Posted on 11/01/2009 2:53:10 PM PST by the scotsman
With so much to say about this scotsman, and try as I may, I just can’t find the words. I’ve read considerable about that war. From the ‘Pal’s regiments’ to the poetry of men like Wilfred Owen. My own maternal Grandfather fought at age 16, and was gassed. My paternal grandmother’s two brothers fought on opposing sides...both killed. Much of the tumult of modern society comes directly from that war. yet very few know. To imagine an officer scolding a 12yr old under fire for crying seems unimaginable to this world. That was another world. I can only say that I wish more people who live in this age of ostentatious ignorance knew more about it. God rest them all. Their pain and suffering will live in this heart.
Amen!
To be fair, the officer would have thought the boy was at least 16, maybe 18.
I’ve forgotten who, but a big French figure said the armistice would be but a 20 respit. I’ve read that our WWII veterans, when shipping out for Europe, said they were finishing the war their fathers left undone.
WWI ruined the West, brought Communism and Hitler to power, and caused the importation of young Islamic males to make up for the killing off of Europeans working class males, leaving the continent under the control of more effeminate, urban males who have been shaping the culture, politics and economy since then.
My great uncle lied about his age to “get in the fight” in 1917. He came home in 1919 so badly gassed he was told he would die within a year. He married his sweetheart and moved to the shores of a local lake for the clean air and waited to die...for 70 years. He never spoke about what he had seen or experienced until 1966 when I, home from prep school, went to visit him at the farm and he started talking about what it was like. It was horrible what that kid had seen. No wonder he didn’t speak of it for nearly 50 years.
On the Wire
“O God, take the sun from the sky!
It’s burning me, scorching me up.
God, can’t You hear my cry?
Water! A poor, little cup!
It’s laughing, the cursed sun!
See how it swells and swells
Fierce as a hundred hells!
God, will it never have done?
It’s searing the flesh on my bones;
It’s beating with hammers red
My eyeballs into my head;
It’s parching my very moans.
See! It’s the size of the sky,
And the sky is a torrent of fire,
Foaming on me as I lie
Here on the wire . . . the wire. . . .
Of the thousands that wheeze and hum
Heedlessly over my head,
Why can’t a bullet come,
Pierce to my brain instead,
Blacken forever my brain,
Finish forever my pain?
Here in the hellish glare
Why must I suffer so?
Is it God doesn’t care?
Is it God doesn’t know?
Oh, to be killed outright,
Clean in the clash of the fight!
That is a golden death,
That is a boon; but this . . .
Drawing an anguished breath
Under a hot abyss,
Under a stooping sky
Of seething, sulphurous fire,
Scorching me up as I lie
Here on the wire . . . the wire. . . .
Hasten, O God, Thy night!
Hide from my eyes the sight
Of the body I stare and see
Shattered so hideously.
I can’t believe that it’s mine.
My body was white and sweet,
Flawless and fair and fine,
Shapely from head to feet;
Oh no, I can never be
The thing of horror I see
Under the rifle fire,
Trussed on the wire . . . the wire. . . .
Of night and of death I dream;
Night that will bring me peace,
Coolness and starry gleam,
Stillness and death’s release:
Ages and ages have passed, —
Lo! it is night at last.
Night! but the guns roar out.
Night! but the hosts attack.
Red and yellow and black
Geysers of doom upspout.
Silver and green and red
Star-shells hover and spread.
Yonder off to the right
Fiercely kindles the fight;
Roaring near and more near,
Thundering now in my ear;
Close to me, close . . . Oh, hark!
Someone moans in the dark.
I hear, but I cannot see,
I hear as the rest retire,
Someone is caught like me,
Caught on the wire . . . the wire. . . .
Again the shuddering dawn,
Weird and wicked and wan;
Again, and I’ve not yet gone.
The man whom I heard is dead.
Now I can understand:
A bullet hole in his head,
A pistol gripped in his hand.
Well, he knew what to do, —
Yes, and now I know too. . . .
Hark the resentful guns!
Oh , how thankful am I
To think my beloved ones
Will never know how I die!
I’ve suffered more than my share;
I’m shattered beyond repair;
I’ve fought like a man the fight,
And now I demand the right
(God! how his fingers cling!)
To do without shame this thing.
Good! there’s a bullet still;
Now I’m ready to fire;
Blame me, God, if You will,
Here on the wire . . . the wire. . . .
Robert Service
I appreciate that you don’t make faces with punctuation marks or use HTML tags to underpin your point of thought. I envision myself at “16, maybe 18” at the Somme, or Verdun or Passchendaele. On behalf of those who occasionally crack a history book, I thank you for the perspective.
There's a "Willie and Joe" cartoon from WWII (Bill Mauldin) showing the two tired GI's looking around a French village and one says, "Yeah, it look just like my old man said it would."
“This is the town my pappy told me about.”
http://www.stripes.com/02/nov02/mauldin/pages/_maul55.html
“This is the town my pappy told me about.”
http://www.stripes.com/02/nov02/mauldin/pages/_maul55.html
I recall an article I read maybe thirty years ago about William Fairbairne. Some consider him the toughest man ever.
If my memory hasn’t gone bad, he lied about his age and joined the British Army when he was 12. He later trained the British Commandos and the American OSS.
"President Davis referred to them as "the seed corn of the Confederacy". Uuniforms at the school became increasingly make do as the boys were reduced to whatever their parents could provide, from "Melton grey to Georgia butternut". The cadets were afaid that they were going to miss out on the War. The cadets were called on May 10, 1864 to aid GeneralnBreckenridge who was hard pressed in the Shenadoah Valley. One cadet reports, "We jeered the little boys who were left behind." I'm not sure what that meant, it seems to suggest there were some younger boys at VMI. One the way to battle, a veteran regimenbt sang "Rock-a-byre, Baby" when the cadets masrched by. There were 350 cadets, 225 were mustered for the battle. There were 56 killed or wounded at Newmarket."
My grandfather was at Passchendaele. He was born in England, but in Canada when the war broke out. He went over in 1916, I think.
I used to ask him about it. He told me some of it, when I was very young. His accounts reflected a keen eye for detail and an excellent memory, but were never about anything he did, just about what he saw. It was harsh stuff, but I insisted that he tell me about it. We had that kind of relationship, so he told me a lot of it.
He spoke of duckboards in trenches; mud that could swallow men whole. He described his shock on seeing ghastly wounds. He talked about his friends. There were a lot of anecdotes which I very much wish that I had committed to paper- or better yet- audio tape.
“Reminding me to pick up a volume of his works! Thanks for posting.”
You’re welcome. It was my great uncle who first read that poem to me.
I wonder if the “younger generation” will read Robert Service. Probably not.
Unbelievable. Good post.
I understand perfectly Riley. My father was a 20 year old sergeant on Corregidor, and was very close-mouthed about it. Most of what I know about it, and his subsequent imprisonment in Mukden, Manchuria is from my own research. Regarding the first world war, my interest in military history makes is unsurprising that even Hollywood couldn’t glamourize it. Passchendaele was a perfect hell of filth, blood and misery, as were many of the terrible battles of that war. I cringe when people on this forum express contempt for the Canadians, having read about their suffering and courage at places like Vimy Ridge. It frustrates me greatly that so few people make the effort to learn and understand history. It really shows these days.
Mark is releasing this one as a single, with proceeds going to the Royal British Legion Poppy Appeal.
'Escape from Corregidor' was a book that I repeatedly re-read in my youth. About time to see if I can find it again, I'm sure I'll get a copy on the Internet.
Regarding the first world war, my interest in military history makes is unsurprising that even Hollywood couldn’t glamourize it. Passchendaele was a perfect hell of filth, blood and misery, as were many of the terrible battles of that war.
Hollywood should make a film about it that'd make an audience physically ill. I don't know if that's possible though- people are so jaded anymore.
I cringe when people on this forum express contempt for the Canadians, having read about their suffering and courage at places like Vimy Ridge. It frustrates me greatly that so few people make the effort to learn and understand history. It really shows these days.
You and I, both. The Canadians showed bravery and fortitude that was mind-boggling. A little good-natured ribbing back and forth across the border is one thing, but make no mistake- their warriors have earned their place in Valhalla.
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