George Edward WHITTINGTON

Male 1884 - 1917  (33 years)


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  • Name George Edward WHITTINGTON 
    Born 4 Feb 1884  Greasbrough, Rotherham, Yorkshire, England Find all individuals with events at this location 
    Christened 16 Mar 1884  St Mary's Church, Greasbrough, Rotherham, Yorkshire, England Find all individuals with events at this location 
    Gender Male 
    Occupation Coal Miner 
    Died 20 Nov 1917  Louverval, Nord, France Find all individuals with events at this location 
    Person ID I00716  Derbyshire Hills
    Last Modified 17 Jul 2016 

    Father William WHITTINGTON,   b. 1851, Greasbrough, Rotherham, Yorkshire, England Find all individuals with events at this location,   d. 1924, Greasbrough, Rotherham, Yorkshire, England Find all individuals with events at this location  (Age 73 years) 
    Mother Emma SCHOFIELD,   b. 1858, Greasbrough, Rotherham, Yorkshire, England Find all individuals with events at this location,   d. 1909, Greasbrough, Rotherham, Yorkshire, England Find all individuals with events at this location  (Age 51 years) 
    Married 1874  Rotherham, Yorkshire, England Find all individuals with events at this location 
    Family ID F0281  Group Sheet  |  Family Chart

  • Notes 
    • 240493 lance corporal george whittington,enlisted 15/3/1909, served with the kings own light infantry 2nd/ 5th bn, he was killed 20/11/1917, he is remembered on the cambrai memorial,
      posthoumously awarded british and victory medals.
      FOR THE FALLEN
      proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
      England mourns for her dead across the sea.
      Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
      Fallen in the cause of the free.

      Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
      Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
      There is music in the midst of desolation
      And a glory that shines upon our tears.

      They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
      Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
      They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
      They fell with their faces to the foe.

      They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
      Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
      At the going down of the sun and in the morning
      We will remember them.

      They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
      They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
      They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
      They sleep beyond England's foam.

      But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
      Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
      To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
      As the stars are known to the Night;

      As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
      Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
      As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
      To the end, to the end, they remain.

      lawrence binyon


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