John Masefield’s Great War: Collected Works Page 6

And died (uncouthly, most) in foreign lands

  For some idea but dimly understood

  Of an English city never built by hands,

  Which love of England prompted and made good.

  If there be any life beyond the grave

  It must be near the men and things we love,

  Some power of quick suggestion how to save,

  Touching the living soul as from above,

  An influence from the Earth from those dead hearts

  So passionate once, so deep, so truly kind,

  That in the living child the spirit starts

  Feeling companioned still, not left behind.

  Surely above these fields a spirit broods,

  A sense of many watchers muttering near,

  Of the lone Downland with the forlorn woods

  Loved to the death, inestimably dear.

  A muttering from beyond the veils of Death

  From long dead men, to whom this quiet scene

  Came among blinding tears with the last breath,

  The dying soldier’s vision of his queen.

  All the unspoken worship of those lives

  Spent in forgotten wars at other calls

  Glimmers upon these fields where evening drives

  Beauty like breath so gently darkness falls.

  Darkness that makes the meadows holier still,

  The elm trees sadden in the hedge, a sigh

  Moves in the beech-clump on the haunted hill,

  The rising planets deepen in the sky,

  And silence broods like spirit on the brae;

  A glimmering moon begins, the moonlight runs

  Over the grasses of the ancient way,

  Rutted this morning by the passing guns.

  [source: ‘August, 1914’, The English Review, September 1914, pp.145 – 147]

  John Masefield’s Sale

  To the Editor of The New York Times:

  In your issue of May 16 you give some particulars of the sale of manuscripts and autograph books for the benefit of Belgian sufferers.

  I have come back from a French hospital to organize a nursing unit to go out to the front behind the army of the Argonne, and to keep near enough to the front to save some of the wounded the journey in the train. I need funds for this purpose, and therefore ask you to let me state in your columns that I shall be happy to sell manuscripts, typescripts and autograph copies of my books and poems to any of my American readers who may wish to buy them. Any money so made will go to the equipment of the hospital, and any surplus to the purchase of artificial limbs for maimed French soldiers. I shall be greatly obliged if you will help me by printing this letter.

  JOHN MASEFIELD.

  Cholsey, Berkshire, England, June 16, 1915.

  [source: The New York Times, 30 June 1915, p.10]

  A Red Cross Lighter

  To the Editor of The New York Times:

  Some months ago you kindly allowed me to print an appeal for contributions to a Red Cross scheme in which I was interested. Will you allow me to say here that the money sent to me by American well-wishers in response to this appeal has been expended in equipping a lighter ambulance for the towing of French and English wounded in the Ægean Sea? The lighter is now in the Ægean, actively employed in this work. The small remaining surplus of less than £5 is being sent to a French hospital to help in the purchase of some artificial limbs.

  I wish to thank your readers for their help.

  J. MASEFIELD.

  Hampstead, England, Nov. 13, 1915.

  [source: The New York Times, 28 November 1915, p.16]

  Untitled Sonnet

  Here, where we stood together, we three men,

  Before the war had swept us to the East

  Three thousand miles away, I stand again

  And hear the bells, and breathe, and go to feast.

  We trod the same path, to the self-same place,

  Yet here I stand, having beheld their graves,

  Skyros whose shadows the great seas erase,

  And Seddul Bahr that ever more blood craves.

  So, since we communed here, our bones have been

  Nearer, perhaps, than they again will be,

  Earth and the world-wide battle lie between,

  Death lies between, and friend-destroying sea.

  Yet here, a year ago, we talked and stood

  As I stand now, with pulses beating blood.

  [source: Good Friday and other poems, New York: Macmillan, 1916, p.96]

  Untitled Sonnet

  I saw her like a shadow on the sky

  In the last light, a blur upon the sea,

  Then the gale’s darkness put the shadow by,

  But from one grave that island talked to me;

  And, in the midnight, in the breaking storm,

  I saw its blackness and a blinking light,

  And thought, “So death obscures your gentle form,

  So memory strives to make the darkness bright;

  And, in that heap of rocks, your body lies,

  Part of the island till the planet ends,

  My gentle comrade, beautiful and wise,

  Part of this crag this bitter surge offends,

  While I, who pass, a little obscure thing,

  War with this force, and breathe, and am its king.”

  [source: Good Friday and other poems, New York: Macmillan, 1916, p.97]

  A Report on American Opinion and Some Suggestions

  Sir Gilbert Parker has received the following report from Mr. John Masefield, who has lately finished a lecturing tour in the United States, and has returned to this country with clear ideas of the condition of American public opinion concerning the war and our international relations. Mr. Masefield has written a considerable number of letters, which Sir Gilbert has passed on to the Government; but the following report presents a bird’s-eye view of the whole prospect. Mr. Masefield’s suggestions will command the interest of all who read them: –

  March 28, 1916

  I have the honour to present to you my report of things noticed during my stay in the United States between the 13th January and the 18th March. During that time I visited some thirty towns in the East, the South, and the Middle West, and had the fortune to meet and talk with many people of every sort and condition, from millionaires to day labourers.

  I will divide my report into three portions – the first, a general survey; the second, some account of things which should be done soon, or might with advantage be done presently; and the third, a suggestion of steps which might now be taken to make the friendship between the two countries a lasting and deep bond or national reconciliation.

  (I.) – The United States may be divided roughly into four distinct provinces – Eastern, Southern, Middle Western, and Western. I did not visit the Western province; it is some thousands of miles from the war, absorbed in its own affairs, and, on the whole, indifferent to the outcome.

  (a.) In the East the feeling is very generally pro-Ally. The feeling is strongest where the cultivation is greatest, as in Boston, Philadelphia, and New York, from which towns a number of men and women have gone to take an active part in the war, but it is fairly general, and in some Eastern societies Germans have been ostracised, or forced by public opinion to adopt cringing and apologetic airs as though ashamed of their country.

  It must, however, be remembered that, for many years, throughout America, the schools, the press, and public oratory have proclaimed the iniquities of England. England has been held up as the traditional enemy much more vigorously than she has been extolled (if ever she has been) as the mother country, and there is, therefore, in this pro-Ally Eastern province, a multitude of Americans who hate the English and lose no opportunity to malign them. These people are kept upon our side by the traditional national friendship with France; their sympathies are with the French, not with us, and however much they may hate the Germans, they are loth to admit any merit in our share in the undertaking. Side by side with this very large body
is the very large, well-organised, and malignant body of the Irish-Americans, who are bitterly anti-English, and work the Catholic communities against us.

  (b.) In the South, the feeling is more warmly and perhaps more generally pro-Ally, the people being more impulsive, more kindly towards English ideals, and still remembering England’s sympathy with the Southern cause in the Secession War. The old antagonism between North and South crops out occasionally, and one meets the feeling that the South would have gone to war with Germany long ago had not the North directed otherwise. At the same time, the sympathy is less practical here. I had not the fortune to hear of any Southerner who had actually gone to the war to help in any way with personal service.

  (c.) In the Middle West, the American feeling, even if it be, as it may be, in the main, pro-Ally, is overshadowed and subdued by fear of the great German organisations centred in Milwaukee, Chicago, and St. Louis. German influence dominates and cowes the Middle West. In this province, the anti-Ally lies, insinuations, and rumours are first set going, to spread abroad wherever emptiness will repeat and ignorance credit what malice has invented. These unresting organisations poison the minds of multitudes against us. No means is left unused by them, from buying or intimidating the press to the telling of lies to school girls. Their methods are seldom subtle, but with an audience so uncritical this does not matter. These organisations have their emissaries in the East, including some dozen clever and versatile journalists whose daily tasks provide letters (signed ‘True American,’ ‘Mayflower,’ ‘1776,’ ‘Boston Tea Party,’ etc.) for the Eastern press, pointing out the iniquity of England, and the danger of departing from the great American doctrines laid down by George Washington, etc. Sometimes these dozen, or half dozen, souls will write 100 different letters in a day and scatter them through the national press, which guilelessly prints them.

  (II.) – (a.) It is most important that some authoritative loyal Irish member, preferably a Catholic, should go over as soon as may be, before the summer fighting begins, to silence the Irish-American party, who exude poison from every pore. If Mr. Redmond would do this, it would be the work of his life. But let some good man do it, without delay, for these snakes are at work daily, with a great priesthood and a skilled journalism to back them, in those Eastern towns which would otherwise be ours. This is most important.

  (b.) Many people in the cultivated Eastern centres feel that their marked pro-Ally feelings might be rewarded by a more generous supply of news from the front, not so much news of the actual military events, which, as they realise, cannot be divulged, as of the life in the trenches, vivid personal letters, with drawings and photographs. If such letters could be sent continuously, from the Belgian, English, and French fronts, in much greater variety than heretofore, they would have a very good effect. As there is a prejudice against the English in many American minds, the letters from the English front ought to be edited by men who know America. Much good might be done by writing-up Belgium and the devastated parts of France rather more particularly than has been done.

  (c.) Cinemas, or moving picture shows, are much more thronged, and have far greater influence, in America than in this country. The Germans use them to exalt their points of view, and more might be done by our own side. Good films of life in the Belgian, English, and French camps, and in the trenches or dugouts, would have a very good effect. Films of Stratford and of other places dear to Americans, such as the old Washington home, with troops passing, etc., might be shown. Of course, now that they have their own little war in Mexico these things may prove less attractive.

  (d.) Taking the hint from German agents, but perhaps prompted in part by their ignorance of war and hatred of the English, various men ask ‘What have the English done?’ or ‘What has the English army done?’ My own reply to such has been that we and the army have not been too proud to fight, but the answer has not been perfect as a begetter of good relations. It might be well to turn various writers to answering these questions in the big American monthlies, pointing out the obvious parallel of the raising of the Northern armies in 1861, and showing how very much more creditable our own achievements have been. Our help to France and Belgium might be insisted on. Our best brains might be turned onto this task.

  (e.) There can be no doubt that the failure in the Dardanelles has damaged us in America in many ways. Americans neither understand nor pity failure, worshipping success, as they do, they dread it. The Germans, realising this, have emphasised our failure there, and the results are unpleasant. Much has been, and is being, said about ‘failure of generalship, ’ ‘useless slaughter of men,’ ‘divided counsels,’ etc. I gather that Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett has been lecturing in America on this campaign (I know not from what point of view nor with what success), but more than one voice ought to be raised in the matter. I was myself in the Dardanelles, after the Suvla Bay landing, for a brief while, and would most respectfully suggest that I be allowed to prepare an article upon the venture, for publication in America. I could at least convince them of the difficulties which we overcame.

  (III.) – Apart from the fact that German agents are everywhere spreading the belief that the English hate and despise the Americans, the present would be a good time to attempt a real linking together of the English-speaking peoples. Americans are perturbed by the increase of the Slav elements in their populations and by the persistence with which their German settlers cling to their Fatherland. They would welcome anything which would strengthen the bond between their race and the traditional English culture. If there could be a constant and liberal exchange of college professors, and (especially) a big application of the idea of the Rhodes Scholarships to our advanced schools of technology, the effect, in a short time, would be very marked. The immediate evil might be remedied effectually and easily. It would probably suffice if the universities, for instance, could give to the Universities of Yale and Harvard (say) some public mark of thanks to the many Americans who have left those colleges to serve in France. Some few scraps of autograph by famous English writers would be ample for the purpose. Such a gift, gracefully made, would be publicly exhibited, universally acclaimed in the press, and lastingly remembered. In any case, many Americans would welcome any sign, however slight, that they are not, as they fear, hated and wholly despised by the country of their traditional culture.

  [source: ‘A Report on American Opinion and some Suggestions’, A Supplement to the American Press Résumé (April 7, 1916) [FO 371/2835 pp 62922]]

  Gallipoli

  DEDICATED WITH THE

  DEEPEST ADMIRATION AND RESPECT

  TO

  GENERAL SIR IAN HAMILTON, G.C.B., D.S.O.,

  AND THE

  OFFICERS AND MEN UNDER HIS COMMAND

  MARCH TO OCTOBER, 1915

  I

  Oliver said: “I have seen the Saracens: the valley and the mountains are covered with them; and the lowlands and all the plains; great are the hosts of that strange people; we have here a very little company.”

  Roland answered: “My heart is the bigger for that. Please God and His holiest angels, France shall never lose her name through me.” – The Song of Roland.

  A little while ago, during a short visit to America, I was often questioned about the Dardanelles Campaign. People asked me why that attempt had been made, why it had been made in that particular manner, why other courses had not been taken, why this had been done and that either neglected or forgotten, and whether a little more persistence, here or there, would not have given us the victory.

  These questions were often followed by criticism of various kinds, some of it plainly suggested by our enemies, some of it shrewd, and some the honest opinion of men and women happily ignorant of modern war. I answered questions and criticism as best I could, but in the next town they were repeated to me, and in the town beyond reiterated, until I wished that I had a printed leaflet, giving my views of the matter, to distribute among my questioners.

  Later, when there was leisure, I began to consider th
e Dardanelles Campaign, not as a tragedy, nor as a mistake, but as a great human effort, which came, more than once, very near to triumph, achieved the impossible many times, and failed, in the end, as many great deeds of arms have failed, from something which had nothing to do with arms nor with the men who bore them. That the effort failed is not against it; much that is most splendid in military history failed, many great things and noble men have failed. To myself, this failure is the second grand event of the war; the first was Belgium’s answer to the German ultimatum.

  The Peninsula of Gallipoli, or Thracian Chersonese, from its beginning in the Gulf of Xeros to its extremity at Cape Helles, is a tongue of hilly land, about fifty-three miles long, between the Ægean Sea and the Straits of the Dardanelles. At its north-eastern, Gulf of Xeros, or European end, it is four or five miles broad; then, a little to the south of the town of Bulair, it narrows to three miles, in a contraction or neck which was fortified during the Crimean War by French and English soldiers. This fortification is known as the Lines of Bulair. Beyond these lines, to the south-west, the Peninsula broadens in a westward direction and attains its maximum breadth, of about twelve miles, some twenty-four miles from Bulair, between the two points of Cape Suvla, on the sea, and Cape Uzun, within the Straits. Beyond this broad part is a second contraction or neck, less than five miles across, and beyond this, pointing roughly west-south-westerly, is the final tongue or finger of the Peninsula, an isosceles triangle of land with a base of some seven miles, and two sides of thirteen miles each, converging in the blunt tip (perhaps a mile and a half across) between Cape Helles and Cape Tekke. There is no railway within the Peninsula, but bad roads, possible for wheeled traffic, wind in the valleys, skirting the hills and linking up the principal villages. Most of the travelling and commerce of the Peninsula is done by boat, along the Straits, between the little port of Maidos, near the Narrows, and the town of Gallipoli (the chief town) near the Sea of Marmora. From Gallipoli there is a fair road to Bulair and beyond. Some twenty other small towns or hamlets are scattered here and there in the well-watered valleys in the central broad portion of the Peninsula. The inhabitants are mostly small cultivators with olive and currant orchards, a few vineyards and patches of beans and grains; but not a hundredth part of the land is under cultivation.