WW1 100 years ago
Discussion
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I was lucky enough to be friends with an ex-soldier from WW1. He and his brother, Dick, were miners in the West Midlands. In their job they had to look after all the pit-ponies.
As of all their experiences with horses, the War Office put them in charge of training young officers how to ride and care for the nags. They taught all the young lads how to charge a trench, against heavy machine-gun arcs, on horseback holding a sabre aloft.
It was a never ending job.
Sadly.
As of all their experiences with horses, the War Office put them in charge of training young officers how to ride and care for the nags. They taught all the young lads how to charge a trench, against heavy machine-gun arcs, on horseback holding a sabre aloft.
It was a never ending job.
Sadly.
In 1989, I went to the Somme to visit the battlefield sites.
It was an extremely moving experience walking around the cemeteries.
Thiepval, Pozieres, Beaumont Hamel, Delville Wood, High Wood - the list is almost endless.
One place was particularly memorable though - the Devonshire Regiment cemetery at Mansel Copse near Mametz.
As the British front line went over the top on July 1st 1916, they were cut down by heavy fire from German machine gun emplacements.
161 of the fallen Devonshire Regiment soldiers were carried back to the position that was their forward trench at the start of the offensive & a cemetery was made.
For many years, a wooden cross stood at the entrance with the inscription: The Devonshires Held this Trench, the Devonshires Hold it Still
The cross disappeared but in the early 80's following a visit by some serving Devonshire Regiment officers, they decided to erect a stone & reinstate the inscription.
We will remember them indeed.
It was an extremely moving experience walking around the cemeteries.
Thiepval, Pozieres, Beaumont Hamel, Delville Wood, High Wood - the list is almost endless.
One place was particularly memorable though - the Devonshire Regiment cemetery at Mansel Copse near Mametz.
As the British front line went over the top on July 1st 1916, they were cut down by heavy fire from German machine gun emplacements.
161 of the fallen Devonshire Regiment soldiers were carried back to the position that was their forward trench at the start of the offensive & a cemetery was made.
For many years, a wooden cross stood at the entrance with the inscription: The Devonshires Held this Trench, the Devonshires Hold it Still
The cross disappeared but in the early 80's following a visit by some serving Devonshire Regiment officers, they decided to erect a stone & reinstate the inscription.
We will remember them indeed.
We closed the local High St yesterday for a cenotaph service, Police band, Mayor etc. Tonight is the candlelight vigil with glass poppies. We have had a thing with sunflowers to grow over the last few months as well , you would be given the name of a local chap who died on a card, tie it to the sunflower and put at the fence, did mine this morning it was quite impressive the amount that were there.
http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=jj2LqGvKsLw
Lights out tonight, will have to work by candlelight for an hour.
Lights out tonight, will have to work by candlelight for an hour.
anonymous said:
[redacted]
Just turn the brightness setting on your TV up as the BBC says you should watch their programming during it...Seems a little odd to me, surely if you were to do it properly you would only be listening to the radio. Anyway that it not what this thread is for.
We try to visit as many war graves as we can when we spot them and have time to stop. Always feels the right thing to do, to pay your respects to those whose lives were ended in war. Often it is enlightening to see the odd German grave in a (predominately) Allied Cemetery, not to mention those who came from further abroad to fight.
Guam said:
Indeed it makes me think of my Great Grandfather who is one of my earliest recollections, he was one of the "lucky ones" (his words) he was Blinded by mustard Gas, I often wonder, whenever I see those old stills and movies of the lines of guys with bandages on their eyes, hands on each others shoulders, whether one of them is him.
RIP indeed.
You will,I am sure, know this one, but just in case anyone doesn't, here it is:-RIP indeed.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!---An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,---
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Wilfred Owen MC (1893-1918)
Breadvan72 said:
Guam said:
Indeed it makes me think of my Great Grandfather who is one of my earliest recollections, he was one of the "lucky ones" (his words) he was Blinded by mustard Gas, I often wonder, whenever I see those old stills and movies of the lines of guys with bandages on their eyes, hands on each others shoulders, whether one of them is him.
RIP indeed.
You will,I am sure, know this one, but just in case anyone doesn't, here it is:-RIP indeed.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!---An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,---
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Wilfred Owen MC (1893-1918)
My forefathers were all farmers, so the nearest serving relative I had was a distant cousin several times removed who was killed at Loos, by strange coincidence the same battle where my wife's only known serving relative, a great-uncle, was also killed.
Search facility on my phone isn't great.
I'm in a mixed allied and German cemetery, brings a lump to my throat to walk around the graves. The youngest lad here was merely 17. It seems so young.
Some of the early letters back to family tell of the young soldiers excitement, how it seemed like a holiday. That was, until they experienced the horror of the front line.
I'm in a mixed allied and German cemetery, brings a lump to my throat to walk around the graves. The youngest lad here was merely 17. It seems so young.
Some of the early letters back to family tell of the young soldiers excitement, how it seemed like a holiday. That was, until they experienced the horror of the front line.
I prefer Sassoon to Owen, but Sassoon had the advantage of surviving the war and becoming a mature writer. Views of WW1 are probably influenced quite a lot not only by the poets but by books such as Alan Clark's "The Donkeys" and Joan Littlewood's great satire "Oh What a Lovely War".
WW2 poets tend to be overlooked in favour of the WW1 poets, but there were some very fine WW2 writers, including Keith Douglas, who fought at El Alamein and other battles, and died (through suicide or accidental weapon discharge) in Normandy very soon after D Day. Perhaps his best poem is "Vergissmeinnicht" (forget me not). He was strongly influenced by John Donne and other metaphysical poets.
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/vergissmeinnicht/
WW2 poets tend to be overlooked in favour of the WW1 poets, but there were some very fine WW2 writers, including Keith Douglas, who fought at El Alamein and other battles, and died (through suicide or accidental weapon discharge) in Normandy very soon after D Day. Perhaps his best poem is "Vergissmeinnicht" (forget me not). He was strongly influenced by John Donne and other metaphysical poets.
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/vergissmeinnicht/
The bad thing about the WW1 poets in UK education is that they were taught as part of the history curriculum rather than the English Literature curriculum.
In Ireland, I spent six months studying intently the Causes of World War 1 as part of my Leaving Certificate Honours History Course. Not a poet in sight - but a lot of telegrams.
In Ireland, I spent six months studying intently the Causes of World War 1 as part of my Leaving Certificate Honours History Course. Not a poet in sight - but a lot of telegrams.
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