Come on, you were expecting this, weren’t you?
If you weren’t then perhaps you either live under a rock or you have never spent any length of time with me. (Both of these things are fine, just people who have spent any length of time with me will know of this slight obsession)
I won’t bore you with lenghtly biography of Sassoon’s life (which I feel I know in great detail after reading a HUGE biography about him), but I will, in a time-honoured fashion, link you to his wikipedia page.
I will, of course, share with you some of my favourite Sassoon poems. I won’t make any comments, as I fear anything I try to say will make no sense.
To Any Dead Officer
Well, how are things in Heaven? I wish you’d say,
Because I’d like to know that you’re all right.
Tell me, have you found everlasting day,
Or been sucked in by everlasting night?
For when I shut my eyes your face shows plain;
I hear you make some cheery old remark -
I can rebuild you in my brain,
Though you’ve gone out patrolling in the dark.
You hated tours of trenches; you were proud
Of nothing more than having good years to spend;
Longed to get home and join the careless crowd
Of chaps who work in peace with Time for friend.
That’s all washed out now. You’re beyond the wire:
No earthly chance can send you crawling back;
You’ve finished with machine-gun fire -
Knocked over in a hopeless dud-attack.
Somehow I always thought you’d get done in,
Because you were so desperate keen to live:
you were all out to try and save your skin,
Well knowing how much the world had got to give
You joked at shells and talked the usual ‘shop,’
Stuck to your dirty job and did it fine:
With ‘Jesus Christ! when will it stop?
Three years… It’s hell unless we break their line.’
So when they told me you’d been left for dead
I wouldn’t believe them, feeling it must be true.
Next week the bloody Roll of Honour said
‘Wounded and missing’ – (That’s the thing to do
When lads are left in shell-holes dying slow,
With nothing but blank sky and wounds that ache,
Moaning for water till they know
It’s night, and then it’s not worth while to wake!
Good-bye, old lad! Remember me to God,
And tell Him that our politicians swear
They won’t give in till Prussian Rule’s been trod
Under the Heel of England… Are you there?…
Yes… and the war won’t end for at least two years;
But we’ve got stacks of men… I’m blind with tears,
Staring into the dark. Cheero!
I wish they’d killed you in a decent show.
Why do you lie with your legs ungainly huddled,
And one arm bent across your sullen, cold,
Exhausted face? It hurts my heart to watch you,
Deep-shadow’d from the candle’s guttering gold;
And you wonder why I shake you by the shoulder;
Drowsy, you mumble and sigh and turn your head…
You are too young to fall asleep for ever;
And when you sleep you remind me of the dead.
If you want to see any more (and why wouldn’t you?!) have a look here.
I’m not sure I can add anything more to this, so see you next week!