Reg Rogers - Matt 1963

great‑great uncle/great‑great nephew

It’s a striking truth about the First World War: a huge proportion of British and Commonwealth soldiers who died have no known grave. Many were buried where they fell, lost to artillery, or laid to rest in makeshift cemeteries that vanished as the front moved. Today, hundreds of thousands are either commemorated on memorials to the missing or lie in graves marked simply as “A Soldier of the Great War — Known Unto God.”

One unexpected email can redraw a family map. When the Commonwealth War Graves Commission reached out about an “unknown” Royal Marine from the Somme, Matt followed the thread from inbox to headstone and watched a century‑old mystery turn into a name, a ceremony, and a living legacy. What Matt & his family first assumed was spam quickly became a masterclass in how careful research — war diaries, graves reports, precise mapping — can identify a single company sergeant major among thousands of the missing.

When I speak with Matt, he takes me back to the moment the news landed: the indirect route the MOD used to track down living relatives, and that first drive through a landscape where cemeteries appear around every bend. At the rededication, a Royal Marine bugler, a Major, veterans, a chaplain, and a representative of the British Embassy in Paris—a Royal Navy attaché, a Captain—stood with the family as Reginald Clarence Rogers MM was honoured. A serving company sergeant major from Lympstone (Royal Marine Commando Training Centre) even came on his own time because he holds the same rank today—a detail that seemed to collapse the distance between 1918 and now. We also explore Reg’s life: born in Kent, service across the empire, rapid mobilisation in 1914, a Military Medal for guiding units to the jumping‑off line at Gavrelle, and his final days on the River Ancre.

Beyond the ceremony, the story widens. We talk about museum barns filled with unearthed relics, a local collector with binoculars engraved with Reg’s name, and a family long tied to the Royal Marines — from a grandfather who served with Churchill to a son now eyeing military service. What emerges is a clearer sense of what remembrance really requires: stewards, records, places, and people willing to show up.

If you’ve ever wondered how an unknown grave becomes a person again, or how a single headstone can change the way a family sees itself, you’ll find the proof in this conversation.

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"Churchill's Batman" refers to the orderly or personal attendant for Winston Churchill

BBC Story: Graves of lost World War One soldiers found

Reg Rogers
DoB: 18/03/1889
DoD: 26/03/1918

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David Bowie - Rupert 1957

ziggy stardust/fan

Starman on the radio. Ziggy on the screen. A youth rewired in real time. In this episode, I dive in with Rupert to explore the moments where Bowie didn’t just soundtrack life — he edited it. We trace that rush from Space Oddity to Starman, the glam years that made risk feel normal, and the Berlin experiments that taught us how silence, texture and pulse can move you every bit as much as melody. It’s a listener’s journey through eras, not a museum tour: the missed tickets at Earl’s Court, the summer of Station to Station, the cigarettes and shirts we copied without thinking, and the way “Heroes” can still lift a room with a single line.

We talk about why the 70s remain such a creative apex — Low’s fractured beauty, “Heroes” as both anthem and art — and why the 80s deserve a fair hearing. Let’s Dance didn’t just top charts; it proved Bowie could bridge art rock and pop without losing his nerve. Along the way, we revisit films like The Man Who Fell to Earth, the shock of The Next Day arriving out of nowhere, and the stark brilliance of Blackstar. That final album feels like a coded letter — mortal, inventive, and deeply alive — with Lazarus turning farewell into craft.

Across favourite tracks and deep cuts — Life on Mars?, Rebel Rebel, Always Crashing in the Same Car, Joe the Lion — we keep circling the same truth: Bowie turned reinvention into a discipline and made curiosity a habit. His influence is everywhere: in fashion, in stagecraft, in the confidence to shift lanes when the work demands it. Press play to walk through the eras with us, remember the gigs, and maybe find a new doorway into a song you thought you knew. And if this conversation sparks a memory of your own, share it with a friend, subscribe for more, and tell me your gateway Bowie track.

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Jim & George - Ian 1947

grandfather/father/son

A family line can stretch across continents and still feel like one village street. In this episode, I sit down with my second cousin Ian, and we unspool a life that begins in Windhoek, runs through Cape Town and “East London”, South Africa, and eventually finds its footing back in Sussex after his father’s illness forces a return none of them expected. The grief in that chapter is real and immediate, but what follows is practical, determined, and brave: his mother retraining at night school, finding work in Portslade, and rebuilding a home almost from scratch.

What gives Ian’s story its heartbeat is his grandfather, Jim — a restless Sussex character who auctioneered cattle and furniture, bought the Three Tuns, and, by moonlight, muffled horses’ hooves to haul French brandy over the Downs. He rented out his bathroom on Fridays, posted auction bills from a black trade bike, and taught two wide‑eyed boys to fish eels from the River Adur, pluck chickens, and turn allotment rows into dinner. These scenes of rural English life sit beautifully alongside Ian’s sharp memories of South Africa: Manikin Cigars flying from a carnival float, a grassfire racing up a hillside, and a beach lagoon walled off against sharks.

Years later, Ian and his brother return just before the COVID shutdown, driving the Garden Route in a Mercedes van, weighing up Cape Town property by wind and elevation, and confronting East London’s uneasy streets lined with wire and idle youth. Somewhere in the middle of all this, an almost‑career in aviation gives way to a calling discovered by chance in a sixth‑form classroom — a reminder of how a single opportunity can quietly redirect a life.

If you’re drawn to family history, migration stories, and the quiet heroism of starting over, this conversation blends memoir, social history, and the kind of details you can smell and taste: mackerel teas, blue paint on your hands, and the hush of horses crossing the Downs.

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“Follow Longtime Ago People wherever you get your podcasts.”

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"In a world where you can be anything, be kind."