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PARWICH Commemoration of the start of WW1
From 8.30 p.m. onwards:
Exhibition of pictures & details of the known men who enlisted during the 1914-18 War. (This list has been drawn up by a group from the History Society who have been visiting the ‘Magic Attic’ at Swadlincote to look through old copies of local newspapers from those years. The list includes around twenty-five names, many from well-known Parwich families.)
9.15 p.m.: “Parwich at War, 1914 to 1918”
An illustrated talk (illustrated with pictures of Parwich men who went off to war) about
- Life in the village between 1914 and 1918 and how it was affected by the War
- The conditions at the Front, and some of the details of the men involved.
At about 10.30 p.m.: torchlight procession to the War Memorial.
Rev Ian Aldersley will conduct a brief memorial service and the names of all Parwich residents who took part in the War will be read out.
At 11.oo p.m. the candles and torches will be extinguished, we shall observe a minute’s silence, and everyone will the quietly depart.
PARWICH.ORG 
Memories of our Billy.
I sometimes think back to that dank October morning when our Billy and his pals went off to war,heads held high, boots as shiny as a jackdaws eyes,keen as mustard. On they marched along the cobbled streets whistling and joking you’d have thought they were off to some ruddy football match. The village children, some shoeless skipped, hopped and ran alongside as the men marched off into the distance. It was if they were following the pied piper.
My Bert said it’s just a flash in the bloody pan, sabre rattling over some pompous old peacock and his missus who got shot in some place he’d never heard of, but he was wrong, some folks said it would all be over by Christmas they were wrong too.it turned out to be a long long bloody nightmare.
I prayed every night for God to keep our lad safe not that I’m a religious sort I might add but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. We had some letters from Billy few and far between but precious all the same. In his last one he said that it was hell on earth. They were at a place called the Somme and due to go over the top at dawn but not to worry as the German positions had been shelled all night and it would be a cakewalk.
I was scrubbing the front step with a donkey stone when the telegram arrived,I knew from the delivery mans face what it was “sorry Missus” was all he said. I put it behind the clock on the mantle piece unopened. No need.
My Bert tapped out his pipe on the grate “It’s a rum do” he said. He was a man of few words bless him.He thought it a sign of weakness to show emotion,he had lost his only son not to a disaster down the pit or an accident in some dusty clattering old mill but to a conflict in some god forsaken war torn field far from home. But we do have to grieve don’t we it’s only natural even the odd weep now and then is ok don’t you think?
There were only two lads that came home, robbed of their innocence, eyeslike the windows of an empty shop. It’s been a good while now but I still expect our lad to walk through the door a wide cheeky grin on his face, hungry as a lion. Sometimes he would sneak up behind me and make me jump out of my skin.
He was a good lad was our Billy.
Paul Burlinson.
Brought a tear to my eye.