McCrae John in Flanders Fields & Other Poems

8/22/2019 McCrae John in Flanders Fields & Other Poems

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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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2

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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3

TheWarrior

Hewroughtinpoverty,thedullgreydays,ButwiththenighthislittlelamplitroomWasbrightwithbattleflame,orthroughahazeOfsmokethatstunghiseyesheheardtheboomOfBluechersguns;hesharedAlmeidasscars,Andfromtheclosepackeddeck,abouttodie,LookedupandsawtheBirkenheadstallsparsWeavewaveringlinesacrosstheSouthernsky:

Orinthestiflingtweendecks,rowonrow,AtAboukir,sawhowthedeadmenlay;ChargedwiththefiercestinBusacosstrife,BravedreamsarehistheflickringlampburnslowYetcouragedforthebattlesofthedayHegoestostandfullfacetofacewithlife.


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4

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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5

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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6

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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7

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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9

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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11

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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12

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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32

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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33

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


38/101


34

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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35

Theydidandbravely.TheyheardthecryIfyebreakfaith,weshallnotsleep.


40/101


36

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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37

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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38

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.


43/101


39

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.


44/101


40

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,


45/101


41

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.


46/101


42

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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43

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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44

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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45

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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46

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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47

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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48

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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54

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

McCrae John in Flanders Fields & Other Poems

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