from tennyson to sassoon

8/3/2019 From Tennyson to Sassoon

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It is relevant to our situation here in Israel.

It complements texts such as The Enemy andAll My Sons which are on the required

reading list. History can be taught through these poems.

It is very suitable for all-boys classes.


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Alfred Lord Tennyson Poet Laureate

The Crimean War October 25, 1854


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The distance the Light Brigade had to cover to reach the guns was a mile and a quarter.Advancing at a trot the brigade came under fire within a few minutes; shell fire, cannonballs and rifle fire from the flanking Russian forces striking down riders and horses.After five minutes the brigade came within range of the eight guns at the end of thevalley. These guns had a much easier target, firing at the brigade line, around 100 yardsin width, rather than at its flank. Casualties spiraled causing the regiments to increase

their pace until the lines were at the gallop and order was being lost. By the time thebrigade reached the guns, half of its complement were casualties.


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Movie Posters


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Half a league, half aleague,Half a league onward,All in the valley ofDeathRode the six hundred."Forward, the LightBrigade!"Charge for the guns!"he said:Into the valley ofDeathRode the six hundred.

Forward, the LightBrigade!"

Was there a mandismay'd?Not tho' the soldier knewSomeone had blunder'd:Theirs not to make reply,Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die:Into the valley of DeathRode the six hundred.

When can their glory fade?O the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered.Honor the charge they made,Honor the Light Brigade,Noble six hundred.

What was Tennyson glorifying?


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Cheval = Horse (French)

CAVALRY Chevalier= knight (French)

Chivalry / chivalrous

Noblesse oblige


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What makes you go abroad fighting forstrangersWhen you could be safe at home free from alldangers?A recruiting sergeant came our wayTo an Inn nearby at the close of dayHe said young Johnny you're a fine young manWould you like to march along behind amilitary band,With a scarlet coat and a big cocked hat,

And a musket at your shoulder,The shilling he took and he kissed the book,Oh poor Johnny what will happen to ya?


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The recruiting sergeant marched awayFrom the Inn nearby at the break of day,

Johnny went too with half a ringHe was off to be a soldier he'd be fighting forthe KingIn a far off war in a far off land

To face a foreign soldier,But how will you fare when there's lead in theair,Oh poor Johnny what'll happen to ya?


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What makes you go abroad fighting for strangersWhen you could be safe at home free from all

dangers?The sun shone hot on a barren landAs a thin red line took a military stand,There was sling shot, chain shot, grape shot

too,Swords and bayonets thrusting through,Poor Johnny fell but the day was wonAnd the King is grateful to you

But your soldiering's done and they're sendingyou home,Oh poor Johnny what have they done to ya?


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They said he was a hero and not to grieveOver two wooden pegs and empty sleeves,They carried him home and set him downWith a military pension and a medal fromthe crown.You haven't an arm and you haven't a leg,The enemy nearly slew you,You'll have to go out on the streets to beg,Oh poor Johnny what have they done to ya?What makes you go abroad fighting forstrangersWhen you could be safe at home free fromall dangers?


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musket

Scarlet

coat

Big cocked hat

British Infantryman (reconstruction)

bayonet


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Musket bullets

grapeshot

chainshot


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The Queen she sent to look for me,The sergeant he did say,'Young man, a soldier will you beFor thirteen pence a day?

For thirteen pence a day did ITake off the things I wore,And I have marched to where I lie,And I shall march no more.

My mouth is dry, my shirt is wet,

My blood runs all away,So now I shall not die in debtFor thirteen pence a day.

To-morrow after new young menThe sergeant he must see,For things will all be over thenBetween the Queen and me.

And I shall have to bate my price,For in the grave, they say,Is neither knowledge nor deviceNor thirteen pence a day.

The Grenadier A.E Housman


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Had he and I but metBy some old ancient inn,We should have set us down to wetRight many a nipperkin!

But ranged as infantry,And staring face to face,I shot at him as he at me,And killed him in his place.

I shot him dead because--Because he was my foe,Just so: my foe of course he was;That's clear enough; although

He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,

Off-hand like--just as I--Was out of work--had sold his traps--No other reason why.

Yes; quaint and curious war is!You shoot a fellow down

You'd treat, if met where anybar is,Or help to half a crown.

The Man He Killed ---- Thomas Hardy (1902)


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THE BOER WARS


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German Infantryman British Infantryman


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Modern Warfare ------ New Technology


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John Bull

Uncle Sam


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'They'User Rating:

7.4 /1

The Bishop tells us: 'When the boys come back'They will not be the same; for they'll have fought'In a just cause: they lead the last attack'On Anti-Christ; their comrades' blood has bought

'New right to breed an honourable race,'They have challenged Death and dared him face to face.'

'We're none of us the same!' the boys reply.'For George lost both his legs; and Bill's stone blind;'Poor Jim's shot through the lungs and like to die;'And Bert's gone syphilitic: you'll not find

'A chap who's served that hasn't found some change.' And the Bishop said: 'The ways of God are strange!'


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'Jack fell as he'd have wished,' the Mother said,And folded up the letter that she'd read.'The Colonel writes so nicely.' Something brokeIn the tired voice that quavered to a choke.She half looked up. 'We mothers are so proudOf our dead soldiers.' Then her face was bowed.

Quietly the Brother Officer went out.He'd told the poor old dear some gallant liesThat she would nourish all her days, no doubt.For while he coughed and mumbled, her weak eyesHad shone with gentle triumph, brimmed with joy,Because he'd been so brave, her glorious boy.

He thought how 'Jack', cold-footed, useless swine,Had panicked down the trench that night the mineWent up at Wicked Corner; how he'd triedTo get sent home, and how, at last, he died,Blown to small bits. And no one seemed to care

Except that lonely woman with white hair.


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You love us when we're heroes, home on leave,

Or wounded in a mentionable place.You worship decorations; you believeThat chivalry redeems the war's disgrace.

You make us shells. You listen with delight,By tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled.You crown our distant ardours while we fight,And mourn our laurelled memories when we're killed.You can't believe that British troops 'retire'When hell's last horror breaks them, and they run,

Trampling the terrible corpses--blind with blood.O German mother dreaming by the fire,While you are knitting socks to send your sonHis face is trodden deeper in the mud.

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