Last week Paul Richards wrote a well-considered piece on the rightness of a commemoration of the centenary of the first world war, and of the need for Labour to support the government and ensure that such a commemoration is a moment of national unity.

In all this Paul is right, but as a history teacher who spends about one-fifth of my time dealing with the war and its consequences in one way or another in the curriculum, I think there is also a need to insist that, while we are united in remembering the fallen, we (and by that, I mean the British, not any one political party) are open about the many questions the Great War has left us.

These are not, I would suggest, the questions Blackadder taught us all to ask. Though the closing moments of the first world war-set Blackadder Goes Forth remain some of the finest television produced by the BBC, the image of dotty generals heedlessly sending men to pointless deaths is one that does not stand up to the scrutiny of the historical evidence. There is no historical consensus about how good a general Field Marshal Haig was, but few serious historians are willing to maintain the caricature of the donkey leading lions. Many reflect on the terrible circumstances Haig, like all the soldiers in that war, found himself in: where the diplomatic tools to start a war were easily at hand, but the technological and strategic tools to win it could not be found. Few historians are willing to totally absolve Haig of error either, but he and the men he led are set in richer historic contexts, which provide far greater depth of understanding.

And it is the chance for all British people to engage with the genuine historical questions which surround the war which could provide the most profound legacy of these centenary commemorations.

History does not provide a clear guide about what to do in the present, and that is not why we teach it, but the questions we ask of the past and the answers we uncover can shed light on current dilemmas. What do leaders of democratic states do when they genuinely believe the war must be fought to victory, but they can find no way of making that happen, and the people are growing restless? How do generals and politicians relate to each other, especially when the war does not seem to go well or money runs short? How do we care for the mentally and physically injured of war?

Ask these questions of the history of the first world war and there are some fascinating discussions to be had, about the country we were then and the country we are now.

On the Home Front, we might reflect upon the price asked of the women who made nearly all Britain’s munitions in the war, slowly poisoning themselves with the hazardous materials they were required to work with. Were they great patriots? Were they in it for the money? Were they just exploited? Perhaps they were all three, or had other views altogether – the diversity of their experience and motivation is one of the many fascinating things we can debate as a nation.

And we can consider the diversity of sacrifice: when we remember those who died to keep England free, we could consider the implications of the half a million men, every single one of them a volunteer, who joined the Indian army during the war, seeing service under the British flag, crossing oceans to defend a country most had never seen. They included Khudadad Khan, a Muslim born in what is now Pakistan, who received the Victoria Cross for an astonishing feat of bravery at the First Battle of Ypres. His story defies the easy caricatures of empire, of Muslims and of the war itself.

History matters because the stories we tell about the past shape who we are and what we believe we can do. Debating history, learning what we can prove and what we cannot, considering what the evidence tells us about the nature of war, power, social relations, individual lives – all this is an absolute necessity in a democratic state.

When many of those whose names are carved into the silent white headstones which march across the Flanders landscape threw themselves over the top of their trenches to face the machine guns that would kill them, they did it believing they were fighting for freedom and democracy. With a clearer view of the impact of imperialism and the certain knowledge that this war did not end all wars, we can believe that they were mistaken. But if these centenary years saw the British people witness and engage in open, honest and rich debates about the history of their war, how it shaped the nation we have become and how we ought to shape the nation we wish to be, what a fitting commemoration of the fallen that would be.

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John Blake is a history teacher in a comprehensive school in London
and founder of Labour Teachers. He tweets @johndavidblake

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Photo: Stuart Dunphy