Writers of the Great War .


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Poets of the Great War. By Ms Stubbs Downloaded from www.SchoolHistory.co.uk.
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Writers of the Great War By Ms Stubbs Downloaded from www.SchoolHistory.co.uk

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"Most importantly I am not worried with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War…   Yet these epitaphs are to this era in no sense consolatory… All a writer can do today is caution. That is the reason genuine Poets must be honest." Wilfred Owen, from an introduction to an arranged book of his verse.

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"It\'s a wrongdoing To say that Hell is hot ~ \'cause it\'s not: Mind you, I know exceptionally well we\'re in damnation." from The Mad Soldier by Edward Tennant

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Alec de Candole (1897-1918) Alec left school in April 1916 to enroll. He was dispatched in the fourth Wiltshire Regiment and sent to Flanders in April, 1917. He was injured in October 1917 yet come back to Belgium in July 1918. On 4 September the Battalion Diary recorded that Alec de Candole was executed in a besieging assault. Two days before he kicked the bucket he composed this sonnet…

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When the Last Long Trek is Over When the keep going long trek is over, And the keep going long trench filled in, I\'ll remove a watercraft to Dover, from all the noise; I\'ll travel to Mendip, I\'ll see the Wiltshire downs, And everything that is in me I\'ll then dunk In peace no inconvenience suffocates.

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Away from commotion of fight, Away from bombs and shells, I\'ll lie where peruse the dairy cattle, Or cull the purple chimes. I\'ll lie among the heather, And watch the inaccessible plain, Through all the late spring climate, Nor go to battle once more.

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Edward "Bim" Tennant (1897-1916) Killed at the Somme.

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THE MAD SOLDIER I dropp\'d here three weeks prior, yes ~ I know, And it\'s severe chilly during the evening, since the battle ~ I could let you know whether I picked ~ nobody knows Excep\' me and four or five, what ain\'t alive I can see all of them sleeping, three men profound, And they\'re no place almost a fire ~ however our wire Has them quick as quick can be. Wouldn\'t you be able to see When the flare goes up? Ssh! Young men; what\'s that noise?

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Do you know what these rats eat? Body-meat! After you\'ve been as the week progressed, \'a your cheek Gets as pale as life, and night appears as white As the day, just the rats and their whelps Seem more eager when the day\'s left ~ A\' they look as large as bulls, a\' they pulls Till you nearly sort o\' yell ~ yet the dry season What you hadn\'t felt before makes you sore. Also, now and again you even think about a drink...

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There\'s a leg over my thighs ~ if my eyes Weren\'t excessively sore, I\'d like, making it impossible to see it\'s identity, Wonder in the event that I\'d know the bloke on the off chance that I woke? ~ Woke? By damn, I\'m not sleeping ~ there\'s a pile Of us wond\'ring why the damnation we\'re not well... Leastways I am ~ since I came it\'s the same With the others ~ they don\'t realize what I do, Or they wouldn\'t expand and smile.

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It\'s a wrongdoing To say that Hell is hot ~ \'cause it\'s not: Mind you, I know exceptionally well we\'re in hellfire. ~ In a curved protuberance we lie ~ piling high Yes! a\' higher consistently. ~ Oh, I say, This chap\'s substantial on my thighs ~ damn his eyes.

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Drummer Hodge Thomas Hardy They toss in Drummer Hodge, to rest   Uncoffined – pretty much as discovered: His point of interest is a kopje-peak   That breaks the veldt around; And remote star groupings west   Each night over his hill.

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Young Hodge the Drummer never knew –   Fresh from his Wessex home – The significance of the expansive Karoo,   The Bush, the dusty soil, And why uprose to daily view   Strange stars in the midst of the gloam. However part of that obscure plain   Will Hodge everlastingly be; His unattractive Northern bosom and mind   Grow to some Southern tree, And weird looked at heavenly body rule   His stars endlessly.

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"If I live, I intend to spend whatever is left of my life working for never-ending peace. I have seen war and confronted present day cannons and realize what a shock it is against basic men." Tom Kettle, Irish Poet, killed at the Somme 1916

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Leslie Coulson, Poet 1889 – 1916 killed at the Somme

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POETS of the GREAT WAR Using Poetry to get some answers concerning the War Choose a lyric from the sheet gave and read it deliberately. Compose the name of the sonnet and the artist in your practice book as a title. How does the ballad make you feel? Glad, tragic, annoyed, pleased… ? What is going on in the ballad? What does the ballad inform you regarding the War? Assess the sonnet – is it helpful? Why? Is it one-sided? How?

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