And so, November draws to a close, a month that has been filled with reflection and remembrance, one hundred years after the Armistice of 1918.
At The Weaver’s House, we marked the centenary with a special event of particular relevance to the house. During the First World War, the O’Neil family were residents in the house. Three of the O’Neil boys went away to war, and only one returned.
For this special event on November 3, The Weaver’s House was awarded two There But Not There silhouettes funded by the Armed Forces Covenant Fund Trust. The silhouettes represent people lost to conflict. Our silhouettes were placed in the house itself, where the O’Neil boys lived one hundred years ago.
Descendants of the O’Neils: Clare Chamberlain, Paul Nolan, Debra Morris and Eve Morris.
Poster for The Window
A display of WW1 objects
There But Not There
One of our regular volunteers, Clare, is a descendant of the O’ Neils and as part of the day she presented a free family history talk including their war story. We were also pleased to welcome Coventry-based actor and playwright, Paul Nolan, another descendant of the O’Neils. Paul’s play The Window tells the WWI story of the O’Neils and has been on tour this year, you can find out more here.
Sergeant Phil Edis of Coventry R.E.M.E. (Royal Electrical Mechanical Engineers) was in attendance to represent the role of the Armed Forces in our community today, and we thank him for spending time with us and our visitors on the day.
The memory board
During the open day, we had a memory board which we invited visitors to add to, in remembrance of family members lost to war. We also had a collection of First World War artefacts brought in by volunteer Brian, and another display of objects collected by Clare.
Visitors examine the artefacts brought in by Brian
First World War binoculars and cigarette cards
Shell casing, bamboo cask and clipping
First World War badges and cigarette cards
The Weavers’ Workshop, who meet at the house every week, had added a special and fitting touch with woven poppies which accompanied the There But Not There silhouettes.
Woven poppies
Reflecting on the past
Thanks to all who took part in the day, whether volunteers, visitors or other contributors, and of course to the Armed Forces Covenant Trust for awarding us the grant for the silhouettes.
Saturday 3 November
10.30am – 1.30pm
Families of War
Free
The Weaver’s House invite you to reflect on families, war and loss as, one hundred years on, we remember the Armistice of 1918.
At the time of the First World War, the house was home to the O’Neil family. Three of the young men that lived there joined the Army and were posted to France in WW1.
Only one of them returned.
For this special event, The Weaver’s House have been awarded two There But Not There silhouettes funded by the Armed Forces Covenant Fund Trust. The silhouettes represent people who went to war and did not come back. We will be placing our silhouettes in the house itself, where the O’Neil boys lived.
James O’Neil
As part of the day we are creating a memory board. Please come and share your stories of family members who have been lost to war, bring photographs, and add relatives’ names on the board. The house will be decorated with woven poppies created by our resident craft group, The Weavers’ Workshop. We will also be thinking of the role of the armed forces in our communities today and hope that members of the forces both past and present will join us.
One of our volunteers, Clare, is a descendant of the O’ Neils and she will be doing a special family history talk including the war story of the family as part of the day. Tickets for the talk are free but must be booked in advance due to the restricted size of the house. These are now fully booked. Please note there will be no general access to the house during the talks (approx 11am – 12.40pm).
Light refreshments will be available. Come along and bring a photo or a memory, or just come and remember.
This March, a poignant new drama will tell the true story of a Coventry family’s experience of First World War… the very family who lived in The Weaver’s House during this period.
Written to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the armistice this year, this heartwrenching story from the trenches of the First World War will be staged at the Albany Theatre, close to the house itself.
The Window, written and directed by Paul Nolan, tells the true story of his great uncle James O’Neil, who was born at the end of the 19th century to a poor Coventry family who were fighting just to survive after their father was admitted to the notorious Hatton Asylum. Fast changes were taking place in the rapidly expanding industrial city at the time, and James grew up to be exactly the ‘right age’ when the First World War broke out. News that the country was at war, announced on the August bank holiday 1914, shook the family home, pitching James into the most exciting adventure of his life, as he became part of a landmark British offensive with the 15th Durham Light Infantry that would change ground warfare as we know it.
This touching play describes both the horrors of the battlefield and the struggles on the home front though the voices of James and his sister Ivy. The Window is a compelling and beautifully constructed First World War drama about a young Coventry soldier and his harrowing experiences during one of the British Army’s most notoriously unsuccessful and bloody offensives.
The Window runs from Tuesday 13 until Saturday 17 March 2018, in the brand new studio at the Albany Theatre, before embarking on tour. Paul Nolan is an actor, writer and director based in Coventry, whose ancestors lived at The Weaver’s House. If you don’t want to find out what happens in the story before you see the play, we suggest that you don’t read our other family history pages just yet!
In 2015 Clare Chamberlain, whose ancestors lived in The Weaver’s House in the early 20th century, paid a visit to the WWI battlefields. This is her creative response to that visit. You can read her blog post about the visit itself here.
Saturday 13th November 1915 – 122 Spon Street, Coventry, England
Joseph O’Neil is in his workshop at the back of the house repairing pair after pair of boots. The smell of leather perfumes the house and the noise from his tools is pleasantly rhythmic. He’d like to be in the pub across the road, but that’ll have to wait till later, when his wife Harriet is out taking the two children to visit his mother Eliza. She’s been worrying about this war so much, poor old gal, with two sons already involved and another desperate to do his bit.
Joseph is a bit old to join up but his brother William has been in the Army for the last 13 years, just demobilised and now talking of going back. And his youngest brother James is only a lad of 23 and was sent to France in September. God knows where he is and what he’s doing now.
As he pulls another battered boot from the hessian sack, his thoughts drift to James’s last letter. He sounded fine. He said the crossing to Boulogne hadn’t been too rough, and that they were marching a long way each day, but of course he couldn’t say where they were headed. He may not have even known, other than that it was East. Joseph only hopes that his brother is safe and well, and that he can send another letter home soon to ease his mother’s worries.
James O’Neil
Saturday 13th November 1915 – Nr Houplines, Northern France.
James pulls his coat tightly around himself. It’s really nippy today. The rain is holding off thankfully but the cold has got into his bones, his fingers and toes are numb. They moved into this trench only yesterday, relieving the lads from the other battalions, and already he’s sick of the sight of it. The German lines aren’t far away; if he was daft enough to stick his head up he’d be able to see them!
There was shelling earlier and his ears are still ringing from it. Luckily most of it missed them just here, but some unfortunate sods further down the line would have got it.
As James stamps his feet and shuffles around in an attempt to get warm he thinks of his family back home. He hopes his mother isn’t too worried, that his brothers are ok. He wonders if his father even understands what’s going on in the world, locked up in that asylum for so long now. He’s seen a few lads that’ll probably be heading to the same place after all this.
And now the terrible noise has started again, a shell comes over and lands with a terrible thud. Then another… and James feels the warmth of his own blood running down his arm inside his jacket. The pain comes like an electric shock, he feels dizzy, the sky grows darker, the ground comes up to meet him.
As he comes round he can feel himself being pulled, dragged. The noise seems distant now. He can’t be sure if it’s because he’s gone half deaf or if he’s further from it. Faces leaning over him. Being moved again, lifted. But now the faces are familiar; his mother, his brother Joseph, his little niece Winifred. The pain washes over him, it’s getting dark again, and he’s tired. So tired. And then nothing.
Clare standing at the trench line
Thursday 12th November 2015 – Nr Houplines, Northern France.
I am stood in a freshly ploughed farmer’s field, the sun is warming my back and there’s just a gentle breeze. The slight dip running across the field behind me is clearly visible from the shadows cast by the low winter sun. One hundred years ago today my great-great-uncle James was brought here, to the battle front, and stood very close to where I am now, tucked down in a trench, maybe even the one I’m stood in front of.
The German trenches would have been visible across the flat fields but stood here in the peace of today I am finding it hard to imagine the noise, the smell, the fear that surrounded this place a hundred years ago.
This would have been James’s last full living day. What on earth was he feeling, thinking, seeing? Could he imagine that he wouldn’t see the sun set tomorrow?
As I bend to place a poppy cross in the earth I see a lead bullet from a shell, I pick it up to take home as a memento. It’s most likely bullets like this one that caused James’s fatal wounds. I say goodbye to the Front Line of November1915 and head off to visit James’s grave, behind the lines and near to where the Field Hospital would have been.
The cemetery at Bailleul is quiet and beautifully kept. Row upon row of white headstone mark the last resting place for so many soldiers. I find James’s grave and finally give him his medals, a poppy wreath from the family and a photograph of himself in uniform.
Each side of him are men that died the same day, 13th November 1915… beside them, men who died the following day, and the day after… and the next.
I look up and nod thanks across to the cemetery gardeners who are tending the graves in the next row, who keep the place so tidy for these never-to-be-forgotten soldiers… these men and boys… these sons, brothers, fathers and uncles, who will still be here in another 100 years.
I leave James with his silent companions. I will be back to visit again one day.
