The Wildgoose Chase

I met Chelsea Pensioner Walter Wildgoose in 1977 when he was 87 and I was 26. Through a series of letters written over the last year of his life, he passed along his life story - the workhouse children's home, a life in the British Army witnessing the opening battles of World War I and life in India, a remarkable family surviving the bombs of World War II London. This blog will document my research and progress on the novel I'm writing about this amazing man.

Saturday, November 11, 2006

"Poppies whose roots are in man's veins"

Break of Day in the Trenches
by Isaac Rosenberg

The darkness crumbles away.
It is the same old druid Time as ever,
Only a live thing leaps my hand,
A queer sardonic rat,
As I pull the parapet's poppy
To stick behind my ear.
Droll rat, they would shoot you if they knew
Your cosmopolitan sympathies.
Now you have touched this English hand
You will do the same to a German
Soon, no doubt, if it be your pleasure
To cross the sleeping green between.
It seems you inwardly grin as you pass
Strong eyes, fine limbs, haughty athletes,
Less chanced than you for life,
Bonds to the whims of murder,
Sprawled in the bowels of the earth,
The torn fields of France.
What do you see in our eyes
At the shrieking iron and flame
Hurled through still heavens ?
What quaver--what heart aghast?
Poppies whose roots are in man's veins
Drop, and are ever dropping;
But mine in my ear is safe--
Just a little white with the dust.
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posted by MaryB @ 8:59 AM   2 Comments

Thursday, November 09, 2006

Poppies

I was in England last week. Since I was there on business and most of my time was well and truly scheduled beyond my control, I had no chance to nip into the Imperial War Museum or British Army Museum for more research on the book I'm writing about Walter's life. I'm also disappointed that there was no time to go by the Cenotaph.
I did stop and take a photo of the Animals in War monument on Park Lane across from Hyde Park. "They had no choice," the sculpture says.

I also bought a couple of poppies, which I proudly wear in remembrance of Walter and Bert. Bert lost his life at Aubers Ridge in May, 1915. And Walter lost his brother.

We won't forget.
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posted by MaryB @ 4:12 PM   0 Comments