I don't suppose anyone will read this, and I have no idea why I feel the need to share it even with the electronic pulse we call the interwebz. Or something.
But, here we are so I want to tell you something that has no importance to anyone else and largely is a curiosity to me.
My middle name is Noel which I suppose is an odd name for a lad born in a working-class part of Sheffield (a city which had a lot of working-class parts) and whose birthday is within a few weeks shy of Christmas. It came to me from my father, who was called Noel, and it commemorates -- if that's the right word -- the life of a young French soldier from the first world war.
This young lad, and I have no information of which part of France he came from, was called Noel because he was born on Christmas Day and in all probability sometime towards the end of the 19th century. When war came to his country he signed up and went to fight. At the same time my grandfather, who was called Edward and came from Manchester, was serving in the British army in France and he had been given quarters at Noel's parents' home. I believe that this family were very kind to my grandfather. When news came through that young Noel had been killed in action, as a mark of respect my grandfather decided if he survived the conflict and he had another son on returning to England he would name him Noel.
My dad was born in 1919 and was duly named Noel. Of course, my father could never have known the young Frenchman though that is how I inherited the name.
I have no information about how the French soldier called Noel died, nor do I know where he served or the date he was killed. I like to think he didn't suffer but as so many people did in that terrible war there is, sadly, a fair chance it wasn't an easy end for him. But, his name for now lives on.
It ends with me. A shame in one way but so it goes. At least I know the young Frenchman is not yet forgotten.
