Memories of Wounded Wombats

A brief memory...

Years and years ago -- actually during my senior year of high school -- I was introduced to the writings of H. H. Munro (1870-1916), who wrote under the penname Saki. A wonderful writer of very funny stories, Munro lived far too short a life. During World War One he enlisted in the British Army as an ordinary trooper, even though he was already in his mid-forties and certainly would have been offered an officer's commission. Sadly, like so many of the UK's most promising young men, Munro did not survive the war. He died in November 1916 after being shot by a German sniper during the Battle of Ancre.

Anyway, my initial introduction to Munro's work back in 1961 consisted primarily of his stories featuring a rather odd, young Edwardian named Reginald. I went on to read almost everything Munro wrote, but especially loved the Reginald stories. Reginald was a clever, affected, witty, and sometimes heartless young man who nevertheless caused me to laugh out loud as I turned the pages of Munro's brief stories.

I can't say why, but occasionally, very occasionally, certain phrases become cemented into my rather unreliable memory. Among these is a phrase that appeared in a Munro story, Reginald's Rubaiyat. For some reason, the phrase -- "Where the wounded wombats wail" -- simply never left my regularly accessible brain cells. I suppose its retention stems from the oddity of it all. At the time, I realized only that a wombat was some sort of strange Australian marsupial, but I couldn't have described this odd critter even under torture. In truth, I know little more about wombats today.

But if you need an occasional laugh -- and these days, who doesn't? -- read Saki's stories. As a New Year's gift, I thought I'd share the following opening words of the brief story mentioned above, describing a typical event in young Reginald's life, as he injects wounded wombats into a less than promising poem.

The other day (confided Reginald), when I was killing time in the bathroom and making bad resolutions for the New Year, it occurred to me that I would like to be a poet. The chief qualification, I understand, is that you must be born. Well, I hunted up my birth certificate, and found that I was all right on that score, and then I got to work on a Hymn to the New Year, which struck me as having possibilities. It suggested extremely unusual things to absolutely unlikely people, which I believe is the art of first-class catering in any department. Quite the best verse in it went something like this —

“Have you heard the groan of a gravelled grouse,
Or the snarl of a snaffled snail
(Husband or mother, like me, or spouse),
Have you lain a-creep in the darkened house
Where the wounded wombats wail?”

What does it all mean? Your guess is as good as mine...or Reginald's.

Happy New Year to my small but select group of loyal readers...

World War One Redux

In a recent post, Tree Hugging, I mentioned World War One during a discussion of the poet, Joyce Kilmer, who died in combat during that war. And then yesterday evening I happened to catch a report on the historical ignorance of many young Americans. The reporter had asked a sampling of high school and college students a few seemingly simple questions, among them: When did World War One take place? and Whom did the United States fight in World War One? According to the reporter, a significant majority could not answer either question accurately. He said if they came within five or ten years on the first question he gave them credit, and he did the same on the second question if they could name just one of the enemy combatants. By the way, he asked similar questions about World War Two, sadly with similar results. How did Edmund Burke put it? “Those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it.”(Burke, by the way, was the first to say this, long before similar words were uttered by the philosopher, George Santayana, who often gets the credit.) All of this got me thinking once again about this surprising war. I call it "surprising" because at the time it seemed to take so much of the world by surprise.

Over the top: Into the Valley of Death

Have you thought much about World War One lately? After all, last year we celebrated, if I may use that word, the centennial of the start of that war in August 1914. And for the next three years many books and articles addressing the war and its causes and consequences will doubtless appear. Some will be written by authors bent on viewing the past through the filters of their present-day ideologies. But I expect a good number will be written by historians and others who will make a sincere effort to uncover and present the truth about the conflict and those who took part.

Irish Troops in the Trenches: Somme

Over the years I've actually collected quite a few books on World War One, and during the past few months I've been reading (and rereading) a few of them. Of course, Barbara Tuchman's award-winning history, The Guns of August (1962), tells the dramatic story of the months immediately prior to World War One. As I recall I first read the book during my last week of freedom before entering the U. S. Naval Academy in June 1963. 

In the Trenches: the Living among the Dead

David Fromkin's 2004 book, Europe's Last Summer, also addresses the period leading up to the war, although the author offers a different and perhaps more controversial explanation of its causes. And while I don't necessarily agree with all of Fromkin's conclusions, he does present an interesting case. 

I also found Joseph Persico's book on the war's climatic ending, Eleventh Month, Eleventh Day, Eleventh Hour (2004), a fascinating read. This book fills a historical void by describing the final day of the war in remarkable detail. 

Historian Margaret MacMillan wrote about the Paris peace talks of 1919 and the resulting Treaty of Versailles which, instead of ensuring World War One was "the war to end all wars" actually set the stage for the even greater destruction of World War Two. Her book, Paris 1919, gives the reader a front-row seat at the six months of talks that set that stage for another century of conflict that remains with us today. 

J.R.R. Tolkien and the Trenches of World War One

And for fans of J.R.R. Tolkien, I recommend John Garth's Tolkien and the Great War (2003). Garth looks to Tolkien's combat service during World War One to uncover the roots of his famous trilogy, The Lord of the Rings. A young Army lieutenant, Tolkien managed to survive the Somme, a horrendous battle that took the lives of two of his closest friends, along with 300,000 others on both sides. Garth makes a strong case that Tolkien's subsequent writings were greatly influenced by his wartime experiences in which he witnessed first-hand the war's devastation. Another book on a related subject is Joseph Loconte's A Hobbit, A Wardrobe, and a Great War in which the author examines the influence of World War One on the writings of both Tolkien and C. S. Lewis. I have not yet read this book, so I really can't comment on it, but from the reviews I've read, it sounds interesting. I expect it will eventually find its way into my library.

Maurice Baring

But the books I have enjoyed the most are those written by contemporaries, especially those who played an active role in the war. One of my literary heroes, a man too often overlooked, is Maurice Baring. Novelist, poet, playwright, diplomat, world traveler and travel writer, and a close friend of G. K. Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc, Baring led a most remarkable and adventurous life. During the war he was a ground officer assigned to the staff of the legendary Boom Trenchard (aka, 1st Viscount Hugh Trenchard) who was busy in France creating the Royal Flying Corps. Closely associated with those early combat aviators, Baring wrote a wonderful book based on his diaries and describing his experiences: R.F.C.  H.Q.  1914-1918. For anyone interested in the early days of military aviation, it's a must read. If you'd like to know more about Baring the man, I suggest reading his fascinating autobiography, The Puppet Show of Memory. He's one of those people you wish you had known.

H. H. Munro ("Saki")

Another of the tragic casualties of World War One was H. H. Munro, the author of so many marvelously funny short stories who wrote under the pen name of Saki. Like Joyce Kilmer, Munro would not accept an officer's commission but decided to enter the Army as a common soldier, even though his age would normally exempt him from service. And like Kilmer he too was killed by a German sniper. Munro was 43 when he entered the Army and 45 when he died. Although I recommend anything written by Munro, I especially enjoyed his short novel, When William Came. Published in 1913, a year before the start of the war, it's a bit of a fantasy describing an authoritarian occupation of Great Britain after it loses a war to Germany. In writing the novel Munro makes the case that in a world where evil exists the best way to ensure peace is to be prepared for war. 

And lastly, about 30 years ago, while nosing about in a now-defunct local bookstore in Harwich on Cape Cod (Staten Hook Books), I came across several copies of the monthly publication, Current History. First published in 1914 by the New York Times, it is still published today but by a private publisher. Anyway, I found a dozen copies dating from 1915 through 1920 and purchased them all at a dollar apiece. Each issue consists of about 200 pages of articles, commentary, photographs, and political cartoons on the war, its causes, and its aftermath. The issues covering the peace talks and the formation of the League of Nations are particularly fascinating and include complete speeches and commentary by many of the actual participants. I was also intrigued by the articles covering the revolution in Russia as it was happening. Just to give you an idea of the content of these monthlies, I've included a few covers (below) from 1917 and 1919. (Click each to enlarge.)

Lost in War: In Memoriam

This year, a year in which we mark the centennial of the start of the First World War, we can only look back in sad amazement at the tragic consequences of that global conflict. And once again I cannot ignore the fact that I am far from young. Although I was born 26 years after the end of that war, it never seemed very far away. Growing up I knew many men who had served during World War One, men who on occasion would talk of their experiences. Believe me, if I were there, they certainly had a ready audience for their tales.

As the first conflict that can truly be called global, World War One took a tremendous toll on Europe's youth. And it wasn't just the working class that suffered; no element of society was spared. The total number of military deaths in the war approached 10 million, while 7 million civilians perished. Another 20 million people, civilian and military, were wounded. The following are just the military deaths. 

Germany 1,935,000 

Russia 1,700,000 

France 1,368,000 

Austria-Hungary 1,200,000 

British Empire       942,135

Ottoman Empire 725,000

Italy                680,000 

Romania              300,000 

United States        116,516 

Bulgaria              87,495 

Belgium 45,550

Serbia 45,000 

Greece 23,098 

Portugal 8,145 

Montenegro 3,000 

Japan 1,344

What a tremendous waste of life! Many of those who died were among the best and brightest of their generation. So many poets, so many writers, so many great minds of their time were sacrificed needlessly in a conflict that brought us a century of bloodshed. And so many others, men with families and sweethearts who would never see them again and men with wonderful ideas that would never come to fruition. History may remember only the wars and brutal ideologies that caused them, but we should also remember those whose lives were taken during that century's first war. Here are just a few:

Rupert Brooke (1887-1915). Described as "the handsomest young man in England" Brooke died en route to the Dardanelles and is buried on the Greek island of Skyros. His War Sonnets included "The Soldier" which begins with the famous lines "If I should die, think only this of me: That there’s some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England." 

Julian Grenfell (1888-1915). His celebrated poem "Into Battle" appeared in the same year he was killed at Ypres.

Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918). An American poet who is perhaps best known for his poem, "Trees", Kilmer also wrote much memorable war poetry, including "Memorial Day", "Rouge Bouquet", and "When the Sixty-Ninth Comes Back". He was killed by a sniper's bullet during the Battle of Ourcq. I've always had a particular fondness for Kilmer since he lived for several years in Larchmont, NY, the town where I grew up. As a Catholic he also worshiped in our parish church, St. Augustine.

H. H. Munro (1870-1916). Best known by his pen name, Saki, Munro wrote many wonderfully humorous stories, most of which were delightful satires of life in Edwardian England. When I need a bit of amusement, I always turn to Saki. Munro refused a commission, preferring to serve as a regular trooper, and was noted for his courage. He was killed by a sniper during the Battle of Ancre.

Wilfred Owen (1893-1918). His poem "Greater Love" from his Collected Poems gave us the famous openings lines: "Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead." Owen won the Military Cross and was killed just a week before the Armistice.

Isaac Rosenberg (1890-1918). Although Rosenberg, a Jewish-English poet, was killed in action in 1918, his Collected Works weren't published until 1937. Their publication confirmed his importance as a writer of realistic war poetry.

Charles Sorley (1895-1915). Sorely was only 20 when he was killed at the battle of Loos. He left comparatively few complete poems but was well regarded by his contemporary poets.

Edward Thomas (1878-1917). Encouraged to write by the great American poet, Robert Frost, Thomas was killed at Arras and his work, including his war poetry, is now highly regarded.

Top L to R: H. H. Munro, Wilfred Owen, Joyce Kilmer, Charles Sorley; 

Bottom L to R: Edward Thomas, Isaac Rosenberg, Julian Grenfell, Rupert Brooke