John Currie Lauder was born in Lanarkshire, Scotland in 1891, the only son of Harry and Anne Lauder. His father Harry was working at the time at the Eddlewood Colliery in South Lanarkshire as a miner but would rise from his humble beginnings to become the man Winston Churchill once described as "Scotland's Greatest ever ambassador".

Sir Harry Lauder was legendary Scottish entertainer and singer, making a significant impact during the early 20th century and becoming the highest-paid performer in the world. His performances were not only entertaining but also celebrated Scottish culture making him a symbol of national pride.

Beyond his artistic achievements, Lauder was deeply involved in philanthropy, especially during the First World War, where he raised substantial funds for various war causes. His son John often toured with him where he could be seen sometimes accompanying his famous father on the piano.

Before the war John was educated at Jesus College Cambridge after attending the the City of London School. When war broke out he was accompanying his father on a musical tour of Australia but immediately returned to sign up as a soldier.

He was deployed to France in May 1915 with the 1/8 Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders and fought at the Battle of Festubert and the Second Action of Givenchy in 1915 before being wounded in the arm by shrapnel from a shell burst. He was treated at a field hospital in France and was promoted to Captain.

After a spell at a military hospital in Rouen he was returned for a short period to his family home in Dunoon, Scotland, but was soon back at the front. His father was deeply concerned for his son's safety but poured his own efforts into fundraising for the war effort as well as touring the front giving performances to the troops and raising morale.

Sadly, Captain John Lauder was shot and killed by a German sniper on 28th December 1916, near Courcelette on the Somme. He was just 25 years of age.

Sir Harry Lauder gave his own account of his son's death:

"It was about eight o'clock one morning that my boy John was killed, between Courcellete and Pozieres, on the Ancre, in the region that is known as the Somme battlefield. It was soon after breakfast, and John was going about, seeing to his men. His company was to be relieved that day, and to go back from the trenches to rest billets behind the lines. We has sent our laddie a braw lot of Christmas packages not long before, but he had had them kept at the rest billet, so that he might have the pleasure of opening them when he was out of the trenches, and had a little leisure, even though it made his Christmas presents a wee bit late. There had been a little mist upon the ground, as, at that damp and chilly season of the year, there nearly always was along the river Ancre. At that time, on that morning, it was just beginning to rise as the sun grew strong enough to banish it. I think John trusted too much to the mist, perhaps. He stepped for just a moment into the open; for just a moment he exposed himself, as he had to do, no doubt, to do his duty. And a German sniper, watching for just such chances, caught a glimpse of him. His rifle spoke; its bullet pierced John's brave and gentle heart. Tate, John's body-servant, a man from our own town, was the first to reach him. Tate was never far from John's side, and he was heart-broken when he reached him that morning and found that there was nothing he could do for him. Many of the soldiers who served with John have written to me, and come to me. And all of them have told me the same thing: that there was not a man in his company who did not feel his death as a personal loss and bereavement. And his superior officers have told me the same thing. In so far as such reports could comfort us, his mother and I have taken solace in them. All that we have heard of John's life in the trenches and of his death, was such a report as we or any parents would want to have of their boy. John never lost his rare good nature. There were times when things were going very badly indeed, but at such times he could always be counted upon to raise a laugh and uplift the spirits of his men. He knew them all; he knew them well. Nearly all of them came from his home region near the Clyde, and so they were his neighbours and friends."

Harry was deeply destressed by his son's death but this did not shake his own belief in the war effort and he concentrated his energy in continuing to raise money as well as perform at various music halls at home and at the front.

After the war he wrote the famous lament ‘Keep Right On ‘Till The End Of The Road’ in memory of his son John and would go on raise over a million pounds via a charitable fund he established for wounded men of the war.

His knighthood in 1919 was a testament to both his artistic prowess and his charitable efforts. The account he gave of visiting his son's grave for the first time is a testament of the work of the CWGC as much as a sombre reading of a father's grief after losing a beloved son:

“We set out across a field that had been ripped and torn by shell fire. All about us there were little brown mounds, each with a white wooden cross upon it. All over the valley was thickly sown with white crosses – and my own grief was altered by the vision of grief that had come to so many others. In the presence of so many evidences of grief and desolation, a private grief sank into its true perspective. It was no less keen, the agony at the thought of my boy was as sharp as ever, but I knew that I was only one father. God help us all (...) So we came, when we were perhaps half a mile from the Bapaume Road, to a slight eminence, a tiny hill that rose from the field. A little military cemetery crowned it. Here the graves were set in ordered rows, and there was a fence set around them, to keep them apart, and to mark that spot as holy ground until the end of time. Five hundred British boys lie sleeping in that small acre of silence, and among them is my own laddie. There the fondest hopes of my life, the hopes that sustained and cheered me through many years, lie buried. No one spoke. But the soldier pointed, silently and eloquently, to one brown mound in a row of brown mounds that looked alike. Then he drew away. And so I went alone to my boy's grave, and flung myself down upon the warm, friendly earth. My memories of that moment are not very clear, but I think that for a few minutes I was utterly spent, that my collapse was complete. He was such a good boy!”

You can visit Captain Lauder's grave at Ovillers Military Cemetery where he is cared for in perpetuity by the CWGC.