By Joe Corrigan
I would
hazard a guess that most Canadians are familiar with Lt. Colonel John McCrae's
immortal poem "In Flanders Fields". That's the reason I chose it as
the main title for this series of blogs on the history of the First World War.
As noted in a previous segment, McCrae was inspired to write his poem during
the aftermath of the 2nd Battle of Ypres in April 1915 following the death of a
fellow officer and friend. It became famous following its publication by the
British press shortly thereafter and is quoted to this day at Remembrance Day
ceremonies across Canada
and around the world.
 |
| John McCrae |
In November I was in Toronto on my way to an Ontario Museums Association conference
in Mississauga when I stopped to have dinner with my son. After dinner we dropped
in at the Book City store on the Danforth, a favourite spot of both my son and
I. On the shelves I came across a Daily Mail commemorative publication entitled
"A Corner of a Foreign Field - The Illustrated Poetry of the First World
War". The book contains close to 200 Great War era poems from professional
and amateur poets alike. It represents a view from the trenches as well as from
loved ones on the home front. In addition to McCrae's "in Flanders
Fields" which is the first poem listed, the book includes works by W.B. Yeats, Siegfied Sassoon, Wilfred Owen, Robert
Frost, Laurence Binyon and a host of others.
Although
these works are not generally as well known as "In Flanders Fields",
I am familiar with some of these other works, in part due to their mention at
remembrance ceremonies or in cinema. Here are just a couple of examples.
 |
| Portrait of W. B. Yeats |
An
Irish Airman Foresees His Death by W.B. Yeats
I
know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere
among the clouds above;
Those
that I fight I do not hate,
Those
that I guard I do not love;
My
country is Kiltartan Cross,
My
countrymen Kiltartan's poor.
No
likely end could bring them loss
Or
leave them happier than before.
Nor
law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor
public men, nor cheering crowds,
A
lonely impulse of delight
Drove
to this tumult in the clouds;
I
balanced all, brought all to mind,
The
years to come seemed waste of breath,
A
waste of breath the years behind
In
balance with this life, this death.
I first
encounter a reference to this poem when watching the movie "Memphis
Bell" back in the early 1990's. It is the story of a World War II US Army
Air Force B17 bomber crew embarking on the final mission in their tour of duty.
While waiting for the mission to begin, one of the airmen recalls the poem in
contemplation of whether or not he will survive the upcoming air battle.
 |
| Sopwith Triplane |
This
next poem is a reflection of the sudden terror troops in the trenches were
often faced with. My grandfather was gassed during the later stages of the
Great War and the experience impacted his physical and mental health for the
rest of his life. The following poem brings graphically to life the horrors of
chemical warfare that my grandfather and countless others on both sides endured
on the Western Front.
 |
| Portrait of Wilfred Owen |
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 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
floundering 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.
 |
| Ors Communal Cemetery- Wilfred Owen |
If
in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind
the wagon that we flung him in,
And
watch his 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
final line of the poem is taken from the Roman poet Homer and translates as
"It is sweet and honourable to die for one's country". Owen's mother
had the poem published posthumously as her son did not survive the war. Tragically,
Lieutenant Wilfred Owen was killed in action on November 4th, 1918, almost
exactly one week before the end of the war. He was leading his troops in an
attack on the Sambre-Oise
Canal when he fell, an
action for which he received the Military Cross. His mother learned of his
death on the 11th of November, the day the guns fell silent across Europe.
 |
| Gassed British 55th Division Troops |
One
stanza that is always quoted on November 11th (below in italics) comes from the
poem "For The Fallen" although I never knew the poem's name until I
read this book. One of the things that surprised me about this poem was the
fact that it wasn't written after years on the front line. It was published in
September of 1914 following the "Old Contempables" fighting retreat
from the Belgian city of Mons.
The "Old Contempables" was the name the British Expeditionary Force
took for itself following the Kaiser's comment upon Britain's entry into the
war in August 1914 that the professional British Army was a "contempable
little army".
 |
| Portrait of Laurence Binyon |
For
the Fallen by Laurence Binyon
With
proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across
the sea.
Flesh
of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen
in the cause of the free.
Solemn
the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings
sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There
is music in the midst of desolation
And
a glory that shines upon our tears.
They
went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight
of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They
were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They
fell with their faces to the foe.
 |
| Laurence Binyon by William Strang |
They
shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age
shall not weary them, nor the years condemn,
At
the going down of the sun and in the morning
We
will remember them.
They
mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They
sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They
have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They
sleep beyond England's
foam.
But
where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt
as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To
the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As
the stars are known to the Night;
As
the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving
in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As
the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To
the end, to the end, they remain.
Coming
up in the series:
One
hundred years ago, in November 1916, the Canadian Expeditionary Force
disengaged from the fighting at the Somme after sustaining 24,000 casualties in
just over two months of combat. They moved north to occupy a 6 kilometre long
section of the line facing a German stronghold known as Vimy Ridge! In the
months to come, we will examine the logistics, tactics and the events of the
battle that marked Canada's
coming of age on the world scene.
Joe Corrigan has been Museum Manager at Lang Pioneer Village since February of 2003. He has been a lifelong student of history. His specific areas of interest are Canadian and world political, military and sports history with a particular focus on biographical works. Joe has been interpreting Sir John A. Macdonald at the Museum's Historic Dominion Day event since 2007.
Laetitia is a grade 11 student at Trinity College School and guest writer for the Museum.
