John Frederick Freeman (1880 – 1929) – British, critic, poet and writer

John Frederick Freeman was born on 29th January 1880 in Shoreditch, London, UK.  His parents were John Jacob Freeman and Catherine Esther, nee Botham.  John had three sisters – Emily born in 1874, Kate born in 1876, Florence born in 1878 and Beatrice, born in 1884.

In 1902, John married Gertrude Frances Farren. In 1911 he was working as an insurance clerk and the family lived in Penge. John and Gertrude had two daughters, Lucy and Catherine.   

During the First World War, John saw action on the Western Front, fighting at Messines and Passchendaele.

John was awarded the Hawthornden Prize in 1920 for “Poems new and old” (Selwyn &  Blount, London, 1920). He died in Anerley on 23rd September 1929.

John Frederick Freeman’s WW1 poetry collections were: 

“Presage of Victory and other poems of the time” Selwyn & Blount, London, 1916

“Stone trees and other poems” Selwyn & Blount, 1916

“Collected Poems” published in 1928 by Macmillan.

And his poems were published in 22 WW1 poetry anthologies.

“Last Hours” (which was set to music by poet, musician and composer Ivor Gurney - 1890 - 1937)

A gray day and quiet,

With slow clouds of gray,

And in dull air a cloud that falls, falls

All day.

The naked and stiff branches

Of oak, elm, thorn,

In the cold light are like men aged and

Forlorn.

Only a gray sky,

Grass, trees, grass again,

 And all the air a cloud that drips, drips,

 All day.

Lovely the lonely

Bare trees and green grass--

Lovelier now the last hours of slow winter

Slowly pass.

The Hawthornden Prize was set up in 1919 by Alice Warrender to be awarded to authors under the age of 41 for ‘imaginative literature’ – poetry or prose. 

Georges Audibert, Croix de Guerre (1885 – 1915) – French lawyer, writer and poet

While researching Marcel Audibert, a writer and friend of writer Paul Lintier*, to see

if he had written any poems, I discovered that Marcel's brother Georges was a poet

Georges Auguste Audibert was born in Lyon, France on 9th April 1885.  His parents were Adrien Audibert, a professor of law in the Faculty of Law, Paris, and his wife, Jeanne, nee Murier, daughter of French Senator Louis-Auguste Munier.

Like his father and elder brother, Marcel (who was also a writer), Georges studied law and became a lawyer, qualifying in 1912.  

Water distribution post, Artois, 1915

When war broke out, Georges became a Sergeant in the 246th French Infantry Regiment and fought in the Battles of the Marne, Crouy and Artois.  After thirteen months at war, Georges was killed during a scouting mission to reconoitre the enemy positions, for which he volunteered, at Souchez on 28th September 1915.  He was awarded the Croix de Guerre and the Medaille Militaire.  As a writer and poet, Georges Audibert’s name is on the walls of the Partheon in Paris among the other French poets and writers who were killed in WW1.

Some of the poems written by Georges before the First World War were published under the title “Sous les Yeux de la Mort” in 1918 by Editions Georges Crès et Cie., Paris, with a promise that more of his poems were to be published, along with some of his letters. The collection was dedicated to Gabriel HAUVETTE (21 May 1887- 13 May 1910, aged 22 years).

His poem "Je voudrais que mon âme.... Poème de Georges Audibert" (1926) was set to music in 1926 by Jacques Brillouin :

“Vieilles et Vieux” a poem by Georges Audibert from  “Sous les Yeux de la Mort”

Vieilles et vieux, vous qui semblez vivre sans transes

Près du feu clair moins doux que vos yeux de velours,

Et qui laissez tomber vos bras frêles et lourds

Sur vos regrets et sur vos mortes espérances.

Vous tressaillez encore des anciennes souffrances.

Vous frissonnez encore des anciennes amours,

Et les sanglots et les baisers des anciens jours

Glissent dans le secret de vos longues navrances. 

Pourquoi, pourquoi toujours contempler le passé?

C’est pour s’être perdus dans un rève effacé,

Que vos regards troublés vont si loin, et s’effacent. 

Ah! pauvres vieux enfants deçus, passionnés

Et qui, jusqu’au profond de vos coeurs qui se glacent,

Respirez le parfum de vos bouquet fanés!

Translaton: “Elderly women and men” 

Elderly women and men, you who seem to live without exaltation

Sitting near the bright fire less sweet than your velvet eyes,

And who drop your frail and heavy arms

On your regrets and on your dead expectations.

Thoughts of old sufferings still make you jump.

You still shiver thinking about former loves,

And the sobs and the kisses of the old days

Slip into the secrets of your long heartbreaks.

Why, why are you always thinking about the past?

Is it so you can get lost in a faded dream,

That your troubled looks go so far away, then fade.

Ah! poor things - children still - disappointed, passionate

You who, to the depths of your frozen hearts,

Breathe in the scent of your faded bouquets!

The French Croix de Guerre  

The Croix de Guerre is a military decoration of France created in 1915 and consists of a square-cross medal on two crossed swords, hanging from a ribbon with various degree pins. The decoration was first awarded during the First World War, again in World War II, and in other conflicts; the croix de guerre des théâtres d'opérations extérieures ("cross of war for external theatres of operations") was established in 1921. The Croix de Guerre was also bestowed on foreign military forces allied to France.

* http://fascinatingfactsofww1.blogspot.com/2023/01/paul-michel-lintier-1893-1916-french.html

Sources: Wikipedia and

http://medias.hachette-livre.fr/media/contenuNumerique/600/261121807.pdf

https://www.lieder.net/lieder/get_author_texts.html?AuthorId=28761

Patrick MacGill (1889 – 1963) - Irish journalist, poet and novelist, known as "The Navvy Poet" as he had worked as a labourer before he began writing seriously

Patrick MacGill was born in Glenties, County Donegal, Ireland on 24th December 1889. 

During the First World War, Patrick joined the London Irish Rifles (1/18th Battalion, The London Regiment), Soldier Number: A/1551, becoming a Sergeant.  He was wounded at the Battle of Loos on 28 October 1915.

In the Preface to his book “The Amateur Army” (Herbert Jenkins, London, 1915) Patrick wrote:

 “I am one of the million or more male residents of the United Kingdom, who a year ago had no special yearning towards military life, but who joined the army after war was declared. At Chelsea I found myself a unit of the 2nd London Irish Battalion, afterwards I was drilled into shape at the White City and training was concluded at St. Albans, where I was drafted into the 1st Battalion. In my spare time I wrote several articles dealing with the life of the soldier from the stage of raw "rooky" to that of finished fighter. These I now publish in book form, and trust that they may interest men who have joined the colours or who intend to take up the profession of arms and become members of the great brotherhood of fighters.

Patrick MacGill. "The London Irish," British Expeditionary Force, March 25th, 1915."

Patrick also wrote a novel based on his wartime experiences entitled “Children of the Dead End”.

After his recovery, Patrick was recruited into British military intelligence and wrote for MI 7b from 1916 until the Armistice in 1918.

In 1915, Patrick married Margaret C. Gibbons in London.  They had three children, Christine, Patricia and Sheila MacGill. Patrick went to America on a lecture tour in 1930, remained in America in poor health and died in Florida, USA on 22nd November 1963. He was buried in Fall River, Massachusetts.

An annual literary event, the Patrick MacGill Festival, is held in his home town  in his honour and a statue of him stands on the bridge where the main street crosses the river in Glenties.

Patrick MacGill’s WW1 poetry collection was published under the title “Soldier songs” (Jenkins, 1917) and he had poems published in ten WW1 anthologies. Here are some of his WW1 poems:

Death And Fairies

Before I joined the Army  

 I lived in Donegal,  

Where every night the Fairies  

 Would hold their carnival.  

 

But now I'm out in Flanders,          

 Where men like wheat-ears fall,  

And it's Death and not the Fairies  

 Who is holding carnival.

A Lament From The Trenches

I wish the sea was not so wide that parts me from my love;

I wish the things men do below were known to God above!

I wish that I were back again in the glens of Donegal,

They’d call me a coward if I return but a hero if I fall!

Is it better to be a living coward, or thrice a hero dead?

It’s better to go to sleep, m’lad, the colour-sergeant said.

Before the Charge

The night is still and the air is keen,

Tense with menace the time crawls by,

In front is the town and its homes are seen,

Blurred in outline against the sky.

The dead leaves float in the sighing air,

The darkness moves like a curtain drawn,

A veil which the morning sun will tear

From the face of death. – We charge at dawn.

Back At Loos

The dead men lay on the shell-scarred plain,

Where death and the autumn held their reign

Like banded ghosts in the heavens grey

The smoke of the conflict died away.

The boys whom I knew and loved were dead,

Where war's grim annals were writ in red,

In the town of Loos in the morning.

Sources:  Find my Past

Catherine W. Reilly “English Poetry of the First World War: A Bibliograph” (St. Martin’s Press, New York, 1978) p. 211.

Photo of Patrick in WW1 from his book “The Amateur Army” (Herbert Jenkins, London, 1915)

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/16078/16078-h/16078-h.htm

http://www.ricorso.net/rx/az-data/authors/Mac/M-Gill_P/life.htm

Kenneth Rand (1891 - 1918) - American WW1 poet

My grateful thanks to Paige Roberts, Director of Archives & Special Collections at Phillips Academy, Andover, Massachusetts for invaluable help in finding information about Andover students in WW1 

Kenneth Rand was born in Minneapolis, Minnesota on 8th May 1891. His parents were Alonzo Turner Rand (1854–1925), President of the Minneapolis Gas Company, and his wife, Louise Casey Rand (1861–1891). 

Kenneth’s early years were spent travelling in Europe. He was educated at Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts, where he was a member of the Mandolin Club and wrote for their student publication – “The Mirror”. 

After graduating from Phillips Academy, Kenneth went on to study at Yale University from 1910, where he majored in English literature, was a member of the Elizabethan Club, served as chairman of the board of the Yale Literary Magazine, as literary editor of the “Yale Courant”, contributed to campus humour magazine “The Yale Record” and was the class poet.

American author and literary scholar George Henry Nettleton (1874–1959), who became Professor of English in Yale’s Sheffield Scientific School in 1916,  called Rand's class poem, written as a senior, an unconscious prophecy.

The years have dropped behind us,

The years run out before,

The testing world shall find us

Full weight—we trust—and more.

Kenneth published three volumes of poetry and his poems were published in literary magazines of the time, including The Bellman, The Argosy, Lippincott’s, Snappy Stories, Sport Story Magazine, Picture-Play Weekly, Top-Notch, and The Smart Set.

When war broke out Kenneth tried to enlist. He volunteered for the Navy and all available Army branches, including the Aviation Corps, Infantry, and Artillery, and even attempted to enlist in the Canadian Army, but was rejected because of his poor eyesight.  He was eventually able to enlist in the Quartermaster Corps, and was stationed at Camp Meigs in Washington DC. Recommended to be sent for training as an officer to Camp Joseph E. Johnston, the main Quartermaster mobilization and training camp but after only 60 days at Camp Meigs he contracted influenza - during the great "Spanish flu" pandemic of 1918.   He was sent to Walter Reed Hospital, where he died on 15th October 1918. 

Kenneth's body was sent home to Minneapolis, where he was buried in uniform in Lakewood Cemetery, Minneapolis. Plot: Sec 2, Lot 414, Grave 4. 

The poet Harold Crawford Stearns, a classmate in Rand's graduating class at Phillips Academy, commemorated Rand in a poem entitled “Vale, Kenneth Rand.”  It concluded: 

Oh, Kenneth, how could dreams like ours be false?

Our Avalons, our bright Hesperides,

Our Inds, our islands washed by tropic seas

All faded … faded … echoes of a waltz…

You go (O world he reaches, hold him dear!);

I stay, to tend the embers falling here.

Works by Kenneth Rand:

"The Dirge of the Sea-Children and Other Poems" (Boston, Sherman, French & Company, 1913)

"The Rainbow Chaser and Other Poems" (Boston, Sherman, French & Company, 1914)

"The Dreamer and Other Poems" (Boston, Sherman, French & Company, 1915)

In his poem “Straw-Death”, Kenneth describes his regret at the prospect of dying in a sickbed instead of as a man of action. His final poem, “Limited Service Only”, was written a few days before his death. That poem was found in his uniform and at the time was considered one of the genuine poetic expressions of patriotism written during the Great War. The War Department published the poem on 2nd December 1918, along with a preface praising the "limited service men" who sought active service but because of physical limitations or other reasons were denied the privilege of joining the combatant forces of the United States.

“Limited Service Only”

I am not one of those the gods' decision

Has chosen for that highest gift of all –

The sacrifice, the splendor, and the vision –

To fight, and nobly fall:

And yet I know – what though it be but dreaming!

Should the day hang on some last desperate hope,

I – I – could lead one reckless column streaming

Down some shell-tortured slope.

To face the shadow-hell of Death's own Valley

With eyes unclouded and unlowered head –

Know, for an instant, one ecstatic rally

And then be cleanly dead.

Sources:  Wikipedia and 

https://ww1sacrifice.files.wordpress.com/2017/06/memorial-bell-tower-rededication-programme.pdf

Colwyn Erasmus Arnold Philipps MC, MiD (1888 - 1915) - British poet and professional soldier

Portrait from his
book of verses

Colwyn Erasmus Arnold Philipps was born on 11th December 1888.  His parents were the Rt. Hon. the 1st Viscount St. Davids, Privy Councillor (P.C.), and his wife, Leonora, nee Gerstenberg .  Colwyn's younger brother, The Hon. Roland Erasmus Philipps, was also killed in WW1.

His father described Colwyn thus:

“A born soldier, from the moment he decided whilst still at Eton to make the army his profession he was keen to do his work well and master every branch of it.”

Colwyn attended The Royal Military College, Sandhurst and was commissioned into the Royal Horse Guards Regiment on 6th October 1908.  Promoted to the rank of Lieutenant on 30th July 1909, in June 1911, Captain Philipps led the Escort for the return of King George V and Queen Mary from Windsor, the week after the Coronation.

Colwyn Philipps arrived in France on 1 November 1914 and was at the front three days later, where he immediately had his first taste of battle. 

He wrote about the experience:

“We did no good at all, never fired, but were simply a target for the German big guns; we were very lucky in having only half a dozen casualties. I expected to be frightened, or thrilled, or flurried; as a matter of fact I was bored to tears. The only interesting thing was to watch the German shells burning a large farm a hundred yards behind us. We sat in the trenches for forty-eight hours.” 

Colwyn was promoted to the rank of Temporary Captain in February 1915 and  volunteered to be attached to the Foot Guards at the front (his transfer came through the day after his death).

Colwyn Philipps was killed during the Second Battle of Ypres at the Battle of Frezenberg, near Ypres on 13th May 1915.   His body was never found but he is commemorated on the Menin Gate Memorial, Ypres on Panel 3.

illustration by William Barnes Wollen RI ROI
(6 October 1857–28 March 1936) 

The Second Battle of Ypres was fought from 22nd April – 25th May 1915 for control of the tactically important high ground to the east and south of the Flemish town of Ypres in western Belgium. The First Battle of Ypres was fought the previous autumn. The Second Battle of Ypres saw the first mass use by Germany of poison gas on the Western Front.

Like Julian Grenfell, Colwyn was a professional soldier who also wrote poetry. When his kit was sent home to his parents, the verse entitled “Release” was found in his notebook. An anthology of his poetry was published posthumously by his family.

“I Love” by Colwyn Philipps

I love thee as I love the holiest things,

Like perfect poetry and angels’ wings,

And cleanliness, and sacred motherhood,

And all things simple, sweetly pure, and good.

I love thee as I love a little child,

And calves and kittens, and all things soft and mild:

Things that I want to cuddle and to kiss,

And stroke and play with: dear, I love like this.

And, best of all, I love thee as a friend,

O fellow seeker of a mutual end!

“Release”

THERE is a healing magic in the night, 

The breeze blows cleaner than it did by day, 

Forgot the fever of the fuller light, 

And sorrow sinks insensibly away 

As if some saint a cool white hand did lay 

Upon the brow, and calm the restless brain. 

The moon looks down with pale unpassioned ray 

Sufficient for the hour is its pain. 

Be still and feel the night that hides away earth's stain. 

Be still and loose the sense of God in you, 

Be still and send your soul into the all, 

The vasty distance where the stars shine blue, 

No longer antlike on the earth to crawl. 

Released from time and sense of great or small, 

Float on the pinions of the Night-Queen's wings ; 

Soar till the swift inevitable fall 

Will drag you back into all the world's small things ; 

Yet for an hour be one with all escaped things. 

COLWYN PHILIPPS.* 

*Found in his note-book when his kit came home.

Sources: Find my Past, Wikipedia and

https://archive.org/stream/museinarmscollec00osbouoft/museinarmscollec00osbouoft_djvu.txt

https://warpoets.org.uk/worldwar1/poets-and-poetry/colwyn-erasmus-arnold-philipps/

Verses by Philipps, Colwyn Erasmus Arnold, 1888-1915 (Smith Elder & Co., London, 1915)

https://archive.org/details/versesphil00philiala

https://archive.org/details/versesphil00philiala/page/x/mode/2up

https://archive.org/details/versesphil00philiala/page/88

https://archive.org/details/versesphil00philiala/page/vi

John Hoexter - previously spelt Höxter (1884 – 1938) – German poet and artist

With thanks to AC Benus for finding this poet for us and translating the poem

Hoexter by L. Meidner,
1913

John Höxter was born on 2nd January 1884 in Hanover – his father was a merchant.   John studied art at the Berlin School of Applied Arts - his teacher was the artist Leon von König.  John began writing in 1908 with a review written for a German theatrical newspaper and went on to illustrate books, write poetry and design book covers.  He also wrote poems inspired by some of his paintings, which he called "word copies".

John served in the German Army during the First World War but was invalided out due to Tuberculosis. 

In November 1919 he launched the satirical journal “Der blutige Ernst”, which was taken over by Carl Einstein and George Grosz from the third issue.    John died on 15th November 1938 in Potsdam. 

 

AC Benus tells us that the poet Robert Jentzsch dedicated a collection of poetry ("Romantic Portraits") to John Höxter -  “Portrait of Hoexter” by Ludwig Meidner (1884–1966)

A poem by John Höxter kindly found for us by AC Benus and translated by him:

 “Berliner Winter”  

Erbssuppenhimmel, der zu Boden fließt –

Die Erde patscht.

Spreenebel und Schlotauswurf drücken

Der nackten, nassen Teerpappbauten Rücken.

Wie Scheuerlappen hingeklatscht

Schneeflächen, rußgefleckte, her und hin;

Des Großstadtwinters Bettelhermelin.

An fensterlosen, steilen Häusermauern,

Auf Schuppen, die umzäunt im Kehricht kauern,

Frieren erlosch’ne Farben der Reklamen,

Die einst Glutrosen, strahlende Cyklamen,

Goldgelbe Primeln, lilasüßer Flieder,

Einklangen in der Sonne Sommerlieder

Und die mich jetzt durch grelles Lärmen stören,

Mißtönend zu den grauen Dämmerchören,

Drin, hinter blätterlosem Baumgerippe

Flußbögen blinken und des Todes Hippe.

"Berlin Winter" 

A pea-soup fog, flows down from heaven – 

Splattering the earth. 

Spree river-mist and smokestack ejections press

Against the naked backs of wet tarpaper buildings. 

Scouring-pad patches of snow cling,

Soot-speckled, here and there;

A big-city winter beggar’s ermine.

On windowless, close-set house walls,

Above crouching sheds, fenced in by garbage,

Freeze the creased ruts of those billboards

That were once glowing roses, fulgent cyclamen,       

Saffron-gold primula, purple-sweet lilacs,

Lost in the sun of summer melodies,

But which now upset me through dissonance,

Mismatching these gray twilight choruses 

Where, amongst, the leafless skeletons of trees

The river bends flash with death's pruning knife.

NOTE The River Spree flows through Berlin. It is approximately 400 kilometres (250 mi) long and is the main tributary of the River Havel. The Spree is the main river of Berlin, Brandenburg, Lusatia, and the settlement area of the Sorbs, who call the River Sprjewja. The Sorbs are an indigenous West Slavic ethnic group predominantly inhabiting the parts of Lusatia located in the German states of Saxony and Brandenburg.

German artist Ludwig Meidner (1884–1966) - portrait of Hoexter, 1913

Writer, poet and translator AC Benus is the author of a book about German WW1 poet Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele : “The Thousandth Regiment: A Translation of and Commentary on Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele’s War Poems” by AC Benus (AC Benus, San Francisco, 2020). Along with Hans's story, the book includes original poems as well as translations.    ISBN: 978-1657220584

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1657220583

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1657220583

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