My great grandfather was from a military family from London, married an Irish girl and converted to Catholicism and was duly disowned by his family, ended up moving to Ireland around 1912-1913, in 1915 he left his pregnant wife and went to Ypre, from what the family know he was only there 2 weeks before he went ‘hanging on the wire’, back in lovely catholic Ireland his wife, my great grandmother was essentially shunned by the community and decided to head to the new world, she caught TB on the voyage, she died in New York shortly after giving birth to a son, my grandad, he was placed in an orphanage ran by nuns, by some fortuitous luck (for my future existence obviously) a priest who was from the same locality in Dublin was in America and was told about him, the priest brought him back to Ireland and he was raised by his mother’s brother, he became a boatbuilder, a real master carpenter, had 5 children and circa 1947 his wife died in childbirth leaving him to bring up his children alone, I always imagine the great grandfather up to his neck in mud during WWI and the grandfather up to his neck in dirty nappy’s during WWII. When I was a kid I used to sit with him watching the wrestling, giant haystacks and big daddy, I didn’t even like the wrestling but I liked being around my grandad and his dog, he was a quiet reserved man and had a large portrait of my great grandfather (in his regimental uniform) and great grandmother in his sitting room, he developed Alzheimer’s when I was 12 or so, died when I was 15, I miss him... just a bit of history from one of the millions upon millions of us