The sun is out again here and at Glastonbury it’s hot but tomorrow and until the festival finishes and beyond! there is a drop in temperature and 60/70 % chance of rain, no wonder they call it Mudstonbury?
Lord Tennyson wrote this poem to memorialise the suicidal charge of the light cavalry Battle of Balaclava (Ukraine) in the Crimean War (1854-56). 247 men of the 637 in the charge were killed or wounded. Britain entered the war, which was fought by Russia against Turkey, Britain and France, because Russia sought to control the Dardanelles. Russian control of the Dardanelles threatened British sea routes.
Another reason that Crimean War is remember is because of Florence Nightingale, who trained as a nurse then trained many more young women and then nursed at the front , experiencing war first hand.
This Sunday I have chosen to highlight Lord Alfred Tennyson’s poem THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. I find this a truly sad and honest account of what happened. Again it was generals ordering the troops in, in to the gates hell. It was the Valley of death out of 637 men who entered the charge ( without question or redress) only 247 returned!
As the poem reports they had guns on their left and right and in front of them. Truly a suicidal manoeuvre but as is the soldiers’ lot they obey. These where cavalry so it was not only all of these men but their horses also. The poor horses must of been terrified too. The noise , bullets, shells,glinting sabres, mud and blood it was truly hell!
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photo credits google images
The Charge Of The Light Brigade
by Alfred, Lord TennysonMemorializing Events in the Battle of Balaclava, October 25, 1854
Written 1854
Half a league half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred:
‘Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns’ he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
‘Forward, the Light Brigade!’
Was there a man dismayed ?
Not though the soldier knew
Some one had blundered:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed & thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
All the world wondered:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack & Russian
Reeled from the sabre-stroke,
Shattered & sundered.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse & hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
photo credits
Poetry Challenge #7 is to create a journal of links and your reactions to poems by established (living or dead poets.) Details are here. Example response is here. Mr. Linky for Challenge #7 is directly below:
The poem below makes me weep because with all the scorn and sarcasm he often used. He said the soldiers died with honour and did so with decorum ! He says they did not weep or groan.
I am afraid to say they died in dirt and mud and agony they groaned and screamed with their innards hanging out, they cried for their mothers and their sweethearts.Poor souls they died in dirt and agony.
Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967) “How to Die” Dark clouds are smouldering into red
While down the craters morning burns.
The dying soldier shifts his head
To watch the glory that returns;
He lifts his fingers toward the skies
Where holy brightness breaks in flame;
Radiance reflected in his eyes,
And on his lips a whispered name.
You’d think, to hear some people talk,
That lads go West with sobs and curses,
And sullen faces white as chalk,
Hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses.
But they’ve been taught the way to do it
Like Christian soldiers; not with haste
And shuddering groans; but passing through it
With due regard for decent taste.
Siegfried Sassoon was decorated for bravery on the Western Front. He became one of the leading poets of the First World War.He was a key figure in the study of the poetry of the Great War: he influenced and mentored the then unknown Wilfred Owen; he spent thirty years reflecting on the war through his memoirs; and at last he found peace in his religious faith. Some critics found his later poetry lacking in comparison to his war poems. Sassoon, identifying with Herbert and Vaughan, recognized and understood this: “my development has been entirely consistent and in character” he answered, “almost all of them have ignored the fact that I am a religious poet.” ….. http://www.poemhunter.com/siegfried-sassoon/biography/
Lest we forget.
Poetry Challenge #7 is to create a journal of links and your reactions to poems by established (living or dead poets.) Details are here. Example response is here. Mr. Linky for Challenge #7 is directly below:
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 floundering like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under I 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.
Is sweet and glorious Die for his country.???
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I have given information on Wilfred Owen before but it is worth repeating myself.
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918) is widely recognised as one of the greatest voices of the First World War. His self-appointed task was to speak for the men in his care, to show the ‘Pity of War’.
Wilfred Owen
Owen’s enduring and influential poetry is evidence of his bleak realism, his energy and indignation, his compassion and his great technical skill.
The Wilfred Owen Association was formed in 1989 to commemorate Wilfred Owen’s life and work. You can learn more at http://wilfredowen.org.uk/home/
I do not normally add videos to these poems as they are so sad and I am trying to relate the truth. This song is everything I find so bad about WW1 A merry tune hiding a horrible horrible truth.
A young man like the one in the song could of enlisted at the start of the war and then received approximately 12 weeks training, by 1918 was down to 6 weeks. Training for a standard infantry soldier was basic as most people already accepted orders, routine, manual labour, so they were compliant. The main areas of training where rifle and bayonet drill, small unit tactics and learning the basics of trench warfare.
So six to twelve weeks and then sent forth to the bowls of hell. I have covered how much this challenge has taught me ……. you already know how I feel.
Poetry Challenge #7 is to create a journal of links and your reactions to poems by established (living or dead poets.) Details are here. Example response is here. Mr. Linky for Challenge #7 is directly below:
I am with 12 years of experience and ready to achieve any type of works such as, converting any form from JPG, PDF, ...etc into Excel,Word, PowerPoint and other editable forms, In addition to having a deep experience in inserting and managing data
Oh! Look at my Wellie boots they brighten up my day . When I am feeling sad and low they blow the clouds away.
Wilfred Owen
willowdot21 
