Showing posts with label Artists Rifles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Artists Rifles. Show all posts

Sunday, 10 January 2016

Poem ~ Artistic Soldiers - Monday, 10 January 1916

Source: File: Design image for the Artists Rifles badge.jpg. [online] An original image is available at: <http://1914centenary.com/2014/03/11/exhibition-focuses-on-artists-rifles-in-the-first-world-war/> [Accessed: 10 January 2016]

While the path into war
Leads to destructivity,
Any escape from war
Can lead to creativity.

The proof of the pudding
Appeared in recruiting,
Of nearly thirty artists
To join their named corps.

The Artists Rifles doing
Their bit, used their talents
For field sketching, to devise
Invaluable map reading.

Furthermore their abilities
Were arranged to be shown;
To be members of the Officer
Training Corps Exhibition.

For three weeks only, over
A London period, between
Saturday 15 January, to end
Saturday 5 February 1916.

The corps first muster-rolls
Had formed by Lord Leighton
And Val Prinsep - to use time
Between brushes and rifles.

Reflecting the immediacy
Of ongoing attrition, a public
Would be able to see black
And white images of war.

Enameling, etching, water
Colour and oil paintings -
Alongside sculptured images
Were to be on exhibition.

In talent like Lord Leighton,
Who had designed the Rifles
Badge - Although all images
Were subjected to censors.

by Jamie Mann.

Anon.,1916. Soldier Artists' Exhibition. The Daily Telegraph, [online] 10 January 1916. P.4. Col.5. Available at: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/ww1-archive/12083285/Daily-Telegraph-January-10-1916.html [Accessed: 10 January 2016].

Mann, J., 2016. 100 years Ago - Poems by Jamie Mann. [letter] (Personal communication, 10 January 2016). 



#WW1 #WW1centenary #GreatWar #WW1poem #GreatWar #WW1centenary #worldwarone #worldwaroneremembered #WW1ArtistsRifles

Friday, 1 January 2016

Poem ~ Private Owen: Year's End - Saturday, 1 January 1916


Source: File: Wilfred Owen the boy dressed as a soldier.jpg. [online] An original image is Available at: <http://www.bbc.co.uk/schools/0/ww1/25407948> [Accessed: 1 January 2016]

Private Wilfred Edward Salter Owen, 4756
Of the Artists Rifles, would end the year 1915
In a very different position - by days end of 21
October, Owen wrote home - a self-declaration
Of breathy words, that he was the British Army.

Entering a civilian, departing as a soldier below
The sculptured, contradictory heads of Minerva
And Mars  - Art and war - initially a voluntary
Corps devised by painters as Millais, to entice
Talents such as John and Paul Nash and poets.

Now Owen was part of that final volunteer push,
To be ahead of the Derby Scheme in compulsory
Service - with the best already part of the army,
The quite good men were coming through; Owen
Would no longer  bear the voices of canvassers.

Dark hair already had shoots of grey at 23 - while
His deep voice, toned from teaching and amateur
Acting, gave an edge to his youth; along with ability
To aim a gun - all worked towards likely officer
Status - a prophecy had been his childhood images.

Such photos were a foundation of Wilfred's future
Ability, apparantly beyond his mother’s attentions  -
Despite prophetic photographic images of her son,
Dressed as a childhood soldier with a sword
Or as a sailor, to face a camera with boat in hand.

Taking control of his chosen destiny Owen found
Lodgings, in his assignment to the 2nd Battalion -
Tavistock square and French speaking house,
Gave him private security of a recent past - ready
For London based training, prior to Romford camp.

With oath of loyalty completed Owen was injected
Against typhoid - Allowed three days in recovery
He used his time wisely, to spend time in poetry -
The bookshop on Devonshire Street, led his path,
Up steps to the stable loft, in company of readings.

Finally Monday and Tuesday 24 and 25 October,
Found him amid a drill of civilian dressed men -
Taught to stand to attention, turning and marching -
Bored but entertained Private Owen found humour
In good-natured drill, to give his respect to NCOs.

Mid week and Owen looked the part in full kit - all
To be kept in tip top order - with practice route
Marches up Highgate, to endless salutes to local
Trees - fully amid the curious masculine lifestyle,
He leaned the absurdities of those military ways.

In concentration of the army's cultural ground,
Any reality was kept to the back of his mind -
Rather to enjoy the admiring glances of the old
And youngest of people - while amusement found
His sternness caused civilian dressed men to blush.

With the reasonable hours of 9.30 a.m. to 5 p.m.
A kitted out Owen made his stir in army boots,
To enter poetry collective under eyes of the owner,
Harold Monro - as the soldier bought books of his,
Houseman and Brooke, to have died early that year.

Summer may have seemed long lost under time's
Tread - as depths of autumn took a route of Liverpool
Street Station led the company east, to Romford
And discomforts of hut life about Hare Hall - where
An Artists camp ready built close to Colchester Road.

A division was all too obvious, with men in the huts,
While the officers resided in the eighteen century
House - challenges deepened as he lodged amid
Groups of men - each day to begin with exercises
By 6 a.m. in platoons, out in countryside and park.

Work came in defence constructions, in usual trench
Type  - with attack plans and weapons drill Owen amid
The tasks role-played as servant or commander -
Learned signaling and map reading. Taking on duty
As guard over 24 hours - to practice again and again.

Realities and mid November made another lesson,
That camp life was tiresome - novelty was overtaken
By poor food, poor weather, the constant discipline
And endless work - relationships while matey may
Have become strained in mixing with all types of men.

Brief respite to past normality came with London,
To see opera and quiet devotion to poetry - wherein
Experience might have stirred his slow unconscious
Thoughts - under the conscious efforts of sonnets;
In hopeful collections of published Georgian Verse.

As was the way of military matters, Christmas
Leave was likely for Owen, but did not happen -
An alternative came from a family invitation
Whose Boy Scout son he befriended - followed
By another dinner in the hut of ready foodstuffs.

Escape came with Williams’ family till 9.15 p.m. -
While a return to camp Owen would hear the roars
Coming from the huts  - week’s leave then came
For December's end - Private Owen at Mahim
Found years end see him in a very different place.

by Jamie Mann.

Hibberd, D., 2002. Wilfred Owen – A New Biography. London. Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Ch 10.

Mann, J., 2015. 100 years Ago - Poems by Jamie Mann. [letter] (Personal communication, 20 November 2015). 


#WW1 #WW1centenary #GreatWar #WW1poem #GreatWar #WW1centenary #worldwarone #worldwaroneremembered #WW1Poets

Saturday, 21 November 2015

Poem ~ Owen: Teacher to Soldier - Sunday 21 - Tuesday 30 November 1915

Impression sketch of a smiling Private Wilfred Owen - by Jamie. see an original at: http://www.standpointmag.co.uk/node/5483/full

i
By the river Garonne, of South West
France, Bordeaux had seen itself
As the temporary sister of Paris -
In an invasion threat of the capital.

With issue abated, matters turned
Back to ordinary status - with seat
Of Government back in Paris, some
Normality returned to Bordeaux.

One British resident to experience
That excitement, settled back into
A routine as English tutor - yet matters
For Mr W. Owen altered with spring.

While settled within his pre-war post,
Issues of war, and an idea to fight,
Were never far from his mind's eye -
Everywhere talk, papers and soldiers.

ii
Idling plans continued in thoughts
Of his own situation - and somehow
What he might do for the war's fight;
Those about tried to dissuade ideas.

With a six week plan set to take him
Back to Britain and London’s heart -
A pivotal centre of the war machine,
Owen suppressed such excitement.

Yet countered by sensibility, a need
To earn money, he promised to return
Within the summer months to carry
On his duty as professor of elocution.

From Bordeaux, a slow journey took
Wilfred first to Paris, where he met
With Tailhade - poet and friend -
To take in Parisian sights and scenes.

iii
Yet doubtless to see movements
Of endless soldiers, both English
And French nations pass, always
Onwards to some fighting frontiers.

This intensity of sights for Wilfred
Owen increased on reaching Calais,
With its boundless military nature
Of troop ships, in and out of harbour.

Likely self conscious of his civilian
Attire, Owen probably brooded,
Within the encircling men of his age,
Who filled all boats and London trains.

Owen's Arrival in a British capital,
Would bring an alternative scene
Of previous visits - in atmosphere
In London's life of wartime fixation.

iV
Papers daily added with fresh
News - to include May-times
Sinking of the Lusitania; while
Nothing dulled his enjoyment.

Taking his task as trader to perfume
Fair - Kitchener posters all around,
Questioned his reason or excuse,
Why Owen was not yet in khaki.

Thrilled but  briefly tired of London
Bustle, the son made his return
To Shreswbuy's Mahim - to allow
A temporary escape to poetry.

In whirl of satisfied travel a poet
Paused again in London, where
A hotel note sparked a thought, to
Invite gentlemen to Artists Rifles.

V
Owen speculated over ambitions,
To see London slums in Victorian
Hangovers - to ponder on desires
For success as a possible poet.

Still remaining without decision
To join the tutor, as promised made
The Sunday return trip to Paris;
With mixed emotions after London.

New stories came of campaigns
In Gallipoli prompting Owen's vow;
If war had no sight of improvement
To take to an autumn enlistment.

Home communications reached him
Of a relative in khaki - to prompt
A premonition of grandchildren, 
Who would ask what he had done.

Vi
Aged 21 with almost a year of war,
A summer illness of June crept
Hold of Owen, to prompt his fitness
Vow - a need of a soldier's regime.

A mother's distant concerns could
Not deter a son of independence -
To give her unwillingness to provide           
His requests of regiment's address.

His decision was to write anyway
To Artists Rifles, posted to a vague
London Address - duly a reply
Came to advise of lengthy training.

Although aspirations may have
Been to take a commission, Owen
Had no means - so then initially
He would start as ordinary Tommy.

Romantic notions were never far
From such a poet's head - maybe
An alternative route could allow him
To join the Italian Cavalry instead.

Vii
From his letter's honesty, Susan
Owen advised how her son might
Find more satisfaction in a position
Of safety, within a war office post.

With brief encounter of a sailor
Whose familiar accent of home,
Prompted Owen to ask passage -
In war such ideas were impossible.

Self-guilt grew in civilian clothes -
In summers depth came more plans,
For routes to take him homewards;
Concerns of friends advised him no.

Summer of 1915 then on the wane
And Owen had completed promise
To teach his students - now his plan
Took over, to make a London return.

Viii
Shrewsbury and autumn's falling
Dead leaves, acting as a reality
Of what he should be his destiny;
Led him to London’s Bloomsbury.

On a pause of steps in the shade
Of Artists Rifle Headquarters, two
Masks looked bleakly down on him
While Wilfred Owen stepped inside.

A keen, willing Doctor passed him
As fit, while Owen gave happily
Provided his word of willingness;
As the fight for Loos had begun.

With long shrugged off hesitancy, his
Joining up could only provide relief
To take vow of voluntary service -
That soon would become compulsory.

iX
For a man and poet, prepared
To give himself to a voluntary vow,
Was more a true romantic notion
Than hesitating, only to be pushed.

Arriving at that point Owen set
On a four year path in duty to king
To shrug off unglamorous ideas,
As a man working in munitions.

Previous paths had been diverse
Such as journalism, civil service,
The ministry or even a scientist
Or interpreter; he became a tutor.

Other potential careers had even
Included business traveller or
Consular role,  no prior thoughts
Had seen him in role of a soldier.

Neither man nor Doctor registered
Any omens, wherein his previous
Medical had not been signed off -
Owen stripped again, to be found fit.

At 5 foot 5, a height that had once
Been unacceptable Owen was taken
On, having a fit heart with 6/6 vision,
He stood with a chest of 36 1/2 inches.

X
The deed was finally completed, when
On Thursday 21 October 1915, saw
Three men to step forward to swear
Allegiance, to serve home and abroad.

Wilfred Edward Salter Owen stood
Before an officer, Captain Bloomfied,
To read out the oath and give a virgin
Bible, a considered and loving kiss.

Romance takes many forms - equal
To poets of old who might describe
Notions of duty, man's honour, pride
Or passion to die for one's country.

At moments when in life bold steps
Take a different unforeseen path,
Excitement might rule ignorance -
A man emerged; Private Owen 4756.

by Jamie Mann.

Hibberd, D., 2002. Wilfred Owen – A New Biography. London. Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Ch 9, Ch 10.

Mann, J., 2015. 100 years Ago - Poems by Jamie Mann. [letter] (Personal communication, 20 November 2015). 


#WW1 #WW1centenary #GreatWar #WW1poem #GreatWar #WW1centenary #worldwarone #worldwaroneremembered #WW1Poets