30 Germans he scarcely thought of; all their guilt, And Austria's, did not move him. And no fears Of Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hilts For daggers in plaid socks;5 of smart salutes; And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;
35 Esprit de corps;6 and hints for young recruits. And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal. Only a solemn man who brought him fruits Thanked him; and then enquired about his soul.
40 Now, he will spend a few sick years in institutes, And do what things the rules consider wise,
1. Cf. Housman's 'To an Athlete Dying Young' service. (p. 1949, lines 1^1). 5. Kilted Scottish Highlanders used to carry a 2. Slang for a drink, usually brandy and soda. small ornamental dagger in the top of a stocking. 3. Capricious women. 6. Regard for the honor and interests of an orga4. The recruiting officers entered on his enlist- nization or, as here, a military unit. 'Pay arrears': ment form his lie that he was nineteen years old back pay. and, therefore, above the minimum age for military
.
OWEN: LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER / 1979
And take whatever pity they may dole.
Tonight he noticed how the women's eyes
Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.
45 How cold and late it is! Why don't they come
And put him into bed? Why don't they come?
Oct. 1917?July 1918
From Owen's Letters to His Mother
16 January 1917
* # s I can see no excuse for deceiving you about these last 4 days. I have suffered seventh hell.
I have not been at the front.
I have been in front of it.
I held an advanced post, that is, a 'dug-out' in the middle of No Man's Land.
We had a march of 3 miles over shelled road then nearly 3 along a flooded trench. After that we came to where the trenches had been blown flat out and had to go over the top. It was of course dark, too dark, and the ground was not mud, not sloppy mud, but an octopus of sucking clay, 3, 4, and 5 feet deep, relieved only by craters full of water. Men have been known to drown in them. Many stuck in the mud & only got on by leaving their waders, equipment, and in some cases their clothes.
High explosives were dropping all around out, and machine guns spluttered every few minutes. But it was so dark that even the German flares did not reveal us.
Three quarters dead, I mean each of us % dead, we reached the dug-out, and relieved the wretches therein. I then had to go forth and find another dugout for a still more advanced post where I left 18 bombers. I was responsible for other posts on the left but there was a junior officer in charge.
My dug-out held 25 men tight packed. Water filled it to a depth of 1 or 2 feet, leaving say 4 feet of air.
One entrance had been blown in & blocked.
So far, the other remained.
The Germans knew we were staying there and decided we shouldn't.
Those fifty hours were the agony of my happy life.
Every ten minutes on Sunday afternoon seemed an hour.
I nearly broke down and let myself drown in the water that was now slowly rising over my knees.
Towards 6 o'clock, when, I suppose, you would be going to church, the shelling grew less intense and less accurate: so that I was mercifully helped to do my duty and crawl, wade, climb and flounder over No Man's Land to visit my other post. It took me half an hour to move about 150 yards.
I was chiefly annoyed by our own machine guns from behind. The seengseeng- seeng of the bullets reminded me of Mary's canary. On the whole I can support1 the canary better.
I. Tolerate. Mary: Owen's sister.
.
1980 / VOICES FROM WORLD WAR 1
In the Platoon on my left the sentries over the dug-out were blown to nothing. One of these poor fellows was my first servant whom I rejected. If I had kept him he would have lived, for servants don't do Sentry Duty. I kept my own sentries half way down the stairs during the more terrific bombardment. In spite of this one lad was blown down and, I am afraid, blinded.2
31 December 1917
Last year, at this time, (it is just midnight, and now is the intolerable instant of the Change) last year I lay awake in a windy tent in the middle of a vast, dreadful encampment. It seemed neither France nor England, but a kind of paddock where the beasts are kept a few days before the shambles. I heard the revelling of the Scotch troops, who are now dead, and who knew they would be dead. I thought of this present night, and whether I should indeed? whether we should indeed?whether you would indeed?but I thought neither long nor deeply, for I am a master of elision.
