mccrae john in flanders fields & other poems
TRANSCRIPT
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InFlandersFieldsandOtherPoems
JohnMcCrae(IncludesEssayonJohnMcCraebySirAndrewMacPhaill)
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Contents
InFlandersFields1915
TheAnxious
Dead
1917
TheWarrior1907Isandlwana1910TheUnconqueredDead1906TheCaptain1913TheSongoftheDerelict1898Quebec1908ThenandNow1896Unsolved1895
TheHope
of
My
Heart
1894
Penance1896SlumberSongs1897TheOldestDrama1907Recompense1896MineHost1897Equality1898Anarchy1897Disarmament1899
TheDead
Master
1913
TheHarvestoftheSea1898TheDyingofPerePierre1904Eventide1895UponWattsPictureSicTransit1904ASongofComfort1894ThePilgrims1905TheShadowoftheCross1894TheNightCometh1913
InDue
Season
1897
AnEssayinCharacterbySirAndrewMacphaill
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1
InFlandersFields
InFlandersfieldsthepoppiesblowBetweenthecrosses,rowonrow,Thatmarkourplace;andintheskyThelarks,stillbravelysinging,flyScarceheardamidthegunsbelow.
WearetheDead.ShortdaysagoWelived,feltdawn,sawsunsetglow,
Lovedand
were
loved,
and
now
we
lie,
InFlandersfields.
Takeupourquarrelwiththefoe:ToyoufromfailinghandswethrowThetorch;beyourstoholdithigh.IfyebreakfaithwithuswhodieWeshallnotsleep,thoughpoppiesgrowInFlandersfields.
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TheAnxiousDead
Oguns,fallsilenttillthedeadmenhearAbovetheirheadsthelegionspressingon:(Thesefoughttheirfightintimeofbitterfear,Anddiednotknowinghowthedayhadgone.)
Oflashingmuzzles,pause,andletthemseeThecomingdawnthatstreakstheskyafar;Thenletyourmightychoruswitnessbe
Tothem,
and
Caesar,
that
we
still
make
war.
Tellthem,Oguns,thatwehaveheardtheircall,Thatwehavesworn,andwillnotturnaside,Thatwewillonwardtillwewinorfall,Thatwewillkeepthefaithforwhichtheydied.
Bidthembepatient,andsomeday,anon,Theyshallfeelearthenwraptinsilencedeep;
Shallgreet,
in
wonderment,
the
quiet
dawn,
Andincontentmayturnthemtotheirsleep.
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TheWarrior
Hewroughtinpoverty,thedullgreydays,ButwiththenighthislittlelamplitroomWasbrightwithbattleflame,orthroughahazeOfsmokethatstunghiseyesheheardtheboomOfBluechersguns;hesharedAlmeidasscars,Andfromtheclosepackeddeck,abouttodie,LookedupandsawtheBirkenheadstallsparsWeavewaveringlinesacrosstheSouthernsky:
Orinthestiflingtweendecks,rowonrow,AtAboukir,sawhowthedeadmenlay;ChargedwiththefiercestinBusacosstrife,BravedreamsarehistheflickringlampburnslowYetcouragedforthebattlesofthedayHegoestostandfullfacetofacewithlife.
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Isandlwana
Scarletcoats,andcrashotheband,Thegreyofapaupersgown,AsoldiersgraveinZululand,AndawomaninBreconTown.
Mylittleladforasoldierboy,(MothersoBreconTown!)Myeyesfortearsandhisforjoy
Whenhe
went
from
Brecon
Town,
HisfortheflagsandthegallantsightsHisforthemedalsandhisforthefights,Andmineforthedreary,rainynightsAthomeinBreconTown.
Theysayheslaidbeneathatree,(ComebacktoBreconTown!)ShouldntIknow?Iwastheretosee:
(Itsfar
to
Brecon
Town!)
ItsmethatkeepsittrimanddrestWithabriarthereandarosebyhisbreastTheEnglishflowershelikesthebestThatIbringfromBreconTown.
AndIsitbesidehimhimandme,(WerebacktoBreconTown.)Totalkofthethingsthatusedtobe
(Greyghosts
of
Brecon
Town);
Iknowthelookothelandandsky,Andthebirdthatbuildsinthetreenearby,AndtimesIhearthejackalscry,AndmeinBreconTown.
GoldengreyonmilesofsandThedawncomescreepingdown;ItsdayinfaroffZululand
Andnight
in
Brecon
Town.
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TheUnconqueredDead
...defeated,withgreatloss.
Notwetheconquered!NottoustheblameOfthemthatflee,ofthemthatbaselyyield;Norourstheshoutofvictory,thefameOfthemthatvanquishinastrickenfield.
Thatdayofbattleinthedustyheat
Welay
and
heard
the
bullets
swish
and
sing
Likescythesamidtheoverripenedwheat,Andwetheharvestoftheirgarnering.
Someyielded,No,notwe!Notwe,weswearBytheseourwounds;thistrenchuponthehillWherealltheshellstrewnearthisseamedandbare,Wasourstokeep;andlo!wehaveitstill.
Wemight
have
yielded,
even
we,
but
death
Cameforourhelper;likeasuddenfloodThecrashingdarknessfell;ourpainfulbreathWedrewwithgaspsamidthechokingblood.
Theroarfellfaintandfartheroff,andsoonSanktoafoolishhumminginourears,Likecricketsinthelong,hotafternoonAmongthewheatfieldsoftheoldenyears.
BeforeoureyesaboundlesswallofredShotthroughbysuddenstreaksofjaggedpain!ThenaslowgatheringdarknessoverheadAndrestcameonuslikeaquietrain.
Notwetheconquered!Nottoustheshame,Whoholdourearthenramparts,norshallceaseToholdthemever;victorswe,whocame
Inthat
fierce
moment
to
our
honoured
peace.
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TheCaptain
1797
Hereallthedaysheswingsfromtidetotide,Hereallnightlongshetugsarustedchain,Amasterlesshulkthatwasashipofpride,Yetunashamed:hermemoriesremain.
ItwasNelsoninthe`Captain,CapeSt.Vincentfaralee,
Withthe
`Vanguard
leading
suthard
in
the
haze
LittleJervisandtheSpaniardsandthefightthatwastobe,TwentysevenSpanishbattleships,greatbulliesofthesea,Andthe`Captaintheretofindherdayofdays.
Rightintothemthe`Vanguardleads,butwithasuddentackTheSpaniardsdoubleswiftlyontheirtrail;NowJervisovershootshismark,likesometooeagerpack,Hewillnotovertakethem,hasteheeersogreatlyback,
ButNelson
and
the
`Captain
will
not
fail.
Likeatigressonherquarryleapsthe`Captainfromherplace,Tolieacrossthefleeingsquadronsway:Heavyoddsandheavyonslaught,guntogunandfacetoface,Wintheshipanameofglory,winthemenadeathofgrace,ForalittleholdtheSpanishfleetinplay.
EndednowtheCaptainsbattle,strickensoreshefallsaside
Holdingstill
her
foemen,
beaten
to
the
knee:
Asthe`Vanguarddriftedpasther,Welldone,`Captain,Jerviscried,Rangthecheersofmenthatconquered,ranthebloodofmenthatdied,Andtheshiphadwonherimmortality.
Lo!hereherprogenyofsteelandsteam,Afunnelledmonsterathermooringswings:
Still,in
our
hearts,
we
see
her
pennant
stream,
AndWelldone,`Captain,likeatrumpetrings.
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TheSongoftheDerelict
Yehavesungmeyoursongs,yehavechantedyourrimes(Iscornyourbeguiling,Osea!)Yefondlemenow,buttostrikemebetimes.(Atreacherouslover,thesea!)OnceIsawasIlay,halfawashinthenightAhullinthegloomaquickhailandalightAndIlurchedoertoleewardandsavedherforspiteFromthedoomthatyemetedtome.
Iwassisterto`Terrible,seventyfour,(Yoho!fortheswingofthesea!)Andyesankherinfathomsathousandormore(Alas!forthemightofthesea!)Yetauntmeandsingmeherfateforasign!Whatharmcanyewreakmoreonmeoronmine?Hobraggart!IcarenotforboastingofthineAfigforthewrathofthesea!
SomenighttotheleeofthelandIshallsteal,(Heighhotobehomefromthesea!)NopilotbutDeathattherudderlesswheel,(Noneknoweththeharborashe!)ToliewheretheslowtidecreepshitherandfroAndtheshiftingsandlapsmearound,forIknowThatmygallantoldcrewareinPortlongagoForeveratpeacewiththesea!
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Quebec
16081908
Ofold,likeHelen,guerdonofthestrongLikeHelenfair,likeHelenlightofword,Thespoilsuntotheconquerorsbelong.Whowinnethmemustwinmebythesword.
Grownold,likeHelen,oncethejealousprize
Thatstrong
men
battled
for
in
savage
hate,
Canshelookforthwithunregretfuleyes,WheresleepMontcalmandWolfebesidehergate?
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ThenandNow
BeneathherwindowinthefragrantnightIhalfforgethowtruantyearshaveflownSinceIlookeduptoseeherchamberlight,Orcatch,perchance,herslendershadowthrownUponthecasement;butthenoddingleavesSweeplazilyacrosstheunlitpane,Andtoandfrobeneaththeshadowyeaves,Likerestlessbirds,thebreathofcomingrain
Creeps,lilac
laden,
up
the
village
street
Whenallisstill,asiftheverytreesWerelisteningforthecomingofherfeetThatcomenomore;yet,lestIweep,thebreezeSingssomeforgottensongofthoseoldyearsUntilmyheartgrowsfartoogladfortears.
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Unsolved
AmidmybooksIlivedthehurryingyears,Disdainingkinshipwithmyfellowman;Aliketomewerehumansmilesandtears,IcarednotwhitherEarthsgreatlifestreamran,TillasIkneltbeforemymoulderedshrine,Godmademelookintoawomanseyes;AndI,whothoughtallearthlywisdommine,Knewinamomentthattheeternalskies
Weremeasured
but
in
inches,
to
the
quest
Thatlaybeforemeinthatmysticgaze.SurelyIhavebeenerrant:itisbestThatIshouldtread,withmentheirhumanways.Godtooktheteacher,erethetaskwaslearned,AndtomylonelybooksagainIturned.
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TheHopeofMyHeart
Delictajuventutisetignorantiusejus,quoesumusnememineris,
Domine.
Ileft,toearth,alittlemaidenfair,Withlocksofgold,andeyesthatshamedthelight;IprayedthatGodmighthaveherinHiscareAndsight.
Earthslove
was
false;
her
voice,
asirens
song;
(Sweetmotherearthwasbutalyingname)ThepathsheshowedwasbutthepathofwrongAndshame.
Casthernotout!Icry.GodskindwordscomeHerfutureiswithMe,aswasherpast;ItshallbeMygoodwilltobringherhomeAtlast.
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Penance
Myloverdiedacenturyago,Herdearheartstrickenbymyslandrousbreath,WhereforetheGodsforbadethatIshouldknowThepeaceofdeath.
Menpassmygrave,andsay,Twerewelltosleep,Likesuchanone,amidtheuncaringdead!HowshouldtheyknowthevigilsthatIkeep,
Thetears
Ished?
Uponthegrave,Icountwithlifelessbreath,Eachnight,eachyear,theflowersthatbloomanddie,Deemingtheleaves,thatfalltodreamlessdeath,MoreblestthanI.
TwasjustlastyearIheardtwoloverspassSonear,Icaughtthetenderwordshesaid:
Tonight
the
rain
drenched
breezes
sway
the
grass
Abovehishead.
ThatnightfullenviousofhislifewasI,Thatyouthandloveshouldstandathisbehest;Tonight,Ienvyhim,thatheshouldlieAtutterrest.
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SlumberSongs
I
Sleep,littleeyesThatbrimwithchildishtearsamidthyplay,Becomforted!NogriefofnightcanweighAgainstthejoysthatthrongthycomingday.
Sleep,littleheart!
Thereis
no
place
in
Slumberland
for
tears:
LifesoonenoughwillbringitschillingfearsAndsorrowsthatwilldimtheafteryears.Sleep,littleheart!
II
Ah,littleeyes
Deadblossoms
of
aspringtime
long
ago,
ThatlifesstormcrushedandlefttoliebelowThebenedictionofthefallingsnow!
Sleep,littleheartThatceasedsolongagoitsfranticbeat!TheyearsthatcomeandgowithsilentfeetHavenaughttotellsavethisthatrestissweet.Dearlittleheart.
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TheOldestDrama
Itfell
on
aday,
that
he
went
out
to
his
father
to
the
reapers.
Andhesaiduntohisfather,Myhead,myhead.Andhesaidtoalad,Carryhimtohismother.And...hesatonherkneestillnoon,andthendied.Andshewentup,andlaidhimonthebed....Andshutthedooruponhimandwentout.
Immortalstory
that
no
mothers
heart
Evnyetcanread,norfeelthebitingpainThatrenthersoul!ImmortalnotbyartWhichmakesalongpastsorrowstingagain
Likegriefofyesterday:butsinceitsaidInsimplestwordthetruthwhichallmaysee,WhereanymothersobsaboveherdeadAndplaysanewthesilenttragedy.
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Recompense
IsawtwosowersinLifesfieldatmorn,Towhomcameoneinangelguiseandsaid,Isitforlabourthatamanisborn?Lo:IamEase.Comeyeandeatmybread!ThengladlyoneforsookhistaskundoneAndwiththeTempterwenthisslothfulway,TheothertoileduntilthesettingsunWithstealingshadowsblurredthedustyday.
Ereharvesttime,uponearthspeacefulbreastEachlaidhimdownamongtheunreapingdead.Labourhathotherrecompensethanrest,Elsewerethetoilerlikethefool,Isaid;Godmetethhimnotless,butrathermoreBecausehesowedandothersreapedhisstore.
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MineHost
Therestandsahostelbyatravelledway;LifeistheroadandDeaththeworthyhost;Eachguesthegreets,noreverlackstosay,Howhaveyefared?Theyanswerhim,themost,Thislodgingplaceisotherthanwesought;Wehadintendedfarther,butthegloomCameonapace,andfounduserewethought:Yetwillwelodge.Thouhastabundantroom.
Withinsithaggardmenthatspeaknoword,Nofiregleamstheircheerfulwelcomeshed;NovoiceoffellowshiporstrifeisheardButsilenceofamultitudeofdead.NaughtcanIofferye,quothDeath,butrest!Andtohischamberleadseachtiredguest.
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Equality
IsawaKing,whospenthislifetoweaveIntoanationallhisgreatheartthought,UnsatisfieduntilheshouldachieveThegrandidealthathismanhoodsought;Yetashesawtheendwithinhisreach,Deathtookthesceptrefromhisfailinghand,Andallmensaid,HegavehislifetoteachThetaskofhonourtoasordidland!
Withinhis
gates
Isaw,
through
all
those
years,
Oneathishumbletoilwithcheeryface,Whom(beingdead)thechildren,halfintears,Rememberedoft,andmissedhimfromhisplace.IfhebegreaterthathispeopleblessedThanhethechildrenloved,Godknowethbest.
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Anarchy
Isawacityfilledwithlustandshame,Wheremen,likewolves,slunkthroughthegrimhalflight;Andsudden,inthemidstofit,therecameOnewhospokeboldlyforthecauseofRight.
Andspeaking,fellbeforethatbrutishraceLikesomepoorwrenthatshriekingeaglestear,WhilebruteDishonour,withherbloodlessface
Stoodby
and
smote
his
lips
that
moved
in
prayer.
SpeaknotofGod!IncenturiesthatwordHathnotbeenuttered!Ourownkingarewe.AndGodstretchedforthhisfingerasHeheardAndoeritcastathousandleaguesofsea.
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Disarmament
Onespakeamidthenations,LetusceaseFromdarkeningwithstrifethefairWorldslight,Wewhoaregreatinwarbegreatinpeace.Nolongerletuspleadthecausebymight.
ButfromamillionBritishgravestookbirthAsilentvoicethemillionspakeasoneIfyehaverightedallthewrongsofearth
Layby
the
sword!
Its
work
and
ours
is
done.
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TheDeadMaster
Amidearthsvagrantnoises,hecaughtthenotesublime:TodayaroundhimsurgesfromthesilencesofTimeAfloodofnoblermusic,likeariverdeepandbroad,FitsongforheroesgatheredinthebanquethallofGod.
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TheHarvestoftheSea
Theearthgrowswhitewithharvest;alldaylongThesicklesgleam,untilthedarknessweavesHerwebofsilenceoerthethankfulsongOfreapersbringinghomethegoldensheaves.
Thewavetopswhitenontheseafieldsdrear,Andmengoforthathaggarddawntoreap;Butevermidthegleanerssongwehear
Thehalf
hushed
sobbing
of
the
hearts
that
weep.
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TheDyingofPerePierre
...withtwootherpriests;thesamenighthedied,
andwas
buried
by
the
shores
of
the
lake
that
bears
his
name.
Chronicle.
Nay,grievenotthatyecannohonourgiveTothesepoorbonesthatpresentlymustbeButcarrion;sinceIhavesoughttoliveUponGodsearth,asHehathguidedme,
Ishall
not
lack!
Where
would
ye
have
me
lie?
Highheavenishigherthancathedralnave:Domenpaintchancelsfairerthanthesky?Besidethedarkenedlaketheymadehisgrave,Belowthealtarofthehills;andnightSwungincensecloudsofmistincreepinglinesThattwistedthroughthetreetrunks,wherethelightGropedthroughthearchesofthesilentpines:Andhe,besidethelonelypathhetrod,
Lay,tombed
in
splendour,
in
the
House
of
God.
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Eventide
Thedayispastandthetoilerscease;Thelandgrowsdimmidtheshadowsgrey,Andheartsareglad,forthedarkbringspeaceAtthecloseofday.
Eachwearytoiler,withlingeringpace,Ashehomewardturns,withthelongdaydone,Looksouttothewest,withthelightonhisface
Ofthe
setting
sun.
Yetsomeseenot(withtheirsindimmedeyes)Thepromiseofrestinthefadinglight;ButthecloudsloomdarkintheangryskiesAtthefallofnight.
AndsomeseeonlyagoldenskyWheretheelmstheirwelcomingarmsstretchwide
Tothe
calling
rooks,
as
they
homeward
fly
Attheeventide.
Itspeaksofpeacethatcomesafterstrife,OftherestHesendstotheheartsHetried,OfthecalmthatfollowsthestormiestlifeGodseventide.
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UponWattsPictureSicTransit
WhatIspentIhad;whatIsaved,Ilost;whatIgave,Ihave.
Butyesterdaythetourney,alltheeagerjoyoflife,Thewavingofthebanners,andtherattleofthespears,Theclashofswordandharness,andthemadnessofthestrife;Tonightbeginthesilenceandthepeaceofendlessyears.
(Onesingswithin.)
Butyesterdaythegloryandtheprize,Andbestofall,tolayitatherfeet,Tofindmyguerdoninherspeakingeyes:Igrudgethemnot,theypass,albeitsweet.
Theringofspears,thewinningofthefight,Thecarelesssong,thecup,theloveoffriends,Theearthinspringtolive,tofeelthelight
Twasgood
the
while
it
lasted:
here
it
ends.
Remainthewellwroughtdeedinhonourdone,ThedoleforChristsdearsake,thewordsthatfallInkindlinessuponsomeoutcastone,Theyseemedsolittle:nowtheyaremyAll.
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ASongofComfort
Sleep,wearyones,whileyemay
Sleep,oh,
sleep!
EugeneField.
ThroMaytimeblossoms,withwhisperlow,Thesoftwindsangtothedeadbelow:ThinknotwithregretontheSpringtimessongAndthetaskyeleftwhileyourhandswerestrong.
Thesong
would
have
ceased
when
the
Spring
was
past,
Andthetaskthatwasjoyousbewearyatlast.
TothewinterskywhenthenightswerelongThetreetopstossedwithaceaselesssong:DoyethinkwithregretonthesunnydaysAndthepathyeleft,withitsuntrodways?ThesunmightsinkinastormcloudsfrownAndthepathgrowroughwhenthenightcamedown.
Inthegreytwilightoftheautumneves,Itsighedasitsangthroughthedyingleaves:Yethinkwithregretthattheworldwasbright,Thatyourpathwasshortandyourtaskwaslight;Thepath,thoughshort,wasperhapsthebestAndthetoilwassweet,thatitledtorest.
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ThePilgrims
Anuphillpath,sungleamsbetweentheshowers,WhereeverybeamthatbroketheleadenskyLitotherhillswithfairerwaysthanours;Someclusteredgraveswherehalfourmemorieslie;AndonegrimShadowcreepingevernigh:AndthiswasLife.
Whereinwedidanothersburdenseek,
Thetired
feet
we
helped
upon
the
road,
Thehandwegavethewearyandtheweak,Themileswelightenedoneanothersload,When,fainttofalling,onwardyetwestrode:ThistoowasLife.
Till,attheupland,asweturnedtogoAmidfairmeadows,duskyinthenight,Themistsfellbackupontheroadbelow;
Brokeon
our
tired
eyes
the
western
light;
Theverygraveswereforamomentbright:AndthiswasDeath.
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TheShadowoftheCross
AtthedrowsyduskwhentheshadowscreepFromthegoldenwest,wherethesunbeamssleep,
Anangelmused:IstheregoodorillInthemadworldsheart,sinceonCalvaryshill
RoundthecrossamiddaytwilightfellThatdarkenedearthandoershadowedhell?
Throughthestreetsofacitytheangelsped;Likeanopenscrollmensheartsheread.
InamonarchsearhiscourtiersliedAndhumblefaceshidheartsofpride.
Menshatewaxedhot,andtheirheartsgrewcold,Astheyhaggledandfoughtforthelustofgold.
Despairing,hecried,AfteralltheseyearsIstherenaughtbuthatredandstrifeandtears?
Hefoundtwowaifsinanatticbare;Asinglecrustwastheirmeagrefare
Onestrovetoquiettheotherscries,Andthelovelightdawnedinherfamishedeyes
Asshekissedthechildwithamotherlyair:Idontneedmine,youcanhavemyshare.
ThentheangelknewthattheearthlycrossAndthesorrowandshamewerenotwhollyloss.
Atdawn,whenhushedwasearthsbusyhumAndmenlookednotfortheirChristtocome,
Fromtheatticpoortothepalacegrand,TheKingandthebeggarwenthandinhand.
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TheNightCometh
Comeththenight.Thewindfallslow,Thetreesswingslowlytoandfro:AroundthechurchtheheadstonesgreyCluster,likechildrenstrayedawayButfoundagain,andfoldedso.
Nochidinglookdothshebestow:Ifsheisglad,theycannotknow;
Ifill
or
well
they
spend
their
day,
Comeththenight.
Singingorsad,intenttheygo;Theydonotseetheshadowsgrow;Thereyetistime,theylightlysay,Beforeourworkasidewelay;Theirtaskisbuthalfdone,andlo!Comeththenight.
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InDueSeason
Ifnightshouldcomeandfindmeatmytoil,WhenallLifesdayIhad,thofaintly,wrought,Andshallowfurrows,cleftinstonysoilWereallmylabour:ShallIcountitnaught
Ifonlyonepoorgleaner,weakofhand,ShallpickascantysheafwhereIhavesown?Nay,foroftheetheMasterdothdemand
Thywork:
the
harvest
rests
with
Him
alone.
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JohnMcCrae
AnEssayinCharacterbySirAndrewMacphail
I
InFlandersFields
InFlandersFields,thepieceofversefromwhichthislittlebooktakes its title, firstappeared in `Punch in the issueofDecember8th,1915.AtthetimeIwaslivinginFlandersataconventinfrontofLocre,inshelterofKemmelHill,whichliessevenmilessouth
andslightly
west
of
Ypres.
The
piece
bore
no
signature,
but
it
was
unmistakablyfromthehandofJohnMcCrae.
From this conventofwomenwhichwas theheadquartersof the6thCanadianFieldAmbulance,IwrotetoJohnMcCrae,whowasthenatBoulogne,accusinghimof theauthorship,and furnishedhimwithevidence.FrommemorysinceatthefrontonecarriesonebookonlyIquotedtohimanotherpieceofhisownverse,entitledTheNightCometh:
Comeththenight.Thewindfallslow,Thetreesswingslowlytoand fro; Around the church the headstones grey Cluster, likechildrenstraydaway,Butfoundagain,andfoldedso.
Itwillbeobservedatoncebyreferencetothetextthatinformthetwopoemsare identical.They contain the samenumberof linesandfeetassurelyasallsonnetsdo.Eachtravelsupontworhymeswiththemembersofabrokencoupletinwidelyseparatedrefrain.
Tothe
casual
reader
this
much
is
obvious,
but
there
are
many
subtleties in the versewhichmade the authorship inevitable. Itwas a formuponwhichhehadworked foryears, andmadehisown.Whenthemomentarrivedthemediumwasready.Noothermediumcouldhavesowellconveyedthethought.
This familiaritywithhisversewasnot amatterof accident.Formanyyears Iwaseditorof the `UniversityMagazine,and thosewhoarecuriousabout such thingsmaydiscover thatonehalfof
thepoems
contained
in
this
little
book
were
first
published
upon
its pages. This magazine had its origin in McGill University,Montreal, in the year 1902. Four years later its borders wereenlarged to thewider term, and it strove to express an educated
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opinionupon questions immediately concerningCanada, and totreat freely in a literaryway allmatterswhich have to dowithpolitics,industry,philosophy,science,andart.
TothismagazineduringthoseyearsJohnMcCraecontributedallhisverse.ItwasthereforenotunseemlythatIshouldhavewrittentohim,whenInFlandersFieldsappeared in`Punch.Amongsthis papers I find my poor letter, and many others of whichsomethingmoremightbemadeifonewereconcernedmerelywiththe literary side of his life rather thanwith his life itself. Tworeferenceswillbeenough.Earlyin1905heofferedThePilgrimsforpublication. Inotifiedhim of theplace assigned to it in the
magazine,and
added
afew
words
of
appreciation,
and
after
all
theseyearsithascomebacktome.
TheletterisdatedFebruary9th,1905,andreads:Iplacethepoemnexttomyownbuffoonery.Itistherealstuffofpoetry.Howdidyoumakeit?Whathaveyoutodowithmedicine?Iwascharmedwith it: the thought high, the image perfect, the expressioncomplete; not too reticent, not too full.Videntes autem stellamgavisi sunt gaudiomagno valde. In our own tongue, `slainte
filidh.To
his
mother
he
wrote,
the
Latin
is
translatable
as,
`seeing the star they rejoicedwith exceeding gladness. For thebenefitof thosewhose educationhasproceededno further thantheLatin,itmaybeexplainedthatthetwolastwordsmean,Hailtothepoet.
To the inexperienced there is something portentous about anappearanceinprintandsomethingmysteriousaboutthebusinessof an editor. A legend has already grown up around the
publicationof
In
Flanders
Fields
in
`Punch.
The
truth
is,
that
thepoemwasofferedintheusualwayandaccepted; that isall.Theusualwayofoffering apiece to an editor is toput it in anenvelopewith a postage stamp outside to carry it there, and astampinsidetocarryitback.Nothingelsehelps.
Aneditorismerelyamanwhoknowshisrighthandfromhisleft,goodfromevil,havingthehonestyofakitchencookwhowillnotspoilhis confectionby favour fora friend.Fearofa foe isnota
temptation,since
editors
are
too
humble
and
harmless
to
have
any.
There are of course certain slight offices which an editor canrender,especially to thosewhosewritingshedoesnot intend toprint, but John McCrae required none of these. His work was
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finished to the lastpoint.Hewouldbringhispiece inhishandand put it on the table.Awise editor knowswhen to keep hismouthshut;butnowIamfreetosaythatheneverunderstoodthe
nicetyof
the
semi
colon,
and
his
writing
was
too
heavily
stopped.
Hewasnotofthosewhomightsay,takeitorleaveit;butrather, lookhowperfect it is;and itwas so.Alsohewas the first torecognize that an editor has some rights and prejudices, thatcertainwordsmakehimsick;thatcertainotherwordshereservesforhisownuse,meticulousonceayear,adscititiousonceinalifetime.Thisexplainswhyeditorswritesolittle.Intheend,outofmeregoodnature,orseeingthefutilityofitall,theycontribute
theirwords
to
contributors
and
write
no
more.
Thevolumeofverseashereprintedissmall.Thevolumemightbeenlarged; itwould not be improved. To estimate the value andinstitute a comparison of those herein set forth would be acongenialbutuselesstask,whichmaywellbelefttothosewhoseprofession it is tooffer instruction to theyoung.To say thatInFlandersFieldsisnotthebestwouldinvolveoneincontroversy.Itdidgiveexpressiontoamoodwhichatthetimewasuniversal,
andwill
remain
as
apermanent
record
when
the
mood
is
passed
away.
ThepoemwasfirstcalledtomyattentionbyaSapperofficer,thenMajor,nowBrigadier.Hebroughtthepaperinhishandfromhisbillet inDranoutre. Itwasprintedonpage468,andMr. `Punchwillbeglad tobe told that, inhis annual index, in the issueofDecember29th,1915,hehasmispelledtheauthorsname,whichisperhapstheonlymistakeheevermade.Thisofficercouldhimself
weavethe
sonnet
with
deft
fingers,
and
he
pointed
out
many
deep
things. It is to the sappers the army always goes for technicalmaterial.
The poem, he explained, consists of thirteen lines in iambictetrameterandtwolinesoftwoiambicseach;inall,onelinemorethanthesonnetscount.Therearetworhymesonly,sincetheshortlinesmustbeconsideredblank,andare,infact,identical.Butitisadifficultmode.Itistrue,heallowed,thattheoctetofthesonnet
hasonly
two
rhymes,
but
these
recur
only
four
times,
and
the
libertyof the sestet tempers itsdespotism,which I thoughtaprettyphrase.Hepointedoutthedangersinherentinarestrictedrhyme, and cited the case ofBrowning, thegreat rhymster,who
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was prone to resort to any rhyme, and frequently ended inabsurdity,finding iteasier tomakeanewverse than tomakeanend.
AtgreatlengthbuttheDecembereveningsinFlandersarelong,how long,OLord! thisSapper officerdemonstrated the skillwithwhichtherhymesarechosen.Theyarevocalized.Consonantendingswouldspoilthewholeeffect.TheyreiterateOandI,nottheOofpainandtheAyofassent,buttheOofwonder,ofhope,ofaspiration;andtheIofpersonalpride,ofjealousimmortality,oftheEgoagainsttheUniverse.Theyare,hewentontoexpound,arecurrenceoftheancientquestion:Howarethedeadraised,and
withwhat
body
do
they
come?
How
shall
Ibear
my
light
across?andofthedefiantcry:IfChristbenotraised,thenisourfaithvain.
The theme has three phases: the first a calm, a deadly calm,opening statement in five lines; the second in four lines, anexplanation, a regret, a reiterationof the first; the third,withoutpreliminarycrescendo,breakingoutintopassionateadjurationinvividmetaphor,apoignantappealwhichisatonceablessingand
acurse.
In
the
closing
line
is
asatisfying
return
to
the
first
phase,
andthethingisdone.Oneissooftenremindedofthepovertyofmensinvention,theirbestbeingsoincomplete,theirgreatestsotrivial,thatonewelcomeswhatthisSapperofficersurmisedmaybecomeanewandfixedmodeofexpressioninverse.
AstothethemeitselfIamusinghiswords:whatishisismine;what ismine is his the interest is universal. The dead, stillconscious,falleninanoblecause,seetheirgravesoverblownina
riotof
poppy
bloom.
The
poppy
is
the
emblem
of
sleep.
The
dead
desire to sleepundisturbed,butyet curiously takean interest inpassingevents.They regret that theyhavenotbeenpermitted toliveouttheirlifetoitsnormalend.Theycallonthelivingtofinishtheirtask,elsetheyshallnotsinkintothatcompletereposewhichthey desire, in spite of the balm of the poppy. Formalistsmayprotestthatthepoetisnotsincere,sinceitistheseedandnottheflowerthatproducessleep.Theymightaswellobjectthatthepoethas no right to impersonate the dead. We common folk know
better.We
know
that
in
personating
the
dear
dead,
and
calling
in
bellliketonesontheinarticulateliving,thepoetshallbeenabledtobreakthelightningsoftheBeast,andtherebyhe,beinghimself,alas!dead,yetspeaketh;andshallspeak, toonesandtwosanda
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host. As it is written in resonant bronze: VIVOS . VOCO .MORTUOS.PLANGO.FULGURA.FRANGO:wordscastbythisofficeruponachurchbellwhichstillringsinfarawayOrwellin
memoryof
his
father
and
of
mine.
Bythistimethelittleroomwascold.ForsomereasonthegunshadawakenedintheSalient.AnIndiantrooperwhohadjustcomeup,anddidnotyetknowtheorders,blewLightsout,onacavalrytrumpet.Thesappersworkbynight.Theofficerturnedandwenthiswaytohisaccursedtrenches,leavingtheversewithme.
JohnMcCraewitnessedonlyonce the rawearthofFlandershide
itsshame
in
the
warm
scarlet
glory
of
the
poppy.
Others
have
watchedthisresurrectionoftheflowersinfoursuccessiveseasons,a freshmiracleevery time itoccurs.Also theyhaveobserved therowsofcrosseslengthen,thetorchthrown,caught,andcarriedtovictory.Thedeadmaysleep.Wehavenotbrokenfaithwiththem.
It is littlewonder then thatInFlandersFieldshasbecome thepoemof thearmy.Thesoldiershave learned itwith theirhearts,whichisquiteadifferentthingfromcommittingittomemory.It
circulates,as
asong
should
circulate,
by
the
living
word
of
mouth,
not by printed characters. That is the true test of poetry, itsinsistenceonmaking itself learntbyheart.The armyhasvariedthe text;buteachvariationonlyserves to revealmoreclearly themindof themaker.Thearmy says, AMONG the crosses;feltdawnANDsunsetglow;LIVEDandwereloved.Thearmymayberight:itusuallyis.
Nor has any piece of verse in recent years been more widely
knownin
the
civilian
world.
It
was
used
on
every
platform
from
whichmenwere being adjured to adventure their lives or theirrichesinthegreattrialthroughwhich thepresentgenerationhaspassed.Manyreplieshavebeenmade.ThebestIhaveseenwaswritteninthe`NewYorkEveningPost.NonebutthosewhowerepreparedtodiebeforeVimyRidgethatearlyAprildayof1916willeverfeelfullythegreattruthofMr.Lillardsopeninglines,astheyspeakforallAmericans:
Restye
in
peace,
ye
Flanders
dead.
ThefightthatyesobravelyledWevetakenup.
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Theydidandbravely.TheyheardthecryIfyebreakfaith,weshallnotsleep.
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II
WiththeGuns
If there was nothing remarkable about the publication of InFlandersFields,therewassomethingmomentousinthemomentofwriting it.Andyet itwasa sure instinctwhichprompted thewriter to send it to `Punch.A rationalmanwishes toknow thenewsoftheworldinwhichhelives;andifheisinterestedinlife,he is eager to know how men feel and comport themselvesamongsttheeventswhicharepassing.Forthispurpose`Punchisthegreatnewspaperof theworld,and these linesdescribebetter
thanany
other
how
men
felt
in
that
great
moment.
ItwasinApril,1915.Theenemywasinthefullcryofvictory.AllthatremainedforhimwastooccupyParis,asoncehedidbefore,and to seize the Channel ports. Then France, England, and theworldweredoomed.AllwintertheGermanhadspentinrepairinghisplans,whichhadgonesomewhatawryontheMarne.Hehaddevisedhis finalstroke,and it fellupon theCanadiansatYpres.Thisbattle,known as the secondbattleofYpres, culminatedon
April22nd,
but
it
really
extended
over
the
whole
month.
Theinnerhistoryofwariswrittenfromtherecordedimpressionsofmenwhohaveenduredit.JohnMcCraeinaseriesofletterstohismother,castintheformofadiary,hassetdowninwordstheimpressionswhich thiseventof thewarmadeuponapeculiarlysensitive mind. The account is here transcribed without anyattemptatamplification,orclarifyingbynotesuponincidentsorreferencestoplaces.Theseareonlytoowellknown.
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Friday,April23rd,1915.
Aswemoveduplastevening,therewasheavyfiringabout4.30on
ourleft,
the
hour
at
which
the
general
attack
with
gas
was
made
whentheFrenchlinebroke.WecouldseetheshellsburstingoverYpres, and in a small village to our left,meetingGeneral,C.R.A.,ofoneofthedivisions,heorderedustohaltfororders.Wesent forward notifications to our Headquarters, and sent outorderlies toget in touchwith thebatteriesof the farther forwardbrigades already in action.The story of these gunswill be readelsewhere.Theyhad a tough time,butgot away safely, anddidwonderfulservice.Onebatteryfiredintwooppositedirectionsat
once,and
both
batteries
fired
at
point
blank,
open
sights,
at
Germansintheopen.Theywereattimesquitewithoutinfantryontheirfront,fortheirpositionwasbehindtheFrenchtotheleftoftheBritishline.
AswesatontheroadwebegantoseetheFrenchstragglersmenwithoutarms,woundedmen,teams,wagons,civilians,refugeessomebytheroads,someacrosscountry,alltalking,shoutingtheverypictureofdebacle.Imustsaytheywerethetagendersofa
fightingline
rather
than
the
line
itself.
They
streamed
on,
and
shouted tous scrapsofnot too inspiriting informationwhilewestoodandtookourmedicine,andpickedoutgunpositionsinthefields in case we had to go in there and then. The men weresplendid;notaword;notashake,anditwasaterrifictest.Trafficwhizzed by ambulances, transport, ammunition, supplies,despatchridersandtheshellsthunderedintothetown,orbursthighintheairnearerus,and therefugeesstreamed.Women,oldmen, little children, hopeless, tearful, quiet or excited, tired,
dodgingthe
traffic,
and
the
wounded
in
singles
or
in
groups.
HereandthereIcouldgiveamomentaryhelp,andtheambulancespickedupas theycould.Sothecoldmoonlightnightworeonno change save that the towers ofYpres showed up against theglareofthecityburning;andtheshellsstillsailedin.
At 9.30 our ammunition column (the part that had been in)appeared.Majorhadwaited,likeCasabianca,forordersuntiltheGermanswere500yardsaway; thenhestarted,gettingsafely
awaysave
for
one
wagon
lost,
and
some
casualties
in
men
and
horses.He foundour column, andweprepared to send forwardammunition as soon aswe could learnwhere the batteries hadtakenuppositioninretiring,forretiretheyhadto.Eleven,twelve,
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andfinallygreydaybroke,andwestillwaited.At3.45wordcametogoinandsupportaFrenchcounterattackat4.30A.M.Hastilywegottheorderspread;itwas4A.M.andthreemilestogo.
Of ones feelings all this night of the asphyxiated Frenchsoldiers of thewomen and children of the cheery, steadyBritish reinforcements thatmoved up quietly past us, going up,notbackIcouldwrite,butyoucanimagine.
Wetooktheroadatonce,andwentupatthegallop.TheColonelrodeaheadtoscoutaposition(wehadonlyfourguns,partoftheammunition column, and the brigade staff; the 1st and 4th
batterieswere
back
in
reserve
at
our
last
billet).
Along
the
roads
wewent,andmadeourplaceon time,pulledupfor tenminutesjustshortoftheposition,whereIputBonfire[hishorse]withmygroominafarmyard,andwentforwardonfootonlyaquarterofamile or so thenwe advanced.Bonfire had soon tomove; ashellkilledahorseaboutfouryardsawayfromhim,andhewiselytook other ground.Meantimewewent on into the positionweweretooccupyforseventeendays,thoughwecouldnotguessthat.IcanhardlysaymorethanthatitwasneartheYserCanal.
Wegot intoactionatonce,underheavygunfire.Wewere to theleftentirelyof theBritish line,andbehindFrench troops,andsoweremainedforeightdays.AColoneloftheR.A.,knowntofame,joinedus and campedwithus;hewasour linkwith theFrenchHeadquarters, and was in local command of the guns in thislocality.Whenheleftuseightdayslaterhesaid,Iamgladtogetoutofthishellhole.Hewasagreatcomforttous,forheisverycapable, and the entire battlewas largely fought on our own,
followingthe
requests
of
the
Infantry
on
our
front,
and
scarcely
guidedbyourownstaffatall.Weatoncesetout to registerourtargets,andalmostatoncehadtogetintosteadyfiringonquitealargesectoroffront.Wedug in thegunsasquicklyaswecould,andtookasHeadquarterssomeinfantrytrenchesalreadysunkonaridgenearthecanal.Weweresubjectfrom thefirsttoasteadyand accurate shelling, forwewere all but in sight, aswere theGerman trenchesabout2000yards toour front.At times the firewould come in salvosquickly repeated.Burstsof firewouldbe
madefor
ten
or
fifteen
minutes
at
atime.
We
got
all
varieties
of
projectile,from3inchto8inch,orperhaps10inch;thesmallonesusuallyasairbursts,thelargerpercussionandair,andtheheaviestpercussiononly.
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My work began almost from the start steady but neveroverwhelming, except perhaps once for a fewminutes. A little
cottagebehind
our
ridge
served
as
acook
house,
but
was
so
heavilyhit the secondday thatwehad tobe charyof it.DuringburstsoffireIusuallytook thebackslopeof thesharplycrestedridgeforwhatshelteritoffered.At3our1stand4tharrived,andwent intoaction atoncea fewhundredyards inour rear.Wireswereatonceputout,tobecutbyshellshundredsandhundredsoftimes,but always repairedby our indefatigable linemen.So thedayworeon;inthenighttheshellingstillkeptup:threedifferentGermanattacksweremadeandrepulsed.Ifwesufferedbybeing
closeup,
the
Germans
suffered
from
us,
for
already
tales
of
good
shooting camedown tous. Igotsomesleepdespite the constantfiring,forwehadnonelastnight.
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Saturday,April24th,1915.
BeholdusnowanythinglessthantwomilesnorthofYpresonthe
westside
of
the
canal;
this
runs
north,
each
bank
flanked
with
high elms,withbare trunksof the familiarNetherlands type.Afew yards to theWest amain road runs, likewise bordered; theCensorwillallowmetosaythatonthehighbankbetweenthesewe had our headquarters; the ridge is perhaps fifteen to twentyfeethigh,andslopesforwardfiftyyardstothewater,thebackismore steep, and slopes quickly to a little subsidiarywaterway,deepbutdirty.WherethegunswereIshallnotsay;buttheywerenotfar,and theGermanaeroplanesthatviewedusdailywithall
butimpunity
knew
very
well.
A
road
crossed
over
the
canal,
and
interruptedtheridge;acrosstheroadfromuswasourbillettheplacewecookedin,atleast,andwhereweusuallytookourmeals.Lookingtothesouthbetweenthetrees,wecouldseetheruinsofthe city: to the fronton the sky line,with rollingground in thefront,pittedbyFrenchtrenches,theGermanlines;totheleftfront,severalfarmsandawindmill,andfartherleft,againnearthecanal,thickertreesandmorefarms.Thefarmsandwindmillsweresoonburnt. Several farms we used for observing posts were also
quicklyburnt
during
the
next
three
or
four
days.
All
along
behind
us at varying distances French and British guns; the flashes atnightlitupthesky.
Thesehightreeswereatonceaprotectionandadanger.Shellsthatstruckthemwereusuallydestructive.Whenwecameinthefoliagewasstillvery thin.Along theroad,whichwasconstantlyshelledonspecbytheGermans,onesawallthesightsofwar:woundedmenlimpingorcarried,ambulances,trainsofsupply,troops,army
mules,and
tragedies.
Isaw
one
bicycle
orderly:
ashell
exploded
andhe seemed topedalon foreightor ten revolutionsand thencollapsedinaheapdead.Stragglingsoldierswouldbekilledorwounded, horses also, until it got to be a nightmare. I used toshudder every time I saw wagons or troops on that road. Mydugoutlookedoutonit.Igotasquarehole,8by8,duginthesideofthehill(west),roofedoverwithremnantstokeepouttherain,andalittlesandbagparapetonthebacktopreventpiecesofbackkick shells from coming in,orprematures fromourownor the
Frenchguns
for
that
matter.
Some
straw
on
the
floor
completed
it.
Thegroundwastreacherousandaslipthefirstnightnearlyburied.Sowehad tobe contentwithwalls straightupanddown,
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andtrusttotheheightofthebankforsafety.Allplacesalongthebankweremoreorlessalike,allsquirrelholes.
Thismorning
we
supported
aheavy
French
attack
at
4.30;
there
had been threeGerman attacks in the night, and everyonewastired.Wegotheavilyshelled.Inalleightortenofourtreeswerecutbyshellscutrightoff,theupperpartofthetreesubsidingheavily and straightdown, as ausual thing.Onewould think apiecea foot longwas just instantly cutout;and these treeswereabout 18 inches in diameter. The gas fumes came very heavily:someblewdownfromtheinfantrytrenches,somecamefromtheshells:oneseyessmarted,andbreathingwasverylaboured.Upto
noonto
day
we
fired
2500
rounds.
Last
night
Col.
Morrison
and
I
sleptataFrenchColonelsheadquartersnearby,andinthenightourroomwasfilledupwithwounded.Iwokeupandsharedmybedwithachapwithawoundedlegandachill.Probablythirtywoundedwerebroughtintotheonelittleroom.
Col.,R.A.,keptusincommunicationwiththeFrenchGeneralinwhosecommandwewere.Ibunkeddowninthetrenchonthetop of the ridge: the skywas redwith the glare of the city still
burning,and
we
could
hear
the
almost
constant
procession
of
large
shellssailingoverfromour leftfrontinto thecity: thecrashesoftheirexplosionshookthegroundwherewewere.Afteraterriblyhardday,professionallyandotherwise,Isleptwell,butitrainedandthetrenchwasawfullymuddyandwet.
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Sunday,April25th,1915.
Theweatherbrightenedup,andwegotat itagain.Thisdaywe
hadseveral
heavy
attacks,
prefaced
by
heavy
artillery
fire;
these
burstsoffirewouldresultinourgetting100to150roundsrightonus or nearby: the heavier our fire (which was on the trenchesentirely)theheaviertheirs.
Our food supply cameupatdusk inwagons,and thewaterwasanywecouldget,butofcoursetreatedwithchlorideoflime.Theammunitionhadtobebroughtdowntheroadsatthegallop,andthemorefiringthemorewagons.Themenwouldquicklycarrythe
roundsto
the
guns,
as
the
wagons
had
to
halt
behind
our
hill.
The
goodoldhorseswouldswingaroundatthegallop,pullupinaninstant,andstandpuffingandblowing,butwiththeirheadsup,asiftosay,Wasntthatwelldone?Itmakesyouwanttokisstheirdearoldnoses,andassurethemofapeacefulpastureoncemore.Todaywe got our dressing station dugout complete, and sleptthereatnight.
Three farms in succession burned on our front colour in the
otherwisedark.
The
flashes
of
shells
over
the
front
and
rear
in
all
directions.Thecitystillburningandtheprocessionstillgoingon.IdressedanumberofFrenchwounded;oneTurcoprayedtoAllahandMohammed all the time Iwas dressing hiswound.On thefrontfieldonecanseethedeadlyinghereandthere,andinplaceswhereanassaulthasbeentheylieverythickonthefrontslopesoftheGerman trenches.Our telephonewagon teamhitby a shell;twohorseskilledandanotherwounded.IdidwhatIcouldforthewounded one, and he subsequently got well. This night,
beginningafter
dark,
we
got
aterrible
shelling,
which
kept
up
till
2 or 3 in themorning. Finally Igot to sleep, though itwas stillgoingon.Wemusthavegotacoupleofhundredrounds,insingleorpairs.Everyoneburstoverus,wouldlightupthedugout,andeveryhitinfrontwouldshakethegroundandbringdownsmallbits of earth on us, or else the earth thrown into the air by theexplosionwouldcomespatteringdownonour roof,and into thefrontof thedugout.Col.Morrison tried themesshouse,but theshellingwas tooheavy,andheand theadjutant joinedCosgrave
andme,
and
we
four
spent
an
anxious
night
there
in
the
dark.
One
officerwasonwatchonthebridge(aswecalledthetrenchatthetopoftheridge)withthetelephones.
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Monday,April26th,1915.
Another day of heavy actions, but last nightmuch French and
Britishartillery
has
come
in,
and
the
place
is
thick
with
Germans.
There aremanyprematures (with somuch firing)but thepiecesareusuallyspreadbeforetheygettous.Itisdisquieting,however,Imust say.Andall the time thebirds sing in the treesoverourheads.Yesterdayuptonoonwefired3000roundsforthetwentyfourhours;todaywehavefiredmuchless,butwehaveregisteredfreshfronts,andburnedsomefarmsbehindtheGermantrenches.Aboutsixthefiredieddown,andwehadapeacefuleveningandnight,andCosgraveandIinthedugoutmadegooduseofit.The
Colonelhas
an
individual
dugout,
and
Dodds
sleeps
topside
in
thetrench.Toallthis,putinabackgroundofanxietylestthelinebreak,forwearejustwhereitbrokebefore.
Tuesday,April27th,1915.
Thismorningagainregisteringbatteriesonnewpoints.At1.30aheavyattackwaspreparedby theFrenchandourselves.The firewasveryheavyforhalfanhourandtheenemygotbusytoo.Ihad
tocross
over
to
the
batteries
during
it,
an
unpleasant
journey.
Moregas attacks in theafternoon.TheFrenchdidnotappear topress the attack hard, but in the light of subsequent events itprobablywasonlyafeint.Itseemslikelythataboutthistimeourpeoplebegantothinouttheartilleryagainforuseelsewhere;butthisdidnotatoncebecomeapparent.Atnightusuallytheheaviesfartherback takeup thestory,and there isaduel.TheGermansfireonourroadsafterdarktocatchreliefsandtransport.Isupposeoursdothesame.
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Wednesday,April28th,1915.
Ihavetoconfesstoanexcellentsleeplastnight.Attimesanxiety
says,I
dont
want
ameal,
but
experience
says
you
need
your
food,soIattendregularlytothat.Thebilletisnottoosafeeither.MuchGermanair reconnaissanceoverus,andheavy firing fromboth sides during the day. At 6.45 we again prepared a heavyartilleryattack,but the infantrymade littleattempt togoon.Weareperhapsthechoppingblock,andourpreparationsmaybechieflydesignedtopreventdetachmentsoftroopsbeingsentfromourfrontelsewhere.
Ihave
said
nothing
of
what
goes
on
on
our
right
and
left;
but
it
is
equallypartandparcelofthewholegame;thiseightmilefrontisconstantlyheavilyengaged.Atintervals,too,theybombardYpres.Ourback lines, too,have tobe constantly shifted on accountofshellfire,andwehavedesultorybutconstantlossesthere.Intheevening rifle fire getsmore frequent, and bullets are constantlysingingoverus.Someof themareprobably ricochets, forweare1800yards,ornearly,fromthenearestGermantrench.
Thursday,April
29th,
1915.
Thismorningourbilletwashit.Wefirelessthesedays,butstillagooddeal.TherewasaheavyFrenchattackonourleft.Thegasattackscanbeseenfromhere.Theyellowcloudrisingupisforusasignaltoopen,andwedo.Thewindisfromoursidetoday,andagoodthingitis.SeveraldaysagoduringthefiringabigOxfordgreydog,withbeautifulbrowneyes,cametousinapanic.Herantome,andpressedhisheadHARDagainstmyleg.SoIgothima
safeplace
and
he
sticks
by
us.
We
call
him
Fleabag,
for
he
looks
likeit.
This night they shelled us again heavily for some hours thesameshorts,hits,oversonpercussion,andgreatyellowgreenairbursts.Onefeelsawfullyirritatedbytheconstantdinamixtureofangerandapprehension.
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Friday,April30th,1915.
Thick mist this morning, and relative quietness; but before it
clearedthe
Germans
started
again
to
shell
us.
At
10
it
cleared,
and
from10 to2we firedconstantly.TheFrenchadvanced,and tooksomegroundonourleftfrontandabatchofprisoners.Thiswasata place we call Twin Farms. Our men looked curiously at theBochesastheyweremarchedthrough.SomebetteractivityintheafternoonbytheAlliesaeroplanes.TheGermanplaneshavehadit toomuch theirway lately.Many of todays shells have beenvery large10or12 inch;a lotof tremendousholesdug in thefieldsjustbehindus.
Saturday,May1st,1915.
May day! Heavy bombardment at intervals through the day.Anotherheavyartillerypreparationat3.25,butnoFrenchadvance.Wefailtounderstandwhy,butordersgo.Wesufferedsomewhatduring the day. Through the evening and night heavy firing atintervals.
Sunday,May
2nd,
1915.
Heavygunfireagainthismorning.Lieut.Hwaskilledat theguns.His diarys lastwordswere, It has quieted a little and Ishall try toget agood sleep. I said theCommittalServiceoverhim,aswellasIcouldfrommemory.Asoldiersdeath!Batteriesagainregisteringbarragesorbarriersoffireatsetranges.At3theGermansattacked,precededbygasclouds.Fightingwentonforanhourandahalf,duringwhichtheirgunshammeredheavilywith
someloss
to
us.
The
French
lines
are
very
uneasy,
and
we
are
correspondinglyanxious.Theinfantryfirewasveryheavy,andwefiredincessantly,keepingonintothenight.DespitetheheavyfireIgotasleepat12,andsleptuntildaylightwhichcomesat3.
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Monday,May3rd,1915.
A clearmorning, and the accursedGerman aeroplanes over our
positionsagain.
They
are
usually
fired
at,
but
no
luck.
To
day
a
shellonourhilldugoutacannonballaboutsixinchesindiameter probably ofNapoleons or earlier times heavily rusted.AGerman attack began, but half an hour of artillery fire drove itback.Major,R.A.,wasupforward,andcouldseetheGermanreserves.Our 4thwas turnedon: first round100over; shortenedand went into gunfire, and his report was that the effect wasperfect. The same occurred again in the evening, and again atmidnight.TheGermanswere reported to be constantlymassing
forattack,
and
we
as
constantly
went
to
them.
The
German
guns
shelled us as usual at intervals. Thismust get very tiresome toread;but through itall, itmustbementioned that theconstantlybroken communications have to be mended, rations andammunitionbroughtup,thewoundedtobedressedandgotaway.OurdugoutshavetheFrenchEngineersandFrenchInfantrynextdoorby turns.Theymarch in andout.Thebackof thehill is anetworkofwires,sothatonehastogocarefully.
Tuesday,May
4th,
1915.
Despiteintermittentshellingandsomecasualtiesthequietestdayyet;butwe live in anuneasy atmosphere asGermanattacksareconstantly being projected, and our communications areinterruptedandscrappy.Wegetnonewsofanysortandhavejustto sit tight and hold on.Evening closed in rainy and dark.Ourdugoutisveryslenderlyprovidedagainstit,andwegetprettywetandverydirty.Inthequietermorninghourswegetachanceofa
washand
occasionally
ashave.
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Wednesday,May5th,1915.
Heavilyhammeredinthemorningfrom7to9,butat9itletup;the
suncame
out
and
things
looked
better.
Evidently
our
line
has
againbeenthinnedofartilleryandtherequisiteminimumtoholdisleft.TherewereGermanattackstoourright,justoutofourarea.Lateronweandtheybothfiredheavily,thefirstbatterygettingitespeciallyhot.Theplanesoverus again and again, to coach theguns.Anattackexpectedatdusk,butitturnedonlytoheavynightshelling, so thatwith our fire, theirs, and the infantry crackingawayconstantly,wegotsleep insmallquantityallnight;bulletswhizzing over us constantly. Heavy rain from 5 to 8, and
everythingwet
except
the
far
in
corner
of
the
dugout,
where
we
massourthingstokeepthemasdryaswemay.
Thursday,May6th,1915.
After the rain a bright morning; the leaves and blossoms arecomingout.Weascribeourquietudetoawelcomeflockofalliedplanes which are over this morning. The Germans attacked ateleven,andagainatsix intheafternoon,eachmeaningawaking
upof
heavy
artillery
on
the
whole
front.
In
the
evening
we
had
a
littlerainatintervals,butitwaslight.
Friday,May7th,1915.
Abrightmorningearly,butcloudedoverlater.TheGermansgaveittousveryheavily.Therewasheavyfightingtothesoutheastofus.Twoattacksorthreats,andwewentinagain.
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Saturday,May8th,1915.
For the last three days we have been under British divisional
control,and
supporting
our
own
men
who
have
been
put
farther
to
theleft,tilltheyarealmostinfrontofus.Itisanaddedcomfort.We have four officers out with various infantry regiments forobservationandcooperation; theyhave tostickit in trenches,asallthehousesandbarnsareburned.Thewholefrontisconstantlyablazewithbiggunfire; theracketneverceases.Wehavenow todomostof thework forour left,asour lineappears tobemuchthinnerthanitwas.AGermanattackfollowedtheshellingat7;wewerefightinghardtill12,andlessregularlyalltheafternoon.We
sufferedmuch,
and
at
one
time
were
down
to
seven
guns.
Of
these
twoweresmokingatevery joint,and the leversweresohot thatthegunnersusedsacking for theirhands.Thepace isnowmuchhotter,and theneedsof the infantry for firemore insistent.Theguns are inbad shape by reason ofdirt, injuries, andheat.Thewindfortunatelyblowsfromus,sothereisnogas,buttheattacksare still very heavy. Evening brought a little quiet, but verydisquietingnews(whichafterwardsproveduntrue);andwehadtoface a possible retirement. Youmay imagine our state ofmind,
unableto
get
anything
sure
in
the
uncertainty,
except
that
we
shouldstickoutaslongasthegunswouldfire,andwecouldfirethem.Thatsortofnightbringsamandown tohisbareskin, Ipromiseyou.Thenightwasverycold,andnotacheerfulone.
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Sunday,May9th,1915.
At 4 we were ordered to get ready to move, and the Adjutant
pickedout
new
retirement
positions;
but
alittle
later
better
news
came, and thedaylight and sun revivedus abit.As I sat inmydugoutalittlewhiteandblackdogwith tanspotsboltedinovertheparapet,duringheavy firing,andgoing to the farthestcornerbegan todig furiously.Having scraped out apathetic littleholetwoinchesdeep,shesatdownandshook,lookingmostplaintivelyatme.Afewminuteslater,herownercamealong,aFrenchsoldier.Bissacwas her name, but shewould not leaveme at the time.WhenIsatdowna littlelater,shestoleoutandshylycrawledin
betweenme
and
the
wall;
she
stayed
by
me
all
day,
and
Ihope
got
laterontosafequarters.
Firingkeptupallday. In thirtyhourswehad fired3600 rounds,and at timeswith seven, eight, or nine guns; ourwire cut andrepairedeighteentimes.Orderscame tomove,andwegotready.Atduskwegotthegunsoutbyhand,andallbatteriesassembledatagivenspot in comparative safety.Weweremuchafraid theywouldopenonus,forat10oclocktheygaveus100or150rounds,
hittingthe
trench
parapet
again
and
again.
However,
we
were
up
theroad,thelastwagonhalfamileawaybeforetheyopened.Oneburstnearme,andsplatteredsomepiecesaround,butwegotclear,andby12wereoutoftheusualfirezone.Marchedallnight,tiredascouldbe,buthappytobeclear.
IwasgladtogetondearoldBonfireagain.Wemadeaboutsixteenmiles, andgot toourbillets atdawn. Ihad threeor fourhourssleep,andarose toapeacefulbreakfast.We shallgoback to the
lineelsewhere
very
soon,
but
it
is
apresent
relief,
and
the
next
place is sure to be better, for it cannot beworse.Much of thisnarrative isbald andplain,but it tellsourpart in a reallygreatbattle.Ihaveonlyhadhastynotestogoby;inconversationthereismuchonecouldsaythatwouldbeofgreaterinterest.Heardofthe`Lusitaniadisasteronourroadout.Aterribleaffair!==
Here ends the accountofhispart in thismemorablebattle, andherefollowsomegeneralobservationsupontheexperience:
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NorthernFrance,May10th,1915.
Wegotheretorefitandrestthismorningat4,havingmarchedlast
nightat
10.
The
general
impression
in
my
mind
is
of
anightmare.
Wehavebeeninthemostbitteroffights.Forseventeendaysandseventeennightsnoneofushavehadourclothesoff,norourbootseven, except occasionally. In all that time while I was awake,gunfire and rifle fire never ceased for sixty seconds, and itwassticking to our utmost by a weak line all but ready to break,knowingnothingofwhatwasgoingon,anddepressedbyreportsofanxious infantry.Themenand thedivisionsareworthyofallpraisethatcanbegiven.Itdidnotendinfourdayswhenmanyof
ourinfantry
were
taken
out.
It
kept
on
at
fever
heat
till
yesterday.
This,ofcourse, is thesecondbattleofYpres,or thebattleof theYser, Idonotknowwhich.Atone timeweweredown to sevenguns, but those gunswere smoking at every joint, the gunnersusingclothtohandlethebreechleversbecauseoftheheat.Wehadthreebatteriesinactionwithfourgunsaddedfromtheotherunits.Ourcasualtieswerehalfthenumberofmeninthefiringline.Thehorselinesandthewagonlinesfartherbacksufferedless,butthe
Brigadelist
has
gone
far
higher
than
any
artillery
normal.
Iknow
onebrigadeR.A. thatwas in theMons retreatandhadabout thesame. Ihavedonewhat fell tohand.My clothes,boots,kit,anddugoutatvarious timeswere sadlybloody.Twoofourbatteriesare reduced to twoofficers each.Wehavehad constant accurateshellfire,butwehavegivenbackno less.Andbehind itallwastheconstantbackgroundof thesightsof thedead, thewounded,themaimed,andaterribleanxietylestthelineshouldgiveway.
Duringall
this
time,
we
have
been
behind
French
troops,
and
only
helping our own people by oblique fire when necessary. Ourhorseshavesufferedheavilytoo.Bonfirehadalightwoundfromapieceofshell;itishealingandthedearoldfellowisveryfit.Hadmy first ride for seventeendays lastnight.Wenever sawhorsesbutwiththewagonsbringinguptheammunition.Whenfirewashottest theyhad tocome twomilesona road terriblyswept,andtheydiditmagnificently.Buthowtiredweare!Wearyinbodyandwearierinmind.Noneofourmenwentofftheirheadsbutmenin
unitsnearby
did
and
no
wonder.
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France,May12th,1915.
Iamgladyouhadyourmindatrestbytherumourthatwewerein
reserve.What
newspaper
work!
The
poor
old
artillery
never
gets
anymention,and thewholeshow is the infantry.Itmay interestyou tonoteonyourmapaspoton thewestbankof thecanal,amileandahalfnorthofYpres,asthesceneofourlabours.Therecanbenoharm insayingso,now thatweareoutof it.TheunitwasthemostadvancedofalltheAlliesgunsbyagooddealexceptoneFrenchbatterywhichstayedinapositionyetmoreadvancedfortwodays,andthenhadtobetakenout.Ithinkitmaybesaidthatwesawtheshowfromthesouptothecoffee.
France,May17th,1915.
The fartherwe get away from Ypres themorewe learn of theenormouspower theGermansput in topushusover.Lordonlyknowshowmanymentheyhad,andhowmanytheylost.IwishIcould embody on paper some of the varied sensations of thatseventeendays.Allthegunnersdownthiswaypassedusallsortsof `kudosover it.Ourguns thosebehindus, fromwhichwe
hadto
dodge
occasional
prematures
have
apeculiar
bang
sound
added to thesharpcrackofdischarge.TheFrench75hasasharpwoodblockchop sound, and the shellgoesoverwith apeculiarwhinenotunlikeacat,butbeginningwithnthus,neouw.Thebigfellows,3000yardsormorebehind,soundedexactlylikeour own, but the flash came three or four seconds before thesound.Of theGermanshellsthefieldgunscomewithagreatvelocitynowarning justwhizzbang;white smoke,nearlyalwaysairbursts.Thenextsize,probably5inchhowitzers,havea
perceptibletime
of
approach,
an
increasing
whine,
and
agreat
burstonthepercussiondirtinalldirections.Andevenifashellhitonthefrontofthecanalbank,andonewereonthebackofthebank, five, eight, or ten seconds later onewould hear a belatedWHIRR, and curved pieces of shell would light probablyparabolic curves or boomerangs.These shells have a great backkick; from the field gun shrapnelwe got nothing BEHIND theshellallthepiecesgoforward.Fromthehowitzers,thedangerisalmostasgreatbehindas in front if theyburstonpercussion.
Thenthe
large
shrapnel
air
burst
have
adouble
explosion,
as
ifagiantshookawetsailfortwoflaps;firstadarkgreenburstofsmoke; then a lighter yellow burst goes out from the centre,forwards.Idonotunderstandthewhyofit.
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Then the 10inch shells: a deliberate whirring course adeafeningexplosionblacksmoke,andearth70or80feetinthe
air.These
always
burst
on
percussion.
The
constant
noise
of
our
owngunsisreallyworseonthenervesthantheshell;thereisthedeafeningnoise,andtheconstantwhirrofshellsgoingoverhead.The earth shakeswitheverynearbygun andevery close shell. IthinkImaysafelyencloseacrosssectionofourposition.Theleftisthefront:aslopedownof20feetin100yardstothecanal,ahighrowof treesoneachbank, thena short40yards slopeup to thesummit of the trench,where the brain of the outfitwas; then atelephone wired slope, and on the sharp slope, the dugouts,
includingmy
own.
The
nondescript
affair
on
the
low
slope
is
the
gunposition,behinditthemensshelterpits.Behindmydugoutwasarapidsmallstream,onitsfarbankarowofpollardwillows,then30yardsoffield,thenaroadwithtwoparallelrowsofhightrees.Behind thisagain, severalhundredyardsof fields to crossbeforethemaingunpositionsarereached.
More often fire came from three quarters left, and because ourridgediedawaytherewasalowspotoverwhichtheycouldcome
prettydangerously.
The
road
thirty
yards
behind
us
was
a
nightmare tome. I saw all the tragediesofwarenacted there.Awagon,orabunchofhorses,orastrayman,oracoupleofmen,wouldgettherejustintimeforashell.Onewouldseetheabsoluteknockout, and the obviously lightly wounded crawling off onhands and knees; or worse yet, at night, one would hear thetragedythathorsescreamorthemansmoan.Allourownwagonshadtocomethere(oneeveryhalfhourinsmartaction),beemptied, and the ammunition carried over by hand. Do you
wonderthat
the
road
got
on
our
nerves?
On
this
road,
too,
was
the
housewherewetookourmeals.Itwashitseveraltimes,windowsallblowninbynearbyshells,butoneendremainedforus.
SeventeendaysofHades!Attheendofthefirstdayifanyonehadtold uswe had to spend seventeen days there,wewould havefoldedourhandsandsaid itcouldnotbedone.On the fifteenthdaywegotorders togoout,but thatwascountermanded in twohours.Tothelastwecouldscarcelybelievewewereactuallytoget
out.The
real
audacity
of
the
position
was
its
safety;
the
Germans
knew toa footwherewewere. I think I toldyouofsomeof theyoumuststickitoutmessageswegotfromour[French]General,theyputituptous.Itisawondertomethatwesleptwhen,and
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how,wedid.Ifwehadnotsleptandeatenaswellaspossiblewecouldnothavelasted.Andwhileweweredoingthis,theLondonofficeofaCanadiannewspapercabledhomeCanadianArtillery
inreserve.
Such
is
fame!
Thursday,May27th,1915.
Day cloudy and chilly. We wore our greatcoats most of theafternoon,andlookedforbitsofsunlighttogetwarm.Abouttwooclock theheavygunsgaveusaregularblacksmithing.Everytimewe firedwe drew a perfect hornets nest about our heads.Whileattendingtoacasualty,ashellbrokethroughbothsidesof
thetrench,
front
and
back,
about
twelve
feet
away.
The
zigzag
of
thetrenchwasbetweenitandus,andweescaped.Frommybunkthe moon looks down atme, and the wind whistles along thetrench like a corridor.As the trenches run in alldirections theycatchthewindhoweveritblows,sooneisalwayssureofagooddraught.WehavenothadourclothesoffsincelastSaturday,andthereisnonearprospectofgettingthemoff.
Friday,May28th,1915.
Warmer thismorning and sunny, a quietmorning, as far aswewereconcerned.Onebatteryfiredtwentyroundsandtherestsattight.Newspaperswhich arrive show that up toMay 7th, theCanadianpublichasmadenoguessat theextentof thebattleofYpres.TheCanadianpapers seem tohave lost interest in itafterthe first four days; this regardless of the fact that the artillery,numerically a quarter of the division,was in all the time.Onecorrespondent writes from the Canadian rest camp, and never
mentionsYpres.
Others
say
they
hear
heavy
bombarding
which
appearstocomefromArmentieres.==
Afewstrokeswillcompletethepicture:
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Wednesday,April29th*,1915.
Thismorning is the sixthdayof this fight; ithasbeen constant,
exceptthat
we
got
good
chance
to
sleep
for
the
last
two
nights.
Our
men have fought beyond praise. Canadian soldiers have set astandardforthemselveswhichwillkeepposteritybusytosurpass.And theWarOffice published that the 4.1 guns capturedwereCanadian.Theywerenot:thedivisionhasnotlostagunsofarbycapture.Wewillmakeagoodjobofitifwecan.
*[sic]ThisshouldreadApril28th.A.L.,1995.
May1st,
1915.
This is the ninth day thatwe have stuck to the ridge, and thebatterieshavefoughtwithasteadinesswhichisbeyondallpraise.IfIcouldsaywhatourcasualties inmen,guns,andhorseswere,youwould seeataglance ithasbeenahot corner;butwehavegivenbetterthanwegot,fortheGermancasualtiesfromthisfronthave been largely from artillery, except for the French attack ofyesterdayandthedaybefore,whentheyadvancedappreciablyon
ourleft.
The
front,
however,
just
here
remains
where
it
was,
and
theartilleryfireisveryheavyI thinkasheavyhereasonanypartoftheline,withtheexceptionofcertaincrossroadswhicharethe particular object of fire.The first four days the anxietywaswearing, forwedidnotknowatwhatminute theGermanarmycorps would come for us.We lie out in support of the Frenchtroops entirely, and are working with them. Since that timeevidentlygreatreinforcementshavecome in,andnowwehaveamostformidableforceofartillerytoturnonthem.
Fortunately the weather has been good; the days are hot andsummerlike.YesterdayinthepressofbadsmellsIgotawhiffofahedgerow inbloom.Thebirdsperchon the treesoverourheadsandtwitterawayasiftherewasnothingtoworryabout.Bonfireisstillwell.Idohopehegetsthroughallright.
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Flanders,March30th,1915.
TheBrigadeisactuallyintwelvedifferentplaces.Theammunition
columnand
the
horse
and
wagon
lines
are
back,
and
my
corporal
visits them every day. I attend the gun lines; any casualty isreportedbytelephone,andIgotoit.Thewoundedandsickstaywheretheyaretilldark,whenthefieldambulancesgoovercertaingrounds and collect.Agooddealof suffering is entailedby thedelay tillnight,but it isuseless for vehicles to go on the roadswithin1500yardsofthetrenches.Theyarewillingenoughtogo.Mostofthetrenchinjuriesareofthehead,andthereforethereisahigh proportion of killed in the dailywarfare as opposed to an
attack.Our
Canadian
plots
fill
up
rapidly.
Andhereisonelastnotetohismother:
OntheeveofthebattleofYpresIwasindebtedtoyouforaletterwhichsaidtakegoodcareofmysonJack,butIwouldnothaveyouunmindful that, sometimes,whenwe savewe lose. I havethatlasthappyphrasetothank.OftenwhenIhad togooutovertheareas thatwerebeingshelled, itcame intomymind.Iwould
shoulderthe
box,
and
go
to
it.
==
At this time theCanadiandivisionwasmoving south to take itsshareintheeventsthathappenedintheLaBasseesector.Hereistherecord:
Tuesday,June1st,1915.11/2milesnortheastofFestubert,nearLaBassee.
Lastnight
a15
pr.
and
a4inch
howitzer
fired
at
intervals
of
five
minutes from8 till4;mostof themwithin500or600yardsaverytiresomeprocedure;muchof it isonregisteredroads.InthemorningIwalkedouttoLeTourettothewagonlines,gotBonfire,androdetotheheadquartersatVendinlezBethune,alittlevillageamilepastBethune.Left thehorseat the linesandwalkedbackagain. An unfortunate shell in the 1st killed a sergeant andwoundedtwomen;thankstothestrongemplacementstherestofthe crew escaped. In the eveningwent around thebatteries and
saidgood
bye.
We
stood
by
while
they
laid
away
the
sergeant
who
waskilled.Kindhandshavemade twopathetic littlewreathsofroses;thegraveunderanappletree,andthemoonrisingoverthehorizon; a siegelampheld for thebook.Of the last 41days the
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gunshavebeeninaction33.CaptainLockhart,latewithFortGarryHorse,arrivedtorelieveme.Ihandedover,cameuptothehorselines, and slept in a coveredwagon in a courtyard.Wewere all
sorryto
part
the
four
of
us
have
been
very
intimate
and
had
agreedperfectlyandfriendshipsunderthesecircumstancesareapt tobe the real thing. I am sorry to leave them in such a hotcorner,butcannotchooseandmustobeyorders.Itisagreatrelieffromstrain,Imustadmit,tobeout,butIcouldwishthattheyallwere.
Thisphaseof thewar lasted twomonthsprecisely, and to JohnMcCrae itmust have seemed a lifetime since hewent into this
memorableaction.
The
events
preceding
the
second
battle
of
Ypres
received scant mention in his letters; but one remains, whichbringsintoreliefoneofthemanymovesofthattumultuoustime.
April1st,1915.
Wemoved out in the late afternoon,getting on the road a littleafterdark.Suchamoveisnotunattendedbydanger,fortobringhorsesand limbersdown the roads in the shellzone indaylight
rendersthem
liable
to
observation,
aerial
or
otherwise.
More
than
that, the roads are now beginning to be dusty, and at all timesthere is the noise which carries far. The roads are nearly allregisteredintheirbatterybooks,soiftheysuspectamove,itisthenaturalthingtolooseoffafewrounds.However,ouranxietywasnotborneout,andwegotoutofthedangerzoneby8.30anottoo longmarch in thedark,and then for the lastof themarchagloriousfullmoon.Thehouseseverywhereareasdarkaspossible,andon the roadsnoisesbutno lights.Onegoesonby the long
rowsof
trees
that
are
so
numerous
in
this
country,
on
cobblestones
and country roads, watching ones horses ears wagging, andseeingnotmuchelse.Ourmapsarewellstudiedbeforewestart,andthistimewearenotfaroutoffamiliarterritory.Wegottoournewbilletabout10quiteagoodfarmhouse;andalmostatonceonefeelsthereliefofthestrainofbeingintheshellzone.IcannotsayIhadnoticeditwhenthere;butoneisdistinctlyrelievedwhenoutofit.
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Such,then,wasthelifeinFlandersfieldsinwhichtheversewasborn. This is no mere surmise. There is a letter from MajorGeneralE.W.B.Morrison,C.B.,C.M.G.,D.S.O.,whocommanded
theBrigade
at
the
time,
which
is
quite
explicit.
This
poem,
GeneralMorrison writes, was literally born of fire and bloodduring the hottest phase of the second battle of Ypres. MyheadquarterswereinatrenchonthetopofthebankoftheYpresCanal,andJohnhadhisdressingstationinaholeduginthefootof the bank. During periods in the battle men who were shotactually rolled down the bank into his dressing station. Alongfromusafewhundredyardswastheheadquartersofaregiment,andmanytimesduringthesixteendaysofbattle,heandIwatched
themburying
their
dead
whenever
there
was
alull.
Thus
the
crosses, rowon row,grew intoagoodsized cemetery. Justashedescribes,weoftenheardinthemorningsthelarkssinginghighintheair,betweenthecrashoftheshellandthereportsofthegunsinthebatteryjustbesideus.Ihavealetterfromhiminwhichhementionshavingwrittenthepoemtopassawaythetimebetweenthe arrival of batches ofwounded, and partly as an experimentwithseveralvarietiesofpoeticmetre.Ihaveasketchofthescene,takenat the time, includinghisdressing station;andduringour
operationsat
Passchendaele
last
November,
Ifound
time
to
make
a
sketch of the scene of the crosses, row on row, fromwhich hederivedhisinspiration.
ThelastletterfromtheFrontisdatedJune1st,1915.UponthatdayhewaspostedtoNo.3GeneralHospitalatBoulogne,andplacedin chargeofmedicinewith the rankofLieutenantColonelasofdate17thApril,1915.HereheremaineduntilthedayofhisdeathonJanuary28th,1918.
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III
TheBrandofWar
There aremenwho pass through such scenes unmoved. If theyhave eyes, theydonot see;and ears, theydonothear.But JohnMcCraewasprofoundlymoved,andboreinhisbodyuntiltheendthe signs of his experience.Before taking up his new duties hemadeavisit to thehospitals inParis tosee if therewasanynewthing thatmight be learned.ANursing Sister in theAmericanAmbulanceatNeuillysurSeinemethim in thewards.Althoughshehadknownhimforfifteenyearsshedidnotrecognizehim,
heappeared
to
her
so
old,
so
worn,
his
face
lined
and
ashen
grey
in
colour,hisexpressiondull,hisactionslowandheavy.
To thosewhohaveneverseenJohnMcCraesincehe leftCanadathischangeinhisappearancewillseemincredible.HewasoftheEckfords,andtheEckfordmenwerebonniemen,menwithrosycheeks. Itwasayearbefore Imethimagain,andhehadnotyetrecoveredfromthestrain.AlthoughhewasupwardsoffortyyearsofagewhenheleftCanadahehadalwaysretainedanappearance
ofextreme
youthfulness.
He
frequented
the
company
of
men
much
younger thanhimself, and theiryouthwas imputed tohim.Hisframewas tall andwell knit, and he showed alertness in everymove.Hewouldarisefromthechairwitheverymuscleinaction,andwalkforthasifhewereabouttodance.
ThefirsttimeIsawhimhewasdoinganautopsyattheMontrealGeneralHospitaluponthebodyofachildwhohaddiedundermycare.Thismusthavebeenintheyear1900,andtheimpressionof
boyishnessremained
until
Imet
him
in
France
sixteen
years
later.
Hismannerofdressdidmuch toproduce this illusion.Whenhewasastudent inLondonheemployeda tailor inQueenVictoriaStreettomakehisclothes;butwithadvancingyearsheneglectedto have newmeasurements taken or to alter the pattern of hiscloth.Toobtainanewsuitwasmerelytowritealetter,andhewasalways economicalof time. In thosedays jacketswere cut short,andheadheredtothefashionwithpersistentcare.
Thisappearance
of
youth
at
times
caused
chagrin
to
those
patients
whohadheardofhisfameasaphysician,andcalleduponhimforthe first time. In theRoyalVictoriaHospital, after he had been
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appointedphysician,he entered thewards and asked anurse tofetchascreensothathemightexamineapatientinprivacy.
Studentsare
not
allowed
to
use
screens,
the
young
woman
warnedhimwithsomeasperityinhervoice.
IfIwereaskedtostatebrieflytheimpressionwhichremainswithmemost firmly, I should say itwasoneof continuous laughter.That isnot true,of course, for in reposehis facewasheavy,hiscountenancemorethanruddy;itwasevenofacholericcast,andattimesalmostlivid,especiallywhenhewasrecoveringfromoneofthoseattacksofasthmafromwhichhehabituallysuffered.But
hissmile
was
his
own,
and
it
was
ineffable.
It
filled
the
eyes,
and
illuminedtheface.Itwasthesmileofsheerfun,ofpuregaiety,ofsincereplayfulness, innocentof irony;witha tingeofsarcasmnever. When he allowed himself to speak of meanness in theprofession, of dishonesty inmen, of evil in theworld, his facebecame formidable.The glow of his countenance deepened; hiswordswerebitter,andthetonesharsh.Buttheindignationwouldnot last. The smile would come back. The effect was spoiled.Everyonelaughedwithhim.
After his experience at the front the old gaiety never returned.Thereweremomentsof irascibility andmoodsof irritation.Thedesireforsolitudegrewuponhim,andwithBonfireandBonneauhewouldgoapartforlongafternoonsfarafieldbytheroadsandlanes about Boulogne. The truth is: he felt that he and all hadfailed,andthatthetorchwasthrownfromfailinghands.Wehaveheardmuch of the suffering, themisery, the cold, thewet, thegloomof those first threewinters;butno tonguehasyetuttered
theinner
misery
of
heart
that
was
bred
of
those
three
years
of
failuretobreaktheenemysforce.
He was not alone in this shadow of deep darkness. Givenchy,Festubert, NeuveChapelle, Ypres, Hooge, the Somme tomentionalone thebattles inwhichup to that time theCanadianCorpshadbeenengagedallendedinfailure;andtoasensitiveandforebodingmindthereweresoundsandsignsthatitwouldbegiven to thisgeneration tohear thepillars and fabricofEmpire
comecrashing
into
the
abysm
of
chaos.
He
was
not
at
the
Somme
inthatOctoberof1916,butthosewhoreturnedupnorthwiththeremnants of their division from that place of slaughter willremember that, having done all men could do, they felt like
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desertersbecause theyhadnot left theirpoorbodiesdeaduponthefieldalongwithfriendsofalifetime,comradesofacampaign.This isnomerematterofsurmise.The lastdayIspentwithhim
wetalked
of
those
things
in
his
tent,
and
Itestify
that
it
is
true.
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IV
GoingtotheWars
JohnMcCraewenttothewarwithoutillusions.Atfirst,likemanyothers ofhis age,hedidnot thinkof enlisting, although hisservicesareatthedisposaloftheCountryifitneedsthem.
InJuly,1914,hewasatworkuponthesecondeditionofthe`TextBookofPathologybyAdamiandMcCrae,publishedbyMessrs.Lea and Febiger, and he had gone to Philadelphia to read theproofs.He took them toAtlanticCitywherehecouldsitouton
thesand,
and
get
sunshine
and
oxygen,
and
work
all
at
once.
It was a laborious task, passing eighty to a hundred pages ofhighlytechnicalprinteachday.Thentherewastheindex,betweensixand seven thousand items.Ihave, sohewrites,to changeeveryitemintheoldindexandaddothers.Ihaveapileofpages,826inall.Ilookattheindex,findtheoldpageamongthe826,andthenchangethenumber.Thisabout7000times,soyoumayguessthe drudgery.On July 15th, theworkwas finished, registered,
andentrusted
to
the
mail
with
aspecial
delivery
stamp.
The
next
dayhewrotethepreface,whichreallyfinishedthejob.Inverytruthhisscientificworkwasdone.
It was now midsummer. The weather was hot. He returned toMontreal.Practicewasdull.HewasconsideringavoyagetoHavreandalittletripwithDr.Adamiwhenhearrived.OnJuly29th,heleftCanadaforbetterorworse.Withtheworldsodisturbed,herecords,Iwouldgladlyhavestayedmoreintouchwithev