Henry Allingham, British first world war veteran, dies at 113
Henry William Allingham, the world's oldest man and one of the last surviving first world war servicemen, has died at the age of 113.
Born in 1896 to an ironmonger's wife in a corner of north-east London, the veteran, whose life spanned three centuries and six monarchs, was 67 when John F Kennedy was assassinated and 73 when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon.
He died this morning at the St Dunstan's care home in Ovingdean, near Brighton, East Sussex.Allingham was 14 when the war broke out. His mother begged him not to join the military, but a year after her death in 1915 he signed up.
The teenager could not have guessed he would became a symbol of the sacrifice of a generation. At the time of his death, he was the last surviving founder member of the RAF, the last man to have witnessed the Battle of Jutland and the last surviving member of the Royal Naval Air Service.
When asked recently how he had lived so long, Allingham, who held the Legion d'Honneur, said: "I don't know if there is a secret, but keeping within your capacity is vital. I've had two major breakdowns, one during the war and one after, but both when I was trying to do the work of three men. The trick is to look after yourself and always know your limitations."
It was his experiences during the war that defined the man, but for more than 80 years he refused to speak about it. After the war, Allingham went into the motor industry, eventually joining the design department at Ford before retiring in 1961.
He was finally persuaded by Dennis Goodwin who, as founder of the First World War Veterans' Association, organised reunions and trips for old soldiers.
"He'd answer the door and not let me in," recalled Goodwin, his carer and the ghost writer of his memoirs. "He'd say, 'I want to forget the war, I don't want to talk about it'. But I sent him letters about the reunions and gradually he let me in and we got talking. Eventually I got him out of his flat in Eastbourne and took him to the pier. He met other veterans and started to think, 'I could do this'. It was a very slow process – he's essentially a very private man."
Once Allingham started talking, it became clear that the scenes he witnessed of soldiers waiting to go over the top at Ypres never left him. "They would just stand there in 2ft of water in mud-filled trenches, waiting to go forward," he said. "They knew what was coming. It was pathetic to see those men like that. I don't think they have ever got the admiration and respect they deserved."
He remembered spending a night in a shellhole in Flanders. "It stank," he said. "So did I when I fell into it. Arms and legs, dead rats, dead everything. Rotten flesh. Human guts. I couldn't get a bath for three or four months afterwards."
In recent years, Allingham attended remembrance events at home and abroad, gave interviews to the media, visited schools to talk to children at least 100 years his junior and completed an autobiography, published last October.
He and his wife, Dorothy, were together for more than 50 years. "I've only ever kissed one girl: my Dorothy," he said. "We met in 1915 and married in 1918. She died in 1970. I never gave my cherry away when I went to the front. I know a lot of men who did."
Allingham leaves a family that includes five grandchildren, 12 great-grandchildren, 14 great-great grandchildren and one great-great-great grandchild.
Until the end of his life, Allingham's memory was sharp. Born the year the first modern Olympics were held and Queen Victoria's became the longest reigning monarch in British history, he was able to recall times that are long lost history to most of us.
"When I was 15, I came downstairs one morning, picked up mother's newspaper and, oh, what a shock! The Titanic had gone," he recalled. "The 'unsinkable' ship – but it had gone down so simple."
The former Ford worker remembered a time when cars were a rarity. "People drive fast today," he said. "When I was born the speed limit was two miles an hour. They'd only just repealed the law where a man had to walk in front of every motor car waving a flag."
He had two explanations for his longevity. The first, which proved age had not dimmed his sense of humour, was "cigarettes, whisky and wild, wild women".The second, however, was perhaps more thoughtful: "How have I lived so long? I never worried. In the20s there were millions of men out of work. You couldn't get a job anywhere. I wasn't worried. I'm not worried now.," he said. "I was cycling along Rotten Row one day when I saw George V come along on his horse. I took my cap off, and the King tipped his riding crop. And I said, 'Give me a job, sir, I'll do anything for you.' But it was lost in the clatter of the hooves." Max Arthur, author of the first world war oral history Last Post, had yet another explanation: "He was a very dignified, very gentle man. He was so surprised to survive the first world war that he saw whatever came next as a reward. He made the most of his life. It does exemplify in my mind that, whatever age you are, never give up, and when in doubt, sing, which is what he still does. Sheer defiance is the reason he keeps going."
Last month, Allingham seemed to agree: "I'm not the kid I used to be, but I still get around. You make your own happiness, whatever age you are. Seeing the funny side of life is useful, and I've always had a sense of humour. People ask me, what's the secret of a long life? I don't know."
The former Ford worker remembered a time when cars were a rarity. "People drive fast today," he said. "When I was born the speed limit was two miles an hour. They'd only just repealed the law where a man had to walk in front of every motor car waving a flag."
He had two explanations for his longevity. The first, which proved age had not dimmed his sense of humour, was "cigarettes, whisky and wild, wild women".
The second, however, was perhaps more thoughtful: "How have I lived so long? I never worried. In the20s there were millions of men out of work. You couldn't get a job anywhere. I wasn't worried. I'm not worried now.," he said. "I was cycling along Rotten Row one day when I saw George V come along on his horse. I took my cap off, and the King tipped his riding crop. And I said, 'Give me a job, sir, I'll do anything for you.' But it was lost in the clatter of the hooves."Max Arthur, author of the first world war oral history Last Post, had yet another explanation: "He was a very dignified, very gentle man. He was so surprised to survive the first world war that he saw whatever came next as a reward. He made the most of his life. It does exemplify in my mind that, whatever age you are, never give up, and when in doubt, sing, which is what he still does. Sheer defiance is the reason he keeps going."
Last month, Allingham seemed to agree: "I'm not the kid I used to be, but I still get around. You make your own happiness, whatever age you are. Seeing the funny side of life is useful, and I've always had a sense of humour. People ask me, what's the secret of a long life? I don't know."
Born in 1896 to an ironmonger's wife in a corner of north-east London, the veteran, whose life spanned three centuries and six monarchs, was 67 when John F Kennedy was assassinated and 73 when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon.
He died this morning at the St Dunstan's care home in Ovingdean, near Brighton, East Sussex.Allingham was 14 when the war broke out. His mother begged him not to join the military, but a year after her death in 1915 he signed up.
The teenager could not have guessed he would became a symbol of the sacrifice of a generation. At the time of his death, he was the last surviving founder member of the RAF, the last man to have witnessed the Battle of Jutland and the last surviving member of the Royal Naval Air Service.
When asked recently how he had lived so long, Allingham, who held the Legion d'Honneur, said: "I don't know if there is a secret, but keeping within your capacity is vital. I've had two major breakdowns, one during the war and one after, but both when I was trying to do the work of three men. The trick is to look after yourself and always know your limitations."
It was his experiences during the war that defined the man, but for more than 80 years he refused to speak about it. After the war, Allingham went into the motor industry, eventually joining the design department at Ford before retiring in 1961.
He was finally persuaded by Dennis Goodwin who, as founder of the First World War Veterans' Association, organised reunions and trips for old soldiers.
"He'd answer the door and not let me in," recalled Goodwin, his carer and the ghost writer of his memoirs. "He'd say, 'I want to forget the war, I don't want to talk about it'. But I sent him letters about the reunions and gradually he let me in and we got talking. Eventually I got him out of his flat in Eastbourne and took him to the pier. He met other veterans and started to think, 'I could do this'. It was a very slow process – he's essentially a very private man."
Once Allingham started talking, it became clear that the scenes he witnessed of soldiers waiting to go over the top at Ypres never left him. "They would just stand there in 2ft of water in mud-filled trenches, waiting to go forward," he said. "They knew what was coming. It was pathetic to see those men like that. I don't think they have ever got the admiration and respect they deserved."
He remembered spending a night in a shellhole in Flanders. "It stank," he said. "So did I when I fell into it. Arms and legs, dead rats, dead everything. Rotten flesh. Human guts. I couldn't get a bath for three or four months afterwards."
In recent years, Allingham attended remembrance events at home and abroad, gave interviews to the media, visited schools to talk to children at least 100 years his junior and completed an autobiography, published last October.
He and his wife, Dorothy, were together for more than 50 years. "I've only ever kissed one girl: my Dorothy," he said. "We met in 1915 and married in 1918. She died in 1970. I never gave my cherry away when I went to the front. I know a lot of men who did."
Allingham leaves a family that includes five grandchildren, 12 great-grandchildren, 14 great-great grandchildren and one great-great-great grandchild.
Until the end of his life, Allingham's memory was sharp. Born the year the first modern Olympics were held and Queen Victoria's became the longest reigning monarch in British history, he was able to recall times that are long lost history to most of us.
"When I was 15, I came downstairs one morning, picked up mother's newspaper and, oh, what a shock! The Titanic had gone," he recalled. "The 'unsinkable' ship – but it had gone down so simple."
The former Ford worker remembered a time when cars were a rarity. "People drive fast today," he said. "When I was born the speed limit was two miles an hour. They'd only just repealed the law where a man had to walk in front of every motor car waving a flag."
He had two explanations for his longevity. The first, which proved age had not dimmed his sense of humour, was "cigarettes, whisky and wild, wild women".The second, however, was perhaps more thoughtful: "How have I lived so long? I never worried. In the20s there were millions of men out of work. You couldn't get a job anywhere. I wasn't worried. I'm not worried now.," he said. "I was cycling along Rotten Row one day when I saw George V come along on his horse. I took my cap off, and the King tipped his riding crop. And I said, 'Give me a job, sir, I'll do anything for you.' But it was lost in the clatter of the hooves." Max Arthur, author of the first world war oral history Last Post, had yet another explanation: "He was a very dignified, very gentle man. He was so surprised to survive the first world war that he saw whatever came next as a reward. He made the most of his life. It does exemplify in my mind that, whatever age you are, never give up, and when in doubt, sing, which is what he still does. Sheer defiance is the reason he keeps going."
Last month, Allingham seemed to agree: "I'm not the kid I used to be, but I still get around. You make your own happiness, whatever age you are. Seeing the funny side of life is useful, and I've always had a sense of humour. People ask me, what's the secret of a long life? I don't know."
The former Ford worker remembered a time when cars were a rarity. "People drive fast today," he said. "When I was born the speed limit was two miles an hour. They'd only just repealed the law where a man had to walk in front of every motor car waving a flag."
He had two explanations for his longevity. The first, which proved age had not dimmed his sense of humour, was "cigarettes, whisky and wild, wild women".
The second, however, was perhaps more thoughtful: "How have I lived so long? I never worried. In the20s there were millions of men out of work. You couldn't get a job anywhere. I wasn't worried. I'm not worried now.," he said. "I was cycling along Rotten Row one day when I saw George V come along on his horse. I took my cap off, and the King tipped his riding crop. And I said, 'Give me a job, sir, I'll do anything for you.' But it was lost in the clatter of the hooves."Max Arthur, author of the first world war oral history Last Post, had yet another explanation: "He was a very dignified, very gentle man. He was so surprised to survive the first world war that he saw whatever came next as a reward. He made the most of his life. It does exemplify in my mind that, whatever age you are, never give up, and when in doubt, sing, which is what he still does. Sheer defiance is the reason he keeps going."
Last month, Allingham seemed to agree: "I'm not the kid I used to be, but I still get around. You make your own happiness, whatever age you are. Seeing the funny side of life is useful, and I've always had a sense of humour. People ask me, what's the secret of a long life? I don't know."
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