THE GREAT WAR1914-1918

THE YOUTH THAT NEVER WASTHE WAR THAT SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN

If I should die, think only this of me.That there’s some corner of a foreign fieldThat is forever England. There shall beIn that rich earth a richer dust concealed:A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware; Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,A body of England’s breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.And think, this heart, all evil shed away, A pulse in the eternal mind, no lessGives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Rupert Brooke, 1887-1915

NOMAN’SLAND

Beginning of the trenches

TrenchesFrom air

No Man’s land

View of the front

In Flanders fields the poppies blowBetween the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the skyThe larks, still bravely singing, flyScarce heard amid the guns below.We are the Dead. Short days agoWe lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,Loved and were loved, and now we lieIn Flanders fields.Take up our quarrel with the foe;To you from failing hand we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high.If ye break faith with us who dieWe shall not sleep, though poppies growIn Flanders fields.

John McCrae (1872-1918)

What is the mood and tone of the poem – how does it change as the poem progresses?

Why are we moved by the declarative “We are the Dead” in the second stanza?

What do the dead ask of the living? What is the primary duty that the living owe to honor the soldiers?

FOOD FOR THOUGHT : FOOD FOR THOUGHT : How long can—and should—we be or feel accountable to “keep How long can—and should—we be or feel accountable to “keep faith” with the cause for which our soldiers died – liberty … faith” with the cause for which our soldiers died – liberty …

The death bed (1916) Siegfried SassoonHe drowsed and was aware of silence heapedRound him, unshaken as the steadfast walls;Aqueous like floating rays of amber light,Soaring and quivering in the wings of sleep.Silence and safety; and his mortal shoreLipped by the inward, moonless waves of death.Someone was holding water to his mouth.He swallowed, unresisting; moaned and droppedThrough crimson gloom to darkness….… Rain-he could hear it rustling through the dark;…. Gently and slowly washing life away.He stirred, shifting his body; then the painLeapt like a prowling beast, and gripped and toreHis groping dreams with grinding claws and fangs…And death, who’d stepped toward him, paused and stared…

The death bed (1916) - Siegfried Sassoon

Light many lamps and gather round his bed.Lend him your eyes, warm blood, and will to live.Speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet.He’s young; he hated War; how should he dieWhen cruel old campaigners win safe through?But death replied: ‘I choose him.’ So he went,And there was silence in the summer night;Silence and safety; and the veils of sleep.Then, far away, the thudding of the guns.

. .. The men who were not getting in a bit of extra sleep sat about talking and smoking, writing letters home, cleaning their rifles, running their thumb-nails up the seams of their shirts to kill the lice, gambling. Lice were a standing joke. Young Bumford handed me one like this. 'We was just having an argument as to whether it was best to kill the old ones or the young ones, sir. Morgan here says that if you kill the old ones, the young ones will die of grief, but Parry here, sir, he says that the young ones are easier to kill and you can catch the old ones when they come to the funeral.‘

Robert Graves Goodbye to all That

LinkLink

New weapons of war – Trench warfare

*bloodiest battles of World War I took place in the areas of northern France and southwest Belgium known as Flanders and Picardy

Poison Gas: Chemical warfare

Tanks

Guns, Rifles, and Grenades

Air Warfare – The sky became another battlefieldNaval Warfare – naval technology & sophisticated submarines

development of arms, ammunition & growth of telecommunications

Bent double like old beggars under sacks,Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backsAnd towards our distant rest began to trudge.Men marched asleep. Many had lost their bootsBut limped on, blood-shod. All went lame: all blind:….Gas!Gas! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time:But some still was yelling out and stumblingAnd floud’ring like a man in fire or lime…Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.If … you too could pace….watch the white eyes writhing … ,His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;If you could hear, at every jolt, the bloodCome gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,Obscene as cancer, …My friend, you would not tell with such high zestTo children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum estPro patria mori.

Wilfred Owen

Otto Dix

The Flare, 1917