A cool and confident Mark Byford walked into the Baillie Gifford Corner Theatre at the Edinburgh International Book Festival on Wednesday afternoon to discuss his compelling account of the Vietnam War and the cost of conflict in his new book, A Name on a Wall: Two Men, Two Wars, Two Destinies. Sir Menzies Campbell in his role as chairperson introduced Byford, a journalist and former BBC Deputy Director General, to the assembled audience. The author set the scene as he explained the remarkable coincidences that inspired his literary journey before reading aloud passages from his work to the attentive crowd. The book revolves around the lives of two seemingly contrasting and unrelated men who happen to share the same surname of Byford. The first of these men is the author’s father, Lawry Byford, a solder in the Second World War, who served with the American army. The second namesake is Larry Byford, an American soldier who fought and died in the Vietnam War.

The author interweaves the experiences of both men to explore the impact of war on their personal and interior worlds. For one man the outbreak of war presented an opportunity for his talents to be recognised and offered him the potential to embark on a different professional path. Whilst for another the war ended a life and destroyed any aspirations he may have held. Byford’ s talents for reportage, accuracy and authenticity, honed during his career as an investigative journalist, can be identified on account of the impeccably researched nature of his work. Every conceivable source of information from eye witness accounts to official documentation is drawn upon to flesh out the lives of the two men and the extraordinary and divisive times they lived in.

During a stay in Washington D.C., at five o’clock in the morning, Byford decided to take the opportunity to visit the Vietnam Veterans’ memorial, more commonly known as ‘the Wall,’ before the start of an unrelenting working day. On his arrival he was deeply moved by the impact of this commemorative memorial and observed a shaft of sunlight illuminating a single name etched onto the stone – that name was Larry Byford. A nearby veteran and gatekeeper observed a reflective Byford and instructed him to take a rubbing of the engraving. Upon hearing that the author’s father was a surviving veteran of World War II he insisted that the writer give the rubbing to his father. Byford candidly confessed he took the tracing merely to appease the old veteran and after returning to England placed the folded paper into a draw where it sat for unfurled for some time. It is an astonishing coincidence that of the 58,282 names listed that this particular appellation should catch the author’s attention.

The turning point that would link this set of coincidences came when Byford decided to talk to his father about his own experiences during the Second World War. Over the course of their discussions, Lawry took his son to his hometown in Yorkshire and brought him to a memorial which listed the names of all 76 townsmen who tragically did not return from the Second World War. With great insight the elder Byford shared an eternal truth with his son that behind every name there is a story. After considering these words the author determined to discover the story behind Larry Byford — the name on the wall.

As the author uncovers the narratives of the two military men (who fought in very distinct wars) he also addresses broader thematic issues. Byford questions the cost of conflict, the nature and meaning of duty and the legacy of war. Crucially, he also assesses the extent to which the scars of war are still being healed. One of the key strengths of A Name On a Wall is how the author demonstrates from understanding the particular the universal can be discovered. It was with integrity and honestly Mark Byford shared with the assembled audience the remarkable literary and personal journey he undertook in the research and making of this book, prompting this listener to reflect on the sacrifices of war.

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Article contributed by Aisling MacQuarrie.

Among the themes that have recurred through the various events covered on this blog, an interest in the lives of citizens caught up in the Great War has been prevalent. Often far removed from the decision makers of European governments and powers, the stories being told of soldiers, nurses, farmers, parents and children have proved popular with writers and audiences alike. Perhaps it is the loss of first hand experiences that captures the imagination: now we no longer have anyone to tell us ‘what it was like’ we are more keen than ever to find out. Historians, spurred on by their own interests and perhaps those of their publishers, have new resources at their disposal – fuelled by rediscovered archives, connections forged over the internet and a desire to help mark the centenary of the conflict.

Florian and Dedio and Gunnar Dedio presented a small slice of their contribution to the presentation of everyday life in and around the First World War. Their ambition is to present the war from a transnational perspective, delivered through a series of films and an image-rich book. Over the course of their hour at the Book Festival they presented and explained the origins of their sources, the approaches they adopted in their work and made an international project directly relevant to their Scottish audience.

Their work draws from diaries and letters written across Europe, picking out themes that are common to those on all sides of the conflict. Some 26 broadcasters were involved in creating and presenting the work, including the BBC and BBC Alba. The resulting films combine archive footage with modern reconstructions, using words from those diaries. Archived films were rescanned using modern techniques, which bring out the clarity and detail of the originals. Alongside the live action, still images also feature heavily in both the book and the films. Many are from an collection of glass plates that has recently been uncovered in Germany: ground breaking work which saw the glass positives of the images ‘colourised’ by artists painting in very fine detail on the reverse. The results are captivating, all the more so as they were originally presented in stereoscope through special glasses: two images, which gave the impression of 3D when viewed together.

There was a lot to get through in the time allowed, from the philosophy behind the project, to the techniques used in its production and the nature of the materials being drawn from. Florian and Gunnar were never less than enthusiastic and engaging. They have travelled many miles to compile the project and to share it with audiences across Europe. BBC Alba requested a Gaelic version, which was duly delivered. Both adult and child versions have been made of the films, speaking to different audiences. The morning audience in Edinburgh was shown clips from the films, examples of the photographs and excerpts from the original diaries used in the project. And still there was time for questions at the end.

There was a solemn mood for much of the event, both from the content of the diaries and the realisation that for many of their authors these were among their final thoughts and messages to those back home. It was imbued with a modern sensibility though, with Florian pointing out that our collective picture of World War I is based on a relatively small selection of images, when in reality there are millions out there. Europe in the 21st century is growing accustomed to a life that is captured and shared through countless small lenses and an array of online platforms. Modern conflict is viewed through the same tools, with near instantaneous availability across the global network. What we require today, yet too often don’t have the opportunity or time to access, is the careful, considered and contentious sifting of the material that will help us make sense of the world around us. Events come and go and we engage all too fleetingly, their significance can easily be lost to us. What we learn from Florian and Gunnar is that the magnitude of great events can also be overlooked, for a century or more, yet with time, patience and collaboration a richer story emerges and is made accessible across the borders that once divided us.

On a fresh morning in Charlotte Square, David Reynolds’s considerable audience made their way to the Edinburgh International Book Festival’s main theatre. The title of the event alludes to his latest text ‘The Long Shadow: The Great War and the Twentieth Century’. With a focus on the impact and legacy of the 1914-1918 conflict Reynolds wants his readers and audience to recognise that our views of ‘World War I’ are tied to ‘World War II’. It is the presence of the later conflict which led to the now-familiar renaming, and reinterpretation, of its predecessor. The ‘Grand Legacy’ is therefore caught up in this, yet Reynolds has taken time to view the Great War in a more isolated context.

As part of the early scene-setting at this event mention was made of Remembrance Day events, as well as the celebrated contributions of Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen at Craiglockhart. It would seem that the collection that is held at the Edinburgh Napier campus has never been so important or perhaps so relevant. The artefacts which have made their way down to us a century later are tangible connections to the work being done at the time, as well as the people themselves of course. Also current, in the months leading up to the outbreak of war, was a concerted effort to discuss and enact Home Rule for the nations of the UK – in particular Ireland and Scotland. With this in mind there were references to both countries in the audience question discussion that closed the event.

Reynolds drew upon nationalism as a key thread for his talk, alongside democracy. He was at pains to describe how the Great War had a considerable impact on both, with Britain’s experience being distinctive on both fronts. Quite apart from Edwardian agitation for Home Rule, for example, it was perfectly possible to support a Scots regiment in the British Army: twin identities that sat easily next to each other. Such is the renewed agitation in the 21st century for a more localised locus of political power in Scotland, that it is perhaps little surprise to see the armed forces (most notably the Trident nuclear base) being nudged into the foreground when it suits one side or the other.

In terms of democracy and its establishment as the preferred form of popular representation, Britain didn’t experience the ‘big bang’ that shook many a continental European state. The extension of the franchise, to one primarily based upon age and inclusive of women, was little compared to the bloody revolution of Russia. Neither did British democracy lay a foundation on which fascist parties could sweep to power, as was seen in Germany through the 1920s and early 1930s. Turning again to the question and answer session, the experience of Ireland was explored as it in turn was clearly distinct from the rest of the United Kingdom.

The legacy of the Great War was therefore considerable and provided a context for the rest of the 20th century to contend with, across Britain, Europe and the Commonwealth. With the final of these in mind, it’s instructive to note that the practice of discussing and establishing the legacy of great events is still very much a common pursuit. On the eve of the 2014 Book Festival, Glasgow hosted the largest sporting event Scotland is ever likely to see: the Commonwealth Games came to town. With publicly funded investment, popular engagement and stirring opportunities to proclaim a national identity there are some parallels between the events in question. Though the sacrifices of ‘our’ athletes do not compare with soldiers of a century ago, they are nonetheless our representatives and they command the support of millions.

The tools available to event managers, academics and civil servants to judge the impacts and legacies of sporting, cultural and artistic events are evolving, developing and improving. What David Reynolds’s work reveals, among his great insights into the War itself, is the complexity of this analysis. He also makes clear that we must take pains not to conflate events where this is counter productive: to see one Commonwealth or Olympic Games through the lens of another (later) edition is to overlook the perspectives of those on the ground at the time, those making decisions and allocating resources. Reynolds also makes it clear that the intangible impacts of events are among their most significant: nationalism and democracy are not quantified in ways that they may take their place alongside the other statistics of war. Likewise the building of communities, the personal development among performers and audiences, the careers forged and the minds opened are hard for festival and event producers to communicate as part of the impacts of their endeavours. They are real though, and to those that are touched by war and festivals they are profoundly meaningful.