In the course of researching for my historical novel (in progress) I began reading about the War Poets: men whose experiences in the Great War gave rise to some of the most moving and heart wrenching poetry ever written. Unlike historical accounts with facts and statistics, the poetry brought to life (and death) the true suffering the men experienced during this dreadful conflict.
Robert Graves was a close friend of Siegfried Sassoon and like Sassoon used his experiences in the war as material for his poetry. He was badly wounded at The Battle of the Somme in 1917 and in addition, suffered the accompanying nightmare of shell shock. Nevertheless, unlike his friend Sassoon, he was never hospitalized for the condition. The story of his journey home, however, includes an odd series of coincidences both good and bad, that make for quite the interesting tale.
After the war, Robert Graves awaited demobilization while on leave in Ireland. For many men, the epidemic flu was hindering the process of returning them to their families. In February 1919, Graves finally received a telegram from the War Office confirming that his papers had come through. In order for the paperwork to be completed, however, Graves needed to return to the demobilization camp near his parents’ home in South London. Unfortunately for him, the release of troops from Ireland was about to be suspended due to the ‘Troubles’.
To make matters worse, he began to experience the intial symptoms of the deadly flu. Fearing for his health, should he be quarantined in an Irish hospital, Graves decided to make a run for it. He convinced an orderly sergeant to make out his travel papers and hopped on the next train from Limerick, even though he didn’t have the proper demobilization code marks. According to his memoir, Goodbye to All That, he said, “…I would at least have my flu out in an English and not an Irish hospital.”
On the night of February 13, 1919, he boarded the ferry to Fishguard with a high fever. He reports still having his mental faculties in good form, however. So upon discovering that a strike on the London Electric Railway was imminent, Graves immediately boarded a train from Wales to Paddington, in hopes of outrunning the inevitable disruptions. He made it safely and was able to catch the connecting trains and arrive at his home in Hove before travel was suspended. Another happy accident was that he found himself sharing a taxi with a soldier who just happened to be the Cork District Demobilization Officer and was willing to provide him with the final code marks he needed to complete his paperwork.
The bad news: upon arriving at his home, he was so ill that he immediately took to his bed. And though Graves himself recovered, within two days of his return home, everyone in his household was dead except for his father-in-law and a servant.
Here is one of his poems:
The Last Post (June 1916)
The bugler sent a call of high romance–
‘Lights out! Lights out!’ To the deserted square:
On the thin brazen notes he threw a prayer,
‘God, if this is for me in time in France…
O spare the phantom bugle as I lie
Dead in gas and smoke and roar of guns,
Dead in a row with other broken ones,
Lying so stiff and still under sky,
Jolly young Fusiliers, too good to die.’
The music ceased, and the red sunset flare
Was blood about his head as he stood there.
Image courtesy Australian War Memorial
Wow. Thanks for the poem and history, Meg. For some reason, I like these old war poems. Wilfred Owen’s Dulce et Decorum Est is another favorite. Grave’s history was all new to me and so heartbreaking. Thanks so much for sharing 🙂
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That’s one of my favorites too. I featured it a while back. The poems give such a deeply emotional take on the experience. I’m glad you ‘enjoyed’ it.
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My lord. Goes through all that trouble, makes it home safe, then everybody else died?!? What a cruel twist. Life can be so bizarre.
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I know! Isn’t that awful?!?
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Terrible time in our history.
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Most definitely 😞
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Hard to fake poems like these. Same with Wilfred Owen and others. Fascinating poem and an interesting anecdote to accompany it. Thanks, Meg.
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What a bizarre series of events! So many lucky breaks and then disaster upon reaching his home. I might read his entire memoir, although the article I pulled this information from said the memoir seemed rather fanciful in spots. Still…
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Excellent, destiny in all its forms
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Right? All those twists of fate, to smooth the path home and then, boom …
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The universe has a sense of iriny
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A keen one indeed!
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Sorry for the typo
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No problem
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I love these historical posts, Meg!
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Oh, good! I’m so glad. Thank you! I’m always afraid I’m the only one who finds this stuff interesting. 😜
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I think many of us find your research very interesting Meg. The more you read, the more futile war seems!
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It’s true. I’m glad you’re finding it interesting because I certainly am and I love sharing it!
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Meg, a heartbreaking poem along with an incredible story about Robert Graves. Wonderful that he makes it home, yet also tragic and sad. ~ Mia
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I thought the same. Such a tragic turn of fate after all those ‘lucky’ breaks. Thank you, Mia.
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You’re welcome Meg.
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Very moving story and poem. Did his family already have the flu when he got there or did he infect them, I wonder?
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I believe they were all healthy and he brought the flu with him. I wonder how he felt about that…
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I would feel a crippling guilt myself.
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As would I… 😨
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Fascinating as always. I love that you wrote about a POW this time around. How sad for him to survive war and a bad flue, and lose so many of his loved ones at home. At least from what I’ve studied at war, up until WWII, many men and civilians died more from disease which spread rampantly, than even those who died in combat. It’s very sad though, whether battle kills them or disease that could not yet be cured by antiobiotics, pencillian, or vaccinations. Although we know, sometimes the flu can still be deadly depending on the strain.
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Thank you, yes his was a sad tale… and to bring the flu home and have it wipe out most of his family? So tragic.
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