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<\/p>\nThe 11th of the 11th is not far off. The Australian War Memorial here in Canberra is demonstrating the community’s sorrow over all those who died in World War 1, the war to end all wars. Not. Crocheted and knitted poppies have been planted in the lawn, 62,000 of them, one for each of the dead, forming a sea of red spilling out in front of our beautiful war memorial building.<\/p>\n
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Poppy posts and photos are appearing all around the country. I’ve read that 62,000 poppies was the goal for the project, but the women (mostly women) contributed many many more. The extras have been used in a display in Parliament House and in towns around Australia. I made 12, and I taught my Japanese student to crochet and then she made 12. Our 24 poppies are there in the crowd somewhere.<\/p>\n
All this talk about the centenary of the armistice reminded me of a poem I read in my father’s poetry book that he brought back from World War 2. He recorded poems he wanted to remember, and re-reading this one leaves me wondering what it meant to him, especially the final verse. The poet was Rev. G. A. Studdert Kennedy who allowed it to be circulated among the soldiers. It speaks of a death by gassing and may have comforted some of those who had lost mates to this horrific weapon. My father’s father was gassed in 1916, but survived. Perhaps Dad had him in mind when he recorded this poem in 1942. Here’s his first page:<\/p>\n Reverend Geoffrey Studdert Kennedy was a volunteer British chaplain to the army on the western front, and was also known as Woodbine Willie for the Woodbines he smoked and handed out to the wounded and dying. He was a great anti-war poet.<\/p>\n Here’s the whole poem written in 1917 in soldier-dialect :<\/p>\n Thy Will Be Done by Rev. G. A. Studdert Kennedy, from Rough Rhymes of a Padre<\/em>, 1918<\/p>\n I WERE puzzled about this prayin’ stunt, <\/p>\n I prayed to the Lord Almighty above, <\/p>\n And yet ‘E ‘ad to go through wiv it, boys, *<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The 11th of the 11th is not far off. The Australian War Memorial here in Canberra is demonstrating the community’s sorrow over all those who died in World War 1, the war to end all wars. Not. Crocheted and knitted poppies have been planted in the lawn, 62,000 of them, one for each of the … <\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/soundslikewish.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/10\/REB_poetry_p8-826x1024.jpg\")
\n<\/strong>A Sermon in a Hospital<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nAnd all as the parsons say,
\nFor they kep’ on sayin’, and sayin’,
\nAnd yet it weren’t plain no way.
\nFor they told us never to worry,
\nBut simply to trust in the Lord,
\n“Ask and ye shall receive,” they said,
\nAnd it sounds orlright, but, Gawd!
\nIt’s a mighty puzzling business,
\nFor it don’t allus work that way,
\nYe may ask like mad, and ye don’t receive.
\nAs I found out t’other day.
\nI were sittin’ me down on my ‘unkers,
\nAnd ‘avin’ a pull at my pipe,
\nAnd larfin’ like fun at a blind old ‘Un,
\nWhat were ‘avin’ a try to snipe.
\nFor ‘e couldn’t shoot for monkey nuts,
\nThe blinkin’ blear-eyed ass,
\nSo I sits, and I spits, and I ‘ums a tune;
\nAnd I never thought o’ the gas.
\nThen all of a suddint I jumps to my feet,
\nFor I ‘eard the strombos sound,
\nAnd I pops up my ‘ead a bit over the bags
\nTo ‘ave a good look all round.
\nAnd there I seed it, comin’ across,
\nLike a girt big yaller cloud,
\nThen I ‘olds my breath, i’ the fear o’ death,
\nTill I bust, then I prayed aloud.<\/p>\n
\nFor to shift that blinkin’ wind,
\nBut it kep’ on blowin’ the same old way,
\nAnd the chap next me, ‘e grinned.
\n“It’s no use prayin’,” ‘e said, “let’s run,”
\nAnd we fairly took to our ‘eels,
\nBut the gas ran faster nor we could run,
\nAnd, Gawd, you know ‘ow it feels
\nLike a thousand rats and a million chats,
\nAll tearin’ away at your chest,
\nAnd your legs won’t run, and you’re fairly done,
\nAnd you’ve got to give up and rest.
\nThen the darkness comes, and ye knows no more
\nTill ye wakes in an ‘orspital bed.
\nAnd some never knows nothin’ more at all,
\nLike my pal Bill–‘e’s dead.
\nNow, ‘ow was it ‘E didn’t shift that wind,
\nWhen I axed in the name o’ the Lord?
\nWith the ‘orror of death in every breath,
\nStill I prayed every breath I drawed.
\nThat beat me clean, and I thought and I thought
\nTill I came near bustin’ my ‘ead.
\nIt weren’t for me I were grieved, ye see,
\nIt were my pal Bill–‘e’s dead.
\nFor me, I’m a single man, but Bill
\n‘As kiddies at ‘ome and a wife.
\nAnd why ever the Lord didn’t shift that wind
\nI just couldn’t see for my life.
\nBut I’ve just bin readin’ a story ‘ere,
\nOf the night afore Jesus died,
\nAnd of ‘ow ‘E prayed in Gethsemane,
\n‘Ow ‘E fell on ‘Is face and cried.
\nCried to the Lord Almighty above
\nTill ‘E broke in a bloody sweat,
\nAnd ‘E were the Son of the Lord, ‘E were,
\nAnd ‘E prayed to ‘Im ‘ard; and yet,<\/p>\n
\nJust same as pore Bill what died.
\n‘E prayed to the Lord, and ‘E sweated blood,
\nAnd yet ‘E were crucified.
\nBut ‘Is prayer were answered, I sees it now,
\nFor though ‘E were sorely tried,
\nStill ‘E went wiv ‘Is trust in the Lord unbroke,
\nAnd ‘Is soul it were satisfied.
\nFor ‘E felt ‘E were doin’ God’s Will, ye see,
\nWhat ‘E came on the earth to do,
\nAnd the answer what came to the prayers ‘E prayed
\nWere ‘Is power to see it through;
\nTo see it through to the bitter end,
\nAnd to die like a Gawd at the last,
\nIn a glory of light that were dawning bright
\nWi’ the sorrow of death all past.
\nAnd the Christ who was ‘ung on the Cross is Gawd,
\nTrue Gawd for me and you,
\nFor the only Gawd that a true man trusts
\nIs the Gawd what sees it through.
\nAnd Bill, ‘e were doin’ ‘is duty, boys,
\nWhat ‘e came on the earth to do,
\nAnd the answer what came to the prayers I prayed
\nWere ‘is power to see it through;
\nTo see it through to the very end,
\nAnd to die as my old pal died,
\nWi’ a thought for ‘is pal and a prayer for ‘is gal,
\nAnd ‘is brave ‘eart satisfied.<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/soundslikewish.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/10\/DSC04633-1024x683.jpg\")
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