John Hunter Wickersham |
“The
A.E.F. was about the most sentimental outfit that ever lived. Most of it—so it seemed to anyone who served on
the staff of The Stars and Stripes—wrote poetry. All of it read poetry.” --John
T. Winterich, Yanks: A.E.F. Verse, 1919
While many
American Doughboys of the First World War were poets, only 119 were awarded America’s highest military decoration, the Congressional Medal of Honor. Lt. John Hunter Wickersham was both a poet
and a CMH hero.
Manual High School Memorial |
Perhaps crouched in a mud-filled trench waiting for H-Hour (the term was
first used in the battle), John Wickersham wrote his last letter home. In the note to his mother, he included a poem, most probably untitled. By the
time his mother received his letter, her son was dead. The poem first appeared
in a small Oregon newspaper the St. Helen’s
Mist on 13 December, 1918. The paper noted that the author had been killed in battle and gave it the title “Its Patter Touches the Heart”; Wickersham's aunt and uncle had shared the poem. In later anthologies, the poem appears as “Raindrops on your old tin hat.”
The mist hangs low and quiet on a ragged line of hills,
There's a whispering of wind across the flat,
You'd be feeling kind of lonesome if it wasn't for one thing--
The patter of the raindrops on your old tin hat.
An' you just can't help a-figuring--sitting there alone--
About this war and hero stuff and that,
And you wonder if they haven't sort of got things twisted up,
While the rain keeps up its patter on your old tin hat.
Rain Lake Zillebeke, Paul Nash |
When you step off with the outfit to do your little bit,
You're simply doing what you're s'posed to do--
And you don't take time to figure what you gain or what you lose,
It's the spirit of the game that brings you through.
But back at home she's waiting, writing cheerful little notes,
And every night she offers up a prayer
And just keeps on a-hoping that her soldier boy is safe--
The mother of the boy who's over there.
And, fellows, she's the hero of this great big ugly war,
And her prayer is on that wind across the flat,
And don't you reckon maybe it's her tears, and not the rain,
That's keeping up the patter on your old tin hat?
Most likely written shortly before the battle, Wickersham’s poem addresses his fellow soldiers who wait with him in the rain. Confronting the
likelihood of their own imminent deaths, the poem questions “this great big
ugly war.” Contemplating heroism and the killing to come, it concludes, “you
wonder if they haven’t sort of got things twisted up.”
Modestly, the poet states that as the soldiers “step off” together, each
contributes his “little bit” as they simply do “what you’re s’posed to do.” As
they attack under fire from the enemy’s machine guns and artillery, there will
be no time to consider why they are fighting or what might be gained or lost. Instead,
the men give themselves over to “the spirit of the game” and the camaraderie of
their units. They play together and fight for one another.
And on the eve of battle, thoughts inevitably turn to home. Thousands of
miles away, a mother waits in the heartland of America. She prays
every night for her son and masks her worries and fear in “writing cheerful little
notes.” Wickersham's poem, speaking to soldiers who endure rain, cold and ankle-deep mud, proclaims that the loved ones who anxiously wait are the real
heroes.
Despite the ugliness of the war, the poet hears whispered on the wind the prayers of the
soldiers’ loved ones, and the sound of the steady rain, rather than joining the men in misery, connects them with the tears of those who pray for their
return. Wickersham was not one of those who made it home.
The historian of the 353rd Infantry Regiment writes of the events of September 12, 1918, the morning of the attack:
89th Division in France |
… At exactly one o’clock
the preparatory bombardment began. More
than a million rounds of ammunition were consumed in the artillery preparation
which lasted from 1 am to 5 am. All
along the line the sky was lit up with flashes of heavy-caliber guns, distributed
in depth for almost ten kilometers to the rear. In the intermissions between
deafening explosions could be heard the puttering of machine guns.
[Sept 12th]…Some
losses occurred, too, from our own artillery.
“Follow the barrage,” were the orders. As soon as the barrage had lifted
from an objective ahead the men moved up, not realizing that the artillery
would roll back almost to their own position before moving forward again to the
next objective. As a result, Lieutenant Shaw was the victim of one of our own
shells a minute after he had led his platoon out, but his example carried the
men forward without their commander and in spite of many losses. While Lieutenant Wickersham was advancing
with his platoon, a shell burst at his feet and threw him into the air with
four mortal wounds. He dressed the
wounds of his orderly, improvised a tourniquet for his own thigh and then
ordered the advance to continue. Although
weakened by the loss of blood, he moved on with his pistol in his left hand
until he fell and died before aid could be administered to him. Everywhere action was heroic. Resistance and difficulties only brought it
into the sublime.”
St Mihiel cemetery, photo by Douglas Heimbigner |
By the end of the first day of the St. Mihiel offensive, the 353rd had lost nearly 250
men, 39 having “made the supreme sacrifice.” For his actions on September 12th,
John Hunter Wickersham was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor.
He is buried in France at St. Mihiel cemetery.
Adding Lieutenant Wickersham's Medal of Honor Citation for reference:
ReplyDelete*WICKERSHAM, J. HUNTER
Rank and organization: Second Lieutenant, U.S. Army, 353d Infantry, 89th Division
Place and date. Near Limey, France, 12 September 1918
Entered service at: Denver, Colo.
G.O. No.: 16, W.D., 1919
Citation: Advancing with his platoon during the St. Mihiel offensive, he was severely wounded in 4 places by the bursting of a high-explosive shell. Before receiving any aid for himself he dressed the wounds of his orderly, who was wounded at the same time. He then ordered and accompanied the further advance of his platoon, although weakened by the loss of blood. His right hand and arm being disabled by wounds, he continued to fire his revolver with his left hand until, exhausted by loss of blood, he fell and died from his wounds before aid could be administered.
Thanks, Eric, for sharing this account.
DeleteWickersham was a graduate of Manual High School in Denver, where there is a plaque honoring all fallen students from WWI. A very moving poem, especially for those of us who served in Vietnam.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for sharing this -- it's wonderful to know that the Manual H.S. has honored all who fought and died in WWI.
ReplyDeleteThank you for another very interesting post, Connie. Did you know that there are fifteen American women nurses also buried in Saint Mihiel American Cemetery, Thiaucourt-Regnieville, France?
ReplyDeleteThanks for the specifics on the nurses buried at St. Mihiel.
ReplyDeleteThis poem definitely resonates like one of the music hall monologues that were so popular at that time.
ReplyDeleteBorn in Brooklyn 1890
ReplyDeleteThanks, Jack, for pointing out Wickersham's Brooklyn connection (born on Feb. 3, 1890).
Delete