98 years ago, the First World War finally came to a close after years of fighting. The war was the most destructive the world had ever seen (Though tragically, 21 years, total war would ravage the world once again, on a greater scale). So no post this week as a sign of respect and that we can think of those lost in war, and, someday that the idea of war is some arcane fiction. That novels about war such as this one be outdated curiosities of history. Remnants from when humanity was barbarous, and it was not seen as abhorrent to kill in the name of a flag. So, to close, a poem by Siegfried Sassoon, an Infantry Officer during the First World War.
Squire nagged and bullied till I went to fight,
(Under Lord Derby’s scheme). I died in hell –
(They called it Passchendaele). My wound was slight,
And I was hobbling back; and then a shell
Burst slick upon the duckboards: so I fell
Into the bottomless mud, and lost the light
At sermon-time, while Squire is in his pew,
He gives my gilded name a thoughtful stare;
For, though low down upon the list, I’m there;
“In proud and glorious memory” … that’s my due.
Two bleeding years I fought in France, for Squire:
I suffered anguish that he’s never guessed.
Once I came home on leave: and then went west…
What greater glory could a man desire?