There’s a little square in Paris, 

Waiting until we pass. 

They sit idly there, 

They sip the glass. 

There’s a cab-horse at the corner, 

There's rain. The season grieves. 

It was silver once, 

And green with leaves. 

There’s a parrot in a window, 

Will see us on parade, 

Hear the loud drums roll— 

And serenade. 

                           II. 

This was the salty taste of glory, 

That it was not 

Like Agamemnon’s story. 

Only, an eyeball in the mud, 

And Hopkins, 

Flat and pale and gory! 

                           III. 

But the bugles, in the night, 

Were wings that bore 

To where our comfort was; 

Arabesques of candle beams, 

Winding 

Through our heavy dreams; 

Winds that blew 

Where the bending iris grew; 

Birds of intermitted bliss, 

Singing in the night's abyss; 

Vines with yellow fruit, 

That fell 

Along the walls 

That bordered Hell. 

                           IV. 

Death's nobility again 

Beautified the simplest men. 

Fallen Winkle felt the pride 

Of Agamemnon 

When he died. 

What could London’s 

Work and waste 

Give him— 

To that salty, sacrificial taste? 

What could London’s 

Sorrow bring— 

To that short, triumphant sting?

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/12986/phases
Olivia Brubacher

And with green grass and bursting trees

Leans to the sun's gaze glorying,

And quivers in the sunny breeze;

And life is Colour and Warmth and Light,

And a striving evermore for these;

And he is dead who will not fight,

And who dies fighting has increase.

The fighting man shall from the sun

Take warmth, and life from glowing earth;

Speed with the light-foot winds to run

And with the trees to newer birth;

And find, when fighting shall be done,

Great rest, and fulness after dearth.

All the bright company of Heaven

Hold him in their bright comradeship,

The Dog star, and the Sisters Seven,

Orion's belt and sworded hip:

The woodland trees that stand together,

They stand to him each one a friend;

They gently speak in the windy weather;

They guide to valley and ridges end.

The kestrel hovering by day,

And the little owls that call by night,

Bid him be swift and keen as they,

As keen of ear, as swift of sight.

The blackbird sings to him: "Brother, brother,

If this be the last song you shall sing,

Sing well, for you may not sing another;

Brother, sing."

In dreary doubtful waiting hours,

Before the brazen frenzy starts,

The horses show him nobler powers; —

O patient eyes, courageous hearts!

And when the burning moment breaks,

And all things else are out of mind,

And only joy of battle takes

Him by the throat and makes him blind,

Through joy and blindness he shall know,

Not caring much to know, that still

Nor lead nor steel shall reach him, so

That it be not the Destined Will.

The thundering line of battle stands,

And in the air Death moans and sings;

But Day shall clasp him with strong hands,

And Night shall fold him in soft wings.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47261/into-battle
Olivia Brubacher

Out on the terrace where I sat with you,

And see the changeless sky and hills beat blue

And live an afternoon of summer through.

I shall remember then, and sad at heart

For the lost day of happiness we knew,

Wish only that some other man were you

And spoke my name as once you used to do.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57365/after-the-war
Olivia Brubacher

"You have been the best of wives and I loved you deeply, how much you will never know.

"Dear heart, do think sometimes of me in the future when your grief has worn a bit, and the older children, I know won't forget me, and speak sometimes of me to the younger ones…"

"Dearest, if the chance should come your way for you are young and good looking and should a good man give you an offer it would please me to think you would take it, not to grieve too much for me…

"I should not have left you thus bringing suffering and poverty on a loving wife and children for which in time I hope you will forgive me.

"So dear heart I will bid you all farewell hoping to meet you in the time to come if there is a hereafter. Know that my last thoughts were of you in the dugout or on the fire step my thoughts went out to you, the only one I ever loved, the one that made a man of me."

https://news.sky.com/story/dear-heart-love-letters-from-the-trenches-released-10767255

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

http://www.greatwar.co.uk/poems/john-mccrae-in-flanders-fields.htm

England mourns for her dead across the sea. 

Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit, 

Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal 

Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres, 

There is music in the midst of desolation 

And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young, 

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. 

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted; 

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: 

Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn. 

At the going down of the sun and in the morning 

We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; 

They sit no more at familiar tables of home; 

They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; 

They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound, 

Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight, 

To the innermost heart of their own land they are known 

As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, 

Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain; 

As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, 

To the end, to the end, they remain.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57322/for-the-fallen

I hope you have received my birthday present, but in case you haven’t here’s again wishing you many many happy returns of your birthday. It is the first of your birthdays that we have been apart since you were sweet 17 that I can remember. I hope it will be the last.

Heaven send that by your next birthday – or mine come to that – this terrible war will be over & that we may both be spared & united on each of our birthdays and those of our dear little kiddies & for many years to come.

It causes me many regrets and much sorrow when I remember that my selfishness has more than once caused you unhappiness and I sincerely hope that my future conduct will make you realise that notwithstanding my shortcomings I do love you with all my heart and realise I have one of the best wives in the world.

I can now quite understand the Late Lord Kitchener’s preference for bachelors as soldiers. He must have realised, altho’ a bachelor himself, that it is not the coward’s fear of death but the fear that by death many a good soldier may thus be prevented from rejoining the wife & family he loves so much. I have just that very feeling myself at times when the shells are dropping all around us and the air is whistling with them.

Goodnight my darling. Longing and hoping for a letter from you tomorrow. Xxxx Gunner

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/history/world-war-one/10561261/First-World-War-love-letters-from-the-trenches.html

My dearest Mother,

     At last I have the opportunity to drop you a few lines.  No doubt you have received various post cards from me, saying that I am well, I can't tell you very much news even now as all out going mail has to be censored by our officers and just at present the censor is very strict....  Almost hourly in the day time we would see either one of our aeroplanes or one of the German's shelled by the anti aircraft gun, the shells would burst all around the aeroplane but I have never seen one hit yet.  When the shell bursts one can see from the ground the fire and the smoke hangs like a cloud for ten or fifteen minutes.  The aeroplanes fly at a great height and as a rule are out of range.

     It is the custom here for troops to take turn about in the front lines of trenches, one regiment taking a number of sections of the front trench for three days then moving back to the second line for another three days and then back to the third line, then back again to the front line.  About once in six weeks they come back to the reserve lines for a rest.  I have been up into the front line and just came back yesterday, conditions are not exactly pleasant there, but one feels they are doing their bit and finds out what our troops had to put up with during the past seven or eight months.  How some of them have stood it I don't know.  All the time that we were in the front line we were submitted to fire from the hostile guns and rifle men.

     The trench was very narrow, just room for two men to push by each other.  In front of each trench is a parapet made of sandbags, these are more or less bullet proof, but afford little protection from shell fire.  The height from the top of this parapet to the bottom of the trench is between six and seven feet and the trench at the bottom is not more than four feet wide.  There is a small ledge along the front on which one stands in order to fire over the sandbag and cut into the rear of the trench are the dugouts, these are small caves with room enough for two men to lie down in, there is space enough to sit up in one of these but not enough to stand up in.  The men's duty in the trenches are [sic] to keep up a more or less continuous fire on the German lines, which are about 150 yds. away, and to pick off any of their men that show up, also to be ready to resist any attack that may be made.  All night and every night, every man has to stand by, none is allowed to sleep or to be in the dug outs, during the day one man in every three has to be on duty, taking their turn in shifts of two hours, this gives each man four hours of so called rest, but during this four hours one has to cook and feed yourself, clean out the trench and do any other fatigue, from this you will see that there is very little time for sleep, indeed, when one comes out of the front line they are just about all in.  The mud and wet are awful, there was just about a foot of water in the bottom of our trench and it rained all one day and night.  Anyway all the boys we met were fit, none hurt. Maddocks wishes to be remembered.  Will write again first chance.  Love to Hilda and the others I know, good luck to you at Mt. Tolmie.

Yours most affectionately,      

George 

http://spcoll.library.uvic.ca/schoolnet/digicol/pearkes/plv5/trenches.html

I expect you have heard at the office about me being in England suffering from gas poisoning, and as it is quite a long time since I last wrote to you, no doubt a few lines will be acceptable, to explain matters.

http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/

5

Letters from the First World War, 1916- 18 Trenches

We left the trenches at Vimy Ridge on July 5th, and marching back about 14 miles we eventually reached a village named Ostreville for the purpose of having a divisional rest. The signallers thought an orchard would be very convenient to erect bivouacs in, so when we were busy carrying out this idea an old Frenchman appeared at the scene, and raised objections. However he agreed at last to allow us in at one end of the orchard, thinking, I suppose, that we would wander about his place! We had an enjoyable time here for six days, and then had to return to our old billets near Mount St. Eloi until the whole of the division had retired. We guessed by this move that our ‘rest’ was over, and the following days were spent
in marching, and travelling by motor lorries and train until we arrived at Mericourt Station on July 21st near Albert.After a delightful swim in the river near the billet we marched off the following night, to take part in the ‘big push.’ We slept in an open fieldthat night near Fricourt farm, and were rather rudely awakened by a few German shells landing near us.For five days we were lying in reserve in this district, and occupied our time in watching an army of men at work in the valley, making roads, railways, boring for water and laying down water pipes, also practicing attacks in the old trenches. It was very interesting to see the great amount of artillery, busy practically all day and night, and to read their messages sent by visual signalling [often using lights] from a ridge across the valley.Our period in reserve being up, we moved to Mametz Wood to lie there in support for five days, before going into the trenches at High Wood. On arrival at the edge of the wood at night, we were welcomed by a big dose of gas shells and shrapnel, which was applied steadily throughout the
night by the German artillery. Having to assist in putting our signalling gear into a hole for safety, I was prevented from using my respirator for the first quarter of an hour, as we could not see on account of the darkness and dust made by the ammunition columns rushing along the road, and it was during this time that I must have breathed in enough gas

http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/

6

Letters from the First World War, 1916- 18 Trenches

to put me out of action. Afterwards of course respirators were used, when we were settled in holes by the roadside for the night.I remained with the battalion until I was sent to the casualty clearing station on August 3rd and reached Rouen hospital the next day. I had to wait until the 9th and crossed the channel from Havre to Southampton on the New Zealand ship Marama, with about 800 other patients, the day after. It was a splendid boat with every convenience for carrying wounded men, and the sisters and orderlies were colonials.It was last Friday week when I arrived here, and must say it is very
comfortable and quiet. I had to remain in bed until last Saturday, but of course I cannot do any route marching yet! So I have to take life quietly, which is no hardship I can assure you after France. I am on an ordinary diet, and taking medicine.I hear you have Mr Symons back again, is that so? And is he back in the same old spot? I hope he is pretty fit, although I suppose there must be something wrong with him, to be back again.I suppose things are as quiet as usual with you. Have you had your holidays yet? This is about your time I believe. I shall be glad of a few lines when you have time, to hear the latest about the office. I hope you are keeping fit, also Mr J.B. Taylor and Mr Woodhams and with kind regards to you all. Yours sincerely,Frosty.
P.S. It is a treat to write a letter without the censor’s shadow over one!

http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/documents/education/letters-from-the-first-world-war-1916-1918-3-trenches.pdf

Three days after this letter William Martin was killed in action. Emily Chitticks continued to write, ignorant of his death, but oddly she changed to writing in red pen the day after William died. Five of her letters were returned marked “killed in action”. 

His father was something of a tyrant, so he left the sailing ship and went to school and became an engineer, and went to sea for the first time in 1912. He was twenty-two, and he was a Fourth Engineer. He served all through the First World War, and twice he had left ships and they were torpedoed on the next voyage, so he felt very lucky.

In 1939, when the Second World War broke out, he joined the Royal Fleet Auxiliary as a First Engineer Officer – Chief Engineer – and he served with them right through the war on tankers and explosives/munitions ships.

Right through the war, and on into the '50s when he would have been in his sixties, and one thing I do remember: He was at (Terminal Leave?) and the Admiralty called him in a rush to go to Barrie, which was a south Wales port. The Chief on the – I think it was the Wave Victor – had suddenly taken sick, and the ship was sailing that night for the Persian Gulf. So it was a great rush by taxis and trains to get to Barrie, and he took over the ship just as she was leaving, as Chief Engineer. My mother and I had gone to bed, and I heard on the radio that night that an Admiralty tanker was ablaze in the Bristol Channel. So we phoned the Admiralty and they didn't know, but as it turned out, it was the Wave Victor, which he had just joined. He stayed onboard. The Captain and the crew all abandoned ship. My father stayed aboard and wouldn't let the private salvage companies put a line on the ship, which would have cost the Admiralty millions of pounds, until the Admiralty tug came and towed the ship back. He should have had a medal, but instead there was a call of inquiry, of which he was totally exonerated, because he hadn't been in charge of the engine room when it caught fire – he'd only just arrived. Then he retired when he was sixty-five from the Admiralty and went to a shipping company that sailed to the Mediterranean. A Chief Engineer, and he carried on until he was seventy-one or seventy-two, doing that, and then he retired and he lived to be ninety.

http://www.thememoryproject.com/stories/3127:interview-with-jean-cameron/

Poem by John McCrae
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/flanders-fields

Many thanks for letter which was somewhat a surprise to me. No the news was quite fresh as I do not hear from anybody in the office.

We have just come from the trenches where we were for seven days and had a most awful time. We were three days in the Reserve and put in the firing line where we took part in an attack and were also under a very heavy bombardment.

I am sorry to say we had many casualties thirty five killed and one hundred and thirty eight wounded and I can assure you it was an experience I shall never forget. Anyhow Williams, Kemball and myself came out quite safely.

I have seen Frost out here, of course his battalion (8^th Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders) are in the same brigade also, as a matter of fact, they were in the firing line the night we came out. I received a letter while I was in the trenches from Mr Slater. Yes, I heard about Chamberlain, jolly sad was it not, if you do hear from Dick James you might pass any news on to me…

Shall be glad to hear from you. I could write more, only am a wee bit tired after seven days in trenches.

I am yours sincerely, Fred Hull.

P.S. Of course you know my address. Remember me to all I know.

A Letter by: Fred Hull
http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/letters-first-world-war-1915/trenches-awful-time/

For a long time before asking you to marry me I had been thinking things over and I was and am quite certain of my own feelings. But I feel a rotter for asking you when I did. I ought to have waited, for one thing, until the war was over, and for another until I had more idea of your feelings. As it is I have given you a shock and have kindled feelings which should not have been aroused. I am sorry and yet I am glad.

You asked me to be quite sure I was not influenced by any excitement of the moment. I was not. I have loved you ever since I was at Rydal. A schoolboy love then – it often happens to schoolboys and then dies out. Mine did not die.

You ask me how much I love you. All I can say is that I just love you with my whole heart. I love you together with my Mother and my Father and my honour, but on a different scale altogether.

There is just one thing I want to mention before I forget it, and it is this – if I should by any chance be crippled I shall cry off everything. I would not dream of marrying if I had not a sound body. That is one reason why I’m such a rotter for having asked you in the middle of the war. Perhaps it would be better if we put aside what has happened until after the war?

Goodbye,
Love from Cecil

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/history/world-war-one/10561261/First-World-War-love-letters-from-the-trenches.html

For a long time before asking you to marry me I had been thinking things over and I was and am quite certain of my own feelings. But I feel a rotter for asking you when I did. I ought to have waited, for one thing, until the war was over, and for another until I had more idea of your feelings. As it is I have given you a shock and have kindled feelings which should not have been aroused. I am sorry and yet I am glad.

You asked me to be quite sure I was not influenced by any excitement of the moment. I was not. I have loved you ever since I was at Rydal. A schoolboy love then – it often happens to schoolboys and then dies out. Mine did not die.

You ask me how much I love you. All I can say is that I just love you with my whole heart. I love you together with my Mother and my Father and my honour, but on a different scale altogether.

There is just one thing I want to mention before I forget it, and it is this – if I should by any chance be crippled I shall cry off everything. I would not dream of marrying if I had not a sound body. That is one reason why I’m such a rotter for having asked you in the middle of the war. Perhaps it would be better if we put aside what has happened until after the war?

Goodbye,
Love from Cecil

2nd Lieutenant Cecil Slack to Dora Willatt

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/history/world-war-one/10561261/First-World-War-love-letters-from-the-trenches.html

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’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 in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Goodbye, you best of women and best of wives, my beloved sweetheart. May God in his mercy look over you and bless you all… May he in that same mercy preserve me today. Eternal love from
Yours for evermore
Jim xxxxxxxx

Author: Sergeant-Major James Milne

My dearest Emily
Just a few lines dear to tell you I am still in the land of the living and keeping well, trusting you are the same dear, I have just received your letter dear and was very pleased to get it. It came rather more punctual this time for it only took five days. We are not in the same place dear, in fact we don’t stay in the same place very long… we are having very nice weather at present dear and I hope it continues… Fondest love and kisses from your
loving Sweetheart
Will
xxxxxxxxxxx

Author: Private William Martin
https://aggsliterature.wordpress.com/wwi-letters-home/

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Author: John McRae
http://www.theweek.co.uk/59798/fifteen-of-the-most-moving-first-world-war-poems

© Brionna C

Published: March 2015

He says he's leaving. 
He'll be gone about a year. 
He's headed off to fight the war, 
And his time is drawing near.

I have no words of wisdom, 
To ease our aching hearts. 
He'll be gone and I'll be here, 
A thousand miles apart. 

The danger that soldiers face, 
He knows it all too well. 
Still, he keeps our spirits up, 
As our throats begin to swell.

The morning comes all too fast, 
I'm not prepared at all. 
Because I know there is a chance, 
My soldier won't come home.

My soldier is a strong man,
One that's brave and true. 
He's not afraid of dying, 
He fights for me and you. 

So if you see a soldier, 
Give him lots of praise. 
Tell him that you're thankful, 
You see the price we pay.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/a-soldier

Quietly the Brother Officer went out.
He’d told the poor old dear some gallant lies
That she would nourish all her days, no doubt.
For while he coughed and mumbled, her weak eyes
Had shone with gentle triumph, brimmed with joy,
Because he’d been so brave, her glorious boy.

He thought how ‘Jack’, cold-footed, useless swine,
Had panicked down the trench that night the mine
Went up at Wicked Corner; how he’d tried
To get sent home, and how, at last, he died,
Blown to small bits. And no one seemed to care
Except that lonely woman with white hair.

By Seigfried Sassoon

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives 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.

by Rupert Brooke

 Our little hour,—how short it is
 When Love with dew-eyed loveliness
 Raises her lips for ours to kiss
 And dies within our first caress.
 Youth flickers out like wind-blown flame,
 Sweets of to-day to-morrow sour,
 For Time and Death, relentless, claim
 Our little hour.

https://discoverpoetry.com/poems/world-war-1-poems/

Sturdily pressed back.

All a red-brick moving glint.

Like flaming pendulums, hands

Swing across the khaki—

Mustard coloured khaki—

To the automatic feet. 

We husband the ancient glory

In these bared necks and hands.

Not broke is the forge of Mars;

But a subtler brain beats iron

To shoe the hoofs of death.

Who pays dynamic air now?—

Blind fingers loose an iron cloud

To rain immortal darkness

On strong eyes.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/13534/marching

I have come into that little wood and am sitting under a tree only about 10 yards away from where we sat together and you asked me to marry you. It was a very great surprise and even a shock when you told me you loved me and I had not the slightest idea you were going to tell me so then.

Betty Sowerbutts did tell me at Penrhos that you were keen on me but I’m afraid at that time I didn’t think anything about you – when I left school I liked you just as I liked my other friends and it was not until after you were wounded last year and you came to our house a good deal for tennis that I liked you more than the others who came.

For a long time before asking you to marry me I had been thinking things over and I was and am quite certain of my own feelings. But I feel a rotter for asking you when I did. I ought to have waited, for one thing, until the war was over, and for another until I had more idea of your feelings. As it is I have given you a shock and have kindled feelings which should not have been aroused. I am sorry and yet I am glad.

You asked me to be quite sure I was not influenced by any excitement of the moment. I was not. I have loved you ever since I was at Rydal. A schoolboy love then – it often happens to schoolboys and then dies out. Mine did not die.

You ask me how much I love you. All I can say is that I just love you with my whole heart. I love you together with my Mother and my Father and my honour, but on a different scale altogether.

There is just one thing I want to mention before I forget it, and it is this – if I should by any chance be crippled I shall cry off everything. I would not dream of marrying if I had not a sound body. That is one reason why I’m such a rotter for having asked you in the middle of the war. Perhaps it would be better if we put aside what has happened until after the war?

Goodbye, 
Love from Cecil

My Darling Ethel,

I hope you have received my birthday present, but in case you haven’t here’s again wishing you many many happy returns of your birthday. It is the first of your birthdays that we have been apart since you were sweet 17 that I can remember. I hope it will be the last.

Heaven send that by your next birthday – or mine come to that – this terrible war will be over & that we may both be spared & united on each of our birthdays and those of our dear little kiddies & for many years to come.

It causes me many regrets and much sorrow when I remember that my selfishness has more than once caused you unhappiness and I sincerely hope that my future conduct will make you realise that notwithstanding my shortcomings I do love you with all my heart and realise I have one of the best wives in the world.

I can now quite understand the Late Lord Kitchener’s preference for bachelors as soldiers. He must have realised, altho’ a bachelor himself, that it is not the coward’s fear of death but the fear that by death many a good soldier may thus be prevented from rejoining the wife & family he loves so much. I have just that very feeling myself at times when the shells are dropping all around us and the air is whistling with them.

Goodnight my darling. Longing and hoping for a letter from you tomorrow. Xxxx

I hope you have received my birthday present, but in case you haven’t here’s again wishing you many many happy returns of your birthday. It is the first of your birthdays that we have been apart since you were sweet 17 that I can remember. I hope it will be the last.

Heaven send that by your next birthday – or mine come to that – this terrible war will be over & that we may both be spared & united on each of our birthdays and those of our dear little kiddies & for many years to come.

It causes me many regrets and much sorrow when I remember that my selfishness has more than once caused you unhappiness and I sincerely hope that my future conduct will make you realise that notwithstanding my shortcomings I do love you with all my heart and realise I have one of the best wives in the world.

I can now quite understand the Late Lord Kitchener’s preference for bachelors as soldiers. He must have realised, altho’ a bachelor himself, that it is not the coward’s fear of death but the fear that by death many a good soldier may thus be prevented from rejoining the wife & family he loves so much. I have just that very feeling myself at times when the shells are dropping all around us and the air is whistling with them.

Goodnight my darling. Longing and hoping for a letter from you tomorrow. Xxxx

-------------------------------

Oh, if you keep writing like you do, I shall surely die. Darling, it is beautiful—just beautiful. Darling, I can hardly control tears that are so near—but when you write so sweet—so loving words, I can not express my feelings in any other way except scalding tears of joy, love and disappointment mixed.

I love you, sweetheart. How many more lovers share this same torture of separation and loneliness? How their hearts tear and weep over words sent through mail. They love—we love. We all die a little. We all live a little . . . only until the next mail seen. Like an addiction to love, am I. Without it I suffer pain—depression—nothing to live for. With your love flowing toward me I am full, content, and satisfied.

The bumble bee draws sweet nectar from each fragrant flower. He hums and sings as his body is filled to capacity with sweet, sweet honey—so content is he to be in the flower he hardly can quit even after utterly overflowing. I, too, draw your sweet, sweet nectar from each smile, each glance. I can not pull myself away from even thoughts of you—my sweet love. Each day your arms—petals of velvet love—open to me a way to the center of your being a center of your life (repeated words are in original letter). I find there contentment, joy, peace, comfort, and you. Darling, I love you, so, my fingers tremble at thoughts of you. I can not imagine a sweeter rose to settle upon. Bright with color, radiant with love and—mine.  Dew sprinkled on your green, rich leaves are my tears I cry each morning when you are not beside me.

I miss you.
Yours, Linda

Submitted by Jessica Thorpe

Momma, come find me
Before I do die
Hey, hey
Momma, look sharp

[COURIER, ANDREW MCNAIR & LEATHER APRON]
I'll close your eyes, my Billy
Them eyes that cannot see
And I'll bury ya, my Billy
Beneath the maple tree

[COURIER]
And never again
Will you whisper to me
Hey, hey
Oh, Momma, look sharp

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WdKpfLkEtIg

Submitted by Jessica Thorpe

Under the level winter sky
I saw a thousand Christs go by.
They sang an idle song and free
As they went up to calvary.

Careless of eye and coarse of lip,
They marched in holiest fellowship.
That heaven might heal the world, they gave
Their earth-born dreams to deck the grave.

With souls unpurged and steadfast breath
They supped the sacrament of death.
And for each one, far off, apart,
Seven swords have rent a woman's heart.

BY ISAAC ROSENBERG

Snow is a strange word;

No ice or frost

Have asked of bud or bird

For Winter's cost.

Yet ice and frost and snow

From earth to sky

This Summer land doth know,

No man knows why.

In all men's hearts it is.

Some spirit old

Hath turned with malign kiss

Our lives to mould.

Red fangs have torn His face.

God's blood is shed.

He mourns from His lone place

His children dead.

O! ancient crimson curse!

Corrode, consume.

Give back this universe

Its pristine bloom.

                         (Cape Town, 1914)

Here is my story: I heard the clock strike 11 o'clock. I was in bed and just going to sleep. Between 2 'clock and 2.30 o'clock, Lily (the servant) woke Miss Willy and told her she could hear the guns. Miss Willy woke Poolman and told him to wake me. He did so. Miss Willy helped Mrs Willy downstairs. We were all awake by now, we had a Miss Blair staying with us for the weekend. We saw flashes and then heard "Bangs" and "Pops".

Suddenly a bright yellow light appeared and died down again. "Oh! It's alright" said Poolman. "It's only a star shell". That light appeared again and we Miss Blair, Poolman and I rushed to the window and looked out and there right above us was the Zepp! It had broken in half, and was like this: it was in flames, roaring, and crackling. It went slightly to the right, and crashed down into a field!! It was about a 100 yards away from the house and directly opposite us!!! It nearly burnt itself out, when it was finished by the Cheshunt Fire Brigade.

I would rather not describe the condition of the crew, of course they were dead - burnt to death. They were roasted, there is absolutely no other word for it. They were brown, like the outside of Roast Beef. One had his legs off at the knees, and you could see the joint!

The Zepp was bombed from an aeroplane above, with an incendiary bomb by a Lieutenany Robertson (Johnson?). We have some relics some wire and wood framework.

The weather is beastly but Mrs and Miss Willy are jolly people, hoping you are all well, love to all. Your loving son Patrick.

Please don't be alarmed, all is well that ends well (and this did for us). We are all quite safe.'

Shook all our coffins as we lay,

And broke the chancel window-squares,

We thought it was the Judgment-day

And sat upright. While drearisome

Arose the howl of wakened hounds:

The mouse let fall the altar-crumb,

The worms drew back into the mounds,

The glebe cow drooled. Till God called, “No;

It’s gunnery practice out at sea

Just as before you went below;

The world is as it used to be:

“All nations striving strong to make

Red war yet redder. Mad as hatters

They do no more for Christés sake

Than you who are helpless in such matters.

“That this is not the judgment-hour

For some of them’s a blessed thing,

For if it were they’d have to scour

Hell’s floor for so much threatening....

“Ha, ha. It will be warmer when

I blow the trumpet (if indeed

I ever do; for you are men,

And rest eternal sorely need).”

So down we lay again. “I wonder,

Will the world ever saner be,”

Said one, “than when He sent us under

In our indifferent century!”

And many a skeleton shook his head.

“Instead of preaching forty year,”

My neighbour Parson Thirdly said,

“I wish I had stuck to pipes and beer.”

Again the guns disturbed the hour,

Roaring their readiness to avenge,

As far inland as Stourton Tower,

And Camelot, and starlit Stonehenge.

Somewhere in a shadowed corner.

Time

Both giver and thief

Stealing granted moments like

Mist escaping between my fingers.

Something I must relinquish

To hold.

A head of brown curls

Tiny hands reaching up

My name on a breath of joy

And you.

Heart of my heart

Planted deep in the essence of me.

Home

Of my yearning soul

Denied.

A promise to protect

So I must go.

A promise to stay

So I must leave.

Heaven dragged through hell

Is war.

Peace in the blood of 

Lifeless

Soul-less

Is war.

Families ripped apart

To keep together

Love preserved in the kiss of

Remember and forget

Life for death, death for life

My way home to you

Is war.

Kiss me once

Then no more

For the hour has struck

And I must go to war.

I can feel it

Brittle rubber stretching to

Break.

The incessant pounding

Rotten feet crumbling

Empty words falling

Invisible bullets shattering.

Keep going, no stopping

Stopping is death

But death is here.

Trench of lies

Stagnant hope

Memories buried deep for 

Freedom, they say.

To capture the wings of 

What never was

So we can fly

Down into our graves

Suffocating

On man’s depravity.

Feed on a dream

And fight until

The end.

March shoot die

Repeat

Until disfigured freedom

Hangs from the barbed wire

Seeps like blood into

No Man’s Land

Escapes from the bodies of the

Dying.

Time is running out.

Remember as I forget:

For freedom I fight

For freedom

I die.

Somewhere in a shadowed corner

But time is gone.

Moments turn to memory

Memory fades to nothing.

Empty bed

Empty chair

Empty body

A gaping hole

Torn wide and ragged.

This is the cost of war.

How long will ghosts walk the streets

Haunt my home

Crying for peace?

How long will we

Ignore them?

Until we become ash and dust

Destroyed by the price we pay

For hatred?

But this is the price I pay

To have loved.

So I will remember.

Despair dogging memory’s footsteps

But I will not forget.

Here I linger

In what I once knew

But a clock is chiming

Life’s dread is calling.

Hear and see

Before time gives no more

And the living are the dead.

I have come into that little wood and am sitting under a tree only about 10 yards away from where we sat together and you asked me to marry you. It was a very great surprise and even a shock when you told me you loved me and I had not the slightest idea you were going to tell me so then.

Betty Sowerbutts did tell me at Penrhos that you were keen on me but I’m afraid at that time I didn’t think anything about you – when I left school I liked you just as I liked my other friends and it was not until after you were wounded last year and you came to our house a good deal for tennis that I liked you more than the others who came.

–– ADVERTISEMENT ––

You will notice I am saying “liking” – I have never thought whether I loved you or not – I knew you liked me, somehow, but I had not thought you loved me – it is why I had not thought of it so much, that it has been so hard to see if my “liking” for you had turned into love for you.

I remember dreaming, one night since we came here, that you were married to another girl and I remember waking up with a miserable, hopeless feeling.