Sir Herbert Edward Read, DSO, MC, Mentioned in Despatches (1893 – 1968) – British soldier poet, artist, art historian, literary critic and philosopher.

Herbert in WW1

Herbert Edward Read was born in Kirbymoorside, North Riding of Yorkshire, UK on 4th December 1893.  His parents were Herbert Edward Read, a farmer, and his wife, Eliza, nee Strickland. 

Herbert was studying at the University of Leeds when the First World War began. He was commissioned in January 1915 into the Green Howards Regiment and was awarded the Military Cross in 1917 and the Distinguished Service Order in 1918.  His final rank was Captain.

During the First World War, Herbert served in France.  He also founded the magazine “Arts & Letters” with Frank Rutter.

Knighted in 1953 "for services to literature", Herbert died on 12th June 1968

On 11th November 1985, Herbert Read was among 16 of the Great War poets commemorated on a slate stone unveiled in Westminster Abbey in London, UK.  The area is known as Poet's Corner.

The Green Howards (Alexandra, Princess of Wales's Own Yorkshire Regiment), frequently known as the Yorkshire Regiment, was a line infantry regiment of the British Army in the King's Division. Raised in 1688, it served under various titles until it was amalgamated with the Prince of Wales's Own Regiment of Yorkshire and the Duke of Wellington's Regiment (West Riding), all Yorkshire-based regiments in the King's Division, to form the Yorkshire Regiment (14th/15th, 19th and 33rd/76th Foot) on 6 June 2006.

Green Howards Cap Badge

Herbert's WW1 Poetry Collections were:

“Songs of Chaos”, 1915

“Naked Warriors”, (Art & Letters, 1919) 

And his poems were included in seven WW1 poetry anthologies.

Although not a poem written during WW1, I feel this poem by Herbert Read is nevertheless relevant:

"To A Conscript Of 1940" by Herbert Read

A soldier passed me in the freshly fallen snow,

His footsteps muffled, his face unearthly grey:

And my heart gave a sudden leap

As I gazed on a ghost of five-and-twenty years ago.

I shouted Halt! and my voice had the old accustom'd ring

And he obeyed it as it was obeyed

In the shrouded days when I too was one

Into the unknown. He turned towards me and I said:

`I am one of those who went before you

Five-and-twenty years ago: one of the many who never returned,

Of the many who returned and yet were dead.

We went where you are going, into the rain and the mud:

We fought as you will fight

With death and darkness and despair;

We gave what you will give-our brains and our blood.

We think we gave in vain. The world was not renewed.

There was hope in the homestead and anger in the streets,

But the old world was restored and we returned

To the dreary field and workshop, and the immemorial feud

Of rich and poor. Our victory was our defeat.

Power was retained where power had been misused

And youth was left to sweep away

The ashes that the fires had strewn beneath our feet.

But one thing we learned: there is no glory in the dead

Until the soldier wears a badge of tarnish'd braid;

There are heroes who have heard the rally and have seen

The glitter of garland round their head.

Theirs is the hollow victory. They are deceived.

But you my brother and my ghost, if you can go

Knowing that there is no reward, no certain use

In all your sacrifice, then honour is reprieved.

To fight without hope is to fight with grace,

The self reconstructed, the false heart repaired.'

Then I turned with a smile, and he answered my salute

As he stood against the fretted hedge, which was like white lace.

Sources:

Catherine W. Reilly “English Poetry of the First World War: A Bibliography” (St. Martin’s Press, New York, 1978) p. 261

http://authorscalendar.info/hread.htm

https://allpoetry.com/To-A-Conscript-Of-1940

The Green Howards Museum