforts to identify the second soldier whose remains were found with those of Private Peterson are ongoing.

Private Peterson came from Barry Creek, Alberta. Born February 28th, 1895, Private Peterson was the son of Charles and Julia Peterson of Rose Lynn, Alberta. He had five brothers, Gustave, Glen, Clarence, Roland and Carl.

Private Peterson’s next-of-kin have been notified of the recovery and identification of his remains, and the plans for his interment.

The 49th Battalion is perpetuated by the Loyal Edmonton Regiment and soldiers from this unit will form the core of the burial party for Private Peterson.

When I read articles like this, I remember all those old men of my childhood, grandfathers, great uncles, who had gone off to France to fight the "War to end all Wars" and their stories, some told with tears in their eyes. I remember my grandfather showing me the places on his body where he still carried little pieces of German shrapnel and great uncle, smoking his pipe and suddenly starting to talk about the Marne, not having spoken of it in the fifty years since he'd come home.

"O God, take the sun from the sky!
It's burning me, scorching me up.
God, can't You hear my cry?
Water! A poor, little cup!
It's laughing, the cursed sun!
See how it swells and swells
Fierce as a hundred hells!
God, will it never have done?
It's searing the flesh on my bones;
It's beating with hammers red
My eyeballs into my head;
It's parching my very moans.
See! It's the size of the sky,
And the sky is a torrent of fire,
Foaming on me as I lie
Here on the wire . . . the wire. . . .

Of the thousands that wheeze and hum
Heedlessly over my head,
Why can't a bullet come,
Pierce to my brain instead,
Blacken forever my brain,
Finish forever my pain?
Here in the hellish glare
Why must I suffer so?
Is it God doesn't care?
Is it God doesn't know?
Oh, to be killed outright,
Clean in the clash of the fight!
That is a golden death,
That is a boon; but this . . .
Drawing an anguished breath
Under a hot abyss,
Under a stooping sky
Of seething, sulphurous fire,
Scorching me up as I lie
Here on the wire . . . the wire. . . .

Hasten, O God, Thy night!
Hide from my eyes the sight
Of the body I stare and see
Shattered so hideously.
I can't believe that it's mine.
My body was white and sweet,
Flawless and fair and fine,
Shapely from head to feet;
Oh no, I can never be
The thing of horror I see
Under the rifle fire,
Trussed on the wire . . . the wire. . . .

Of night and of death I dream;
Night that will bring me peace,
Coolness and starry gleam,
Stillness and death's release:
Ages and ages have passed, --
Lo! it is night at last.
Night! but the guns roar out.
Night! but the hosts attack.
Red and yellow and black
Geysers of doom upspout.
Silver and green and red
Star-shells hover and spread.
Yonder off to the right
Fiercely kindles the fight;
Roaring near and more near,
Thundering now in my ear;
Close to me, close . . . Oh, hark!
Someone moans in the dark.
I hear, but I cannot see,
I hear as the rest retire,
Someone is caught like me,
Caught on the wire . . . the wire. . . .

Again the shuddering dawn,
Weird and wicked and wan;
Again, and I've not yet gone.
The man whom I heard is dead.
Now I can understand:
A bullet hole in his head,
A pistol gripped in his hand.
Well, he knew what to do, --
Yes, and now I know too. . . .

Hark the resentful guns!
Oh , how thankful am I
To think my beloved ones
Will never know how I die!
I've suffered more than my share;
I'm shattered beyond repair;
I've fought like a man the fight,
And now I demand the right
(God! how his fingers cling!)
To do without shame this thing.
Good! there's a bullet still;
Now I'm ready to fire;
Blame me, God, if You will,
Here on the wire . . . the wire. . . ."

"On the Wire", Robert Service

My great-uncle Joe was the youngest of eight brothers. The eldest six were all killed in coal mines; two on the same day in different mines, they were brought home an laid on their mother's front porch. She wouldn't let my great uncle and his older brother, my grandfather, enter the mines: my grandfather went to work for the Lehigh Vally RR as a telegrapher, and Joe, the baby, was drafted and sent to France in WWI.

He nearly made it home in one piece, but, on the last day of the war, he was sheltering along the wall of a large crater when he wanted a smoke -- that fickle desire for a cigarette saved his life. No one on his side of the hole had matches, so he went crawling over to a group on the other side when a shell burst in the crater or nearby. Everyone else in the crater was killed, while Joe, being halfway between one side and the other, had his leg sliced open to the bone. My great uncle left the hospital in 1922, but he survived.

Given the relative size of the WW1 Canadian Army Medical Corps (CAMC), it's quite possible the paths of your Grandfather & my paternal Grandmother may have crossed.

It was a fairly small world back then within the CAMC with likely only roughly a maximum of 1,000 total Medical Personnel - doctors, nurses, various attendants, etc - overseas at any given point in time.
As an example, her best fellow Nursing Sister friend was apparently the fiance of Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae who wrote "in Flanders Fields"; whom she thus knew quite well.
At best might have been a couple of hundred - including my Grandmother & although she'd spent considerable time in France earlier - posted in England immediately after Vimy Ridge. Generally, only 12-15 Nursing Sisters were assigned on a rotating basis to the 2 or 3 - out 5 different ones over the duration - Hospital ships which ferried our war wounded back to Canada.

Click image for details of the criminal German
sinking of the Hospital Ship 'Llandovery Castle'
with the loss of 14 Canadian Nursing Sisters.

(my Grandmother happened to be assigned to RCNHS Araquaya,
outbound to Halifax with war wounded, which recovered
their bodies - thankfully, Llandovery Castle had been returning
back from Halifax with only crew/ Medical Staff on board)

BTW, did you know for about the past 6 or 7 years you've been able to obtain your Grandfather's complete WW1 Military records from the National Archives?
It's not all that expensive at about $3 per page but, if you go through a sympathetic Member of Parliament, they pay zip for docs from this source.
I got my Grandmother's a few years ago via a Liberal MP who simply wished to score free points with a constituent.

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