PETZOLD BOOK BLOG
Charles Petzold on writing books, reading books, and exercising the internal UTM
Dulce et Decorum Est
July 26, 2009
Roscoe, N.Y.
Harry Patch, believed to be the last British veteran of the First World War, only in recent years began speaking of his terrifying experiences on the front. He died yesterday at the age of 111. This is a poem written in 1917 by another young English soldier.
Dulce et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped 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
Pro patria mori.
— Wilfred Owen (1893 - 1918)
The Latin at the end is a quotation form Horace meaning "It is sweet and honorable to die for one's country."
(c) Copyright Charles Petzold
www.charlespetzold.com
Comments:
Pretty cool post. I just stumbled upon your blog and wanted to say that I have really liked reading your blog posts. Anyway I'll be subscribing to your blog and I hope you post again soon!
— LnddMiles, Sun, 26 Jul 2009 09:10:39 -0400 (EDT)
I think Horace might have agreed with Wilfred Owen.
Horace wrote when war was more personal, when the defenders of the city fought for their families, friends and neighbors.
To have one's life thrown away because the generals cannot bear to admit, even to themselves, that yesterday's thouands died in vain...
— BobW, Sun, 26 Jul 2009 10:20:31 -0400 (EDT)
That said, I ask you to put your mind in a strange place.
Imagine you are a general, charged with defending France. It is your job to defeat the German army.
Since the time of Napoleon, infantry has been king of the battlefield. As recently as the American Civil War and the Franco-Prussian war infantry has advanced successfully in the face of massed artillery. If they can do it again, they can win.
Imagine tens of thousands of your own troops have died at your orders in a fruitless attack on the German lines. Many of them were your friends, or the sons of your friends. Your own sons and grandsons may have been among them.
How many men could resist thinking that just one more try, pressed hard enough, would succeed? How many men, when convinced that it was futile, could have the courage to delay, and find another way to win? How did they live with themselves?
— BobW, Sun, 26 Jul 2009 10:39:01 -0400 (EDT)
"How did they live with themselves?"
Quite contentedly for the most part. Seriously, you give these guys way too much credit -- they tended to be thick and heartless, in it for their own glory. Most of them 'graced' us with their memoirs, not a lot of angst in them, other than the obligatory lips service that makes it sound like they had the hard part.
— Robin Debreuil, Sun, 26 Jul 2009 13:26:45 -0400 (EDT)
"Seriously, you give these guys way too much credit"
I don't give them credit at all, except perhaps being all too human. In hindsight they obviously did their jobs badly, taking too long to decide that what they were doing wasn't working.
Think of them the next time you find yourself doing the same thing over and over, hoping for a different result.
— BobW, Mon, 27 Jul 2009 10:03:21 -0400 (EDT)