"They Shall Not Grow Old" Peter Jackson's WWI film
Discussion
Came across this poem today not heard before. Seems apt place for it.
Dulce et Decorum Est
BY WILFRED OWEN
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 gas-shells dropping softly 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.
Dulce et Decorum Est
BY WILFRED OWEN
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 gas-shells dropping softly 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.
TR4man said:
I’m surprised you haven’t come across this poem before, it is one of the more famous poems from WW1.
I had to study it for A level back in 1978 and at the time could recite it word for word (I couldn’t now).
probably a while ago.I had to study it for A level back in 1978 and at the time could recite it word for word (I couldn’t now).
It was bought to my attention as an ex serviceman was talking about depression in a vlog and said this was pertinent.
coppice said:
The delicious irony of Owen's poem is that it runs so counter to the modern sanctification of war dead.
It is not quite the same thing. I doubt that many people see now dying, or being seriously injured/mentally damaged, whilst fighting for the country as sweet or glorious.
My grandfather's brother was killed in a tank battle in WW2. He never met his young son. That seems to me immensely sad and must have been awful for his wife, who was never even able to visit his distant grave. He and millions of other people were violently killed in the prime of their life, or were raped and had their homes destroyed, for a war that had started small, and then escalated into a huge conflict. As had a similar conflict only a few years earlier. Not glorious at all.
Edited by MC Bodge on Monday 15th November 09:24
You may be right , but whenever I hear the sanctimonious tosh about 'laying down lives for their country' I bristle a bit . I'm named after my Uncle John , who was shot down in a Halifax in Picardie, in 1944. When I visited his grave my only thought was what a fking senseless waste it all was. My other uncle flew gliders on D Day and Arnhem , and survived. He refused to take part in any remembrance events , and I think I understood why .
Those who have watched 'They Shall Not Grow Old' may also appreciate this, 'Peter Jackson's Military Treasures' :
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gmZ9X9Aplk
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gmZ9X9Aplk
coppice said:
You may be right , but whenever I hear the sanctimonious tosh about 'laying down lives for their country' I bristle a bit . I'm named after my Uncle John , who was shot down in a Halifax in Picardie, in 1944. When I visited his grave my only thought was what a fking senseless waste it all was. My other uncle flew gliders on D Day and Arnhem , and survived. He refused to take part in any remembrance events , and I think I understood why .
It wasn't a waste though.Riley Blue said:
Those who have watched 'They Shall Not Grow Old' may also appreciate this, 'Peter Jackson's Military Treasures' :
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gmZ9X9Aplk
Yes and for those who don't do YouTuibe its beenm shown and will be again on Forces TVhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gmZ9X9Aplk
The Spruce Goose said:
1 million plus died at the Somme. That was a mistake.
How else to remove the Germans from France ?It was a mistake for the UK and Commonwealth troops to get
needlessly embroiled in the 2nd leg of the Franco-Prussian war
and we would have been be spared a millions deaths and the awful poetry
of Owen, Sassoon, Brooke, Britten.
[ I'm with Capt. Blackadder on that last point ]
The Spruce Goose said:
Came across this poem today not heard before. Seems apt place for it.
Dulce et Decorum Est
BY WILFRED OWEN
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 gas-shells dropping softly 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.
This was secondary comp standard fare for English lit back in the 80’s. Failed my ‘O’ level on the back of this! Dulce et Decorum Est
BY WILFRED OWEN
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 gas-shells dropping softly 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.
The Spruce Goose said:
coppernorks said:
How else to remove the Germans from France ?
That battle was a cluster f. telling the soldiers no retreat else being shot. Some battalions totally wiped out. They died because of ineptitude of the senior ranks, no more or less.On seeing this film again, I just can't help but wonder what the war generation would've made of our modern 'woke' issues, snowflake millennials and cancel culture for example. I suspect we all know the answer to that...
Schmed said:
It is very easy to subscribe to the The 'Lions led by donkeys' view as espoused by Blackadder since it is widespread. However more recent revisionist works have sought to challenge that analysis and vindicate the actions and leadership of commanders such as Haig et al.
The British put a regiment of cavalry on standby when the attack started British military faith was still being placed on cavalry attacks when they were clearly useless. British soldiers were not trained nor prepared for life on the battlefield, the majority were fresh conscripts.Anyway lets take a witness report.
''“The next morning (July 2nd) we gunners surveyed the dreadful scene in front of us……it became clear that the Germans always had a commanding view of No Man’s Land. (The British) attack had been brutally repulsed. Hundreds of dead were strung out like wreckage washed up to a high water-mark. Quite as many died on the enemy wire as on the ground, like fish caught in the net. They hung there in grotesque postures. Some looked as if they were praying; they had died on their knees and the wire had prevented their fall. Machine gun fire had done its terrible work.”'
2 million shells fried, 30% failed to explode, 1.5 million were shrapnel rounds ineffective against the German concrete bunkers. They didn't neutralise the German artillery as well. The bombs didn't cut through barb wire as well.
So i think it is pretty clear the strategy was flawed, 57k british died on the first day, not sure how recent anaylsis can change these facts. I've seen it mention the ear down strategy, but that is just saying the soldiers lives were disposable and could be used to bolster ineffective military campaigns.
Edited by anonymous-user on Monday 15th November 14:47
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