Arthur T. Greg |
“Love is stronger than death” reads the
epitaph on the headstone of Captain Arthur Tylston Greg, buried at Jussy Communal
cemetery in France. Shortly after the First World War was declared in August of 1914, Arthur Greg
left his law studies at Oxford and eagerly joined the British army. Serving
with the Cheshire Regiment near Ypres, Belgium, he was seriously wounded when
shot in the jaw in the spring of 1915.
Recovering from
his injuries, Greg rejoined the military and applied to the Royal Flying Corps.
By April of 1917, he had been certified as a pilot and returned to France to
join the 55 Squadron. Less than one
month later, on April 23rd of 1917, returning from a bombing mission
on an ammunition factory, Arthur Greg’s squadron was attacked by German
aircraft. Among the German pilots was
Herman Goering, the WWI ace who would survive to lead the Nazi Party and found
the Gestapo in WWII. Greg’s plane was
shot down, and although he crash-landed near St. Quentin, both he and his
mechanic died of their wounds.
In 1918, Arthur’s
sweetheart, Marian Allen, published a slim book of poetry, The Wind on the Downs. The poems chronicle Marian’s grief; “Out in
a gale of fallen leaves” was written six months after Greg’s death.
Out in a gale of
fallen leaves,
Where the wind
blows clear through the rain-soaked trees,
Where the sky is
torn betwixt cloud and blue
And the rain but
ceases to fall anew:
And dead leaves,
in bud on your April flight,
Will whisper
your name to the wind to-night
And the year is
dying in which you died
And I shall be
lonely this Christmas-tide.
Hyde
Park, October
Wind howls
in an October gale, dead leaves scrape across the ground, and rain drums down in
a London park, yet in the sounds of an autumn storm, the speaker of the poem hears
only the whisper of her dead lover’s name. The sight of the drifting leaves is
a poignant reminder that just a short time ago when spring buds on the trees heralded
new growth, the young airman too was alive and full of promise. Now, like the
leaves, he also has fallen from the torn sky.
In another poem
from Wind on the Downs, Marian Allen
remembers Arthur Greg and their happy past as she struggles to reconcile memory
with the future that lies before her:
I like to think
of you as brown and tall,
As strong and
living as you used to be,
In khaki tunic,
Sam-Brown belt and all,
And standing
there and laughing down at me.
Because they
tell me, dear, that you are dead.
Shared laughter
has been replaced by an echoing silence, and her memories are shadowed by his
loss. Recalling their war-time farewell in another poem, Allen writes, “His
footsteps echoed down the path to die.” As autumn deepens and gives way to the
bleakness of winter, there is some comfort in knowing that the year in which Arthur
Greg died is also ending. And yet she starkly acknowledges the emptiness that stretches
before her: “And I shall be lonely this Christmas-tide.”
Marian Allen
went on to write and illustrate several books for children; she returned to
Oxford where she died in 1953. She never
married.
Isn't this what the beauty of war poetry often comes up to : shattering sadness, but with a tinge of consolation?
ReplyDeleteThe silver lining surrounding the darkness of the cloud.
Beautifully said, Chris.
DeleteIsn't this what the beauty of war poetry often comes up to : shattering sadness, but with a tinge of consolation?
ReplyDeleteThe silver lining surrounding the darkness of the cloud.
A sad and lonely ending to her year. As if the leaves are likened to a comforting cloak, her true love Arthur did the same with his arms wrapped around her, now bare, empty and exposed.
ReplyDeleteA lovely, poetic reply. Thanks, Alan, for reading and commenting.
Delete