The war to end all wars

[altariel]

kathyh's post marks the 90th anniversary of Britain's entry into World War I. Four veterans laid wreaths at the Cenotaph this morning.

My uncle Francis (yes, my dad's brother) came home shellshocked from the trenches. I don't know details of his service record. He died in the 1940s from drink. A story is told on my mother's side of the family that one of my great-uncles side was conscripted and deserted, going back to Ireland.



There are some extraordinary pieces written by Tolkien fanwriters responding to Tolkien's own experience in the trenches:

Captain Tinkerbell by maelipstick

Chance's Strange Arithmetic by ithilwen


***

But cursed are dullards whom no cannon stuns,
That they should be as stones.
Wretched are they, and mean
With paucity that never was simplicity.
By choice they made themselves immune
To pity and whatever moans in man
Before the last sea and the hapless stars;
Whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
Whatever shares
The eternal reciprocity of tears.

Wilfred Owen, Insensibility

Comments

[kathyh]

Thanks for the links to the Tolkien stories, I haven't read either of them but will now. I've got the book Tolkien and the Great War but haven't plucked up enough courage to read it yet.

On a more cheery note I saw a copy of your Worlds of Star Trek book in our local Smiths today. It must be getting good distribution if they have it in Smiths.

[altariel.livejournal.com]

They're both excellent short stories. The Great War book is heart-breaking in places. The discussions of Tolkien's early work are very good, if you want to start with something less distressing.

Glad you spotted WoDS9! I saw it at King's Cross Smiths a couple of weeks ago and was pretty pleased with myself! ;-)

[the-wild-iris.livejournal.com]

I didn't know if you wanted to start a scrapbook here, but -


Stand-To

Slowly, too slowly, the night, with its
noise and its fear and its murder,
yields to the dawn. One by one the
guns cease. Quicker, O dawn,
quicker - dazzle the hateful stars,
lighten for us the weight of
the shadows.
The last rat scuttles away; the first
lark thrills with a beating of wings
and song. The light is soft;
deliberately, consciously, the young
dawn moves. My unclean flesh is
penetrated with her sweetness and
she does not disdain even me.
Out of the east as from a temple
comes a procession of girls and young
men, smiling, brave, candid,
ignorant of grief.
Few men know the full bitterness of
night, but they alone will know the
full beauty of dawn - if
dawn ever comes.

- Richard Aldington

[altariel.livejournal.com]

Wow, I need to start reading Aldington.