Up The Line To Death


While making sure the sweet children didn’t cheat in their exam I stumbled upon Brian Gardner’s classic reissued poetry Anthology, Up The Line To Death: The War Poets 1914-1918.

First published over forty years ago, it contains war poems from poets both famous and unknown, at least half of whom didn’t live to see the end of the war.

One of the best is titled Soliloquy and goes something like this:

When I was young I had a care

Lest I should cheat me of my share

Of that which makes it sweet to strive

For life, and dying still survive

A name in sunshine written higher

Than lark or poet dare aspire

But I grew weary doing well,

Besides,’twas sweeter in that hell

Down with the loud Banditti people

Who robbed the orchards, climbed the steeple

For jackdaw’s eggs and made the cock

Crow ere ’twas daylight on the clock

I was so very bad the neighbours

Spoke of me at their daily labours

And now I’m drinking wine in France

The helpless child of circumstance.

Tomorrow will be loud with war,

How will I be accounted for?

It is too late now to retrieve

A fallen dream, too late to grieve

A name unmade but not too late

To thanks the gods for what is great;

A keen-edged sword, a soldier’s heart,

Is greater than a poet’s art.

And greater than a poet’s fame

A little grave that has no name.

Francis Ledwidge

killed in action, 1917


About jayl27

I'm a 26 year-old freelancer, student and kayaker born in the RSA and now living in Norbiton, UK. I'm into alternative, classic rock and some metal (how modern..), have travelled lots and will be doing lots more as soon as my boiler's fixed. I sometimes train twice a day which explains my attachment to chocolate. I'm not a nerd but my primary school did make a special reading award just for me. I write about spirits and beverages, travel, books, environmental issues, sport-related stuff and whatever else takes my fancy. I read. Lots.

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