A.A. Milne |
“When the War is
over and the sword at last we sheathe, / I'm going to keep a jelly-fish and
listen to it breathe,” wrote Alan Alexander Milne in his one of his “War-Time”
poems. Best known as the author of the Winnie
the Pooh stories, Milne was also a war writer. He joined the Royal
Warwickshire Regiment in February of 1915 and served as a Signal Corps officer
until trench fever sent him back to England in November of 1916. Milne rejoined
the army after Christmas, but was again hospitalized and declared unfit for
active service at the front. He served
with British military intelligence for the rest of the war, writing propaganda
articles until his discharge in February of 1919. In 1921, he published The Sunny Side, a collection of poems
and essays dedicated “To Owen Seaman affectionately in memory of nine happy
years at the “Punch” office.” The book was divided into seven sections—the
fourth was titled “War-Time.”
Milne’s war
poems and sketches are witty and light-hearted, but a deep note of sadness often
echoes beneath the surface.
From a Full Heart
In days of peace my fellow-men
Rightly regarded me as more like
A Bishop than a Major-Gen.,
And nothing since has made me warlike;
But when this age-long struggle ends
And I have seen the Allies dish up
The goose of Hindenburg—oh, friends!
I shall out-bish the mildest Bishop.
When the War is over and the Kaiser's out of print,
I'm going to buy some tortoises and watch the beggars sprint;
When the War is over and the sword at last we sheathe,
I'm going to keep a jelly-fish and listen to it breathe.
I never really longed for gore,
And any taste for red corpuscles
That lingered with me left before
The German troops had entered Brussels.
In early days the Colonel’s “Shun!”
Froze me; and, as the War grew older,
The noise of someone else's gun
Left me considerably colder.
When the War is over and the battle has been won,
I'm going to buy a barnacle and take it for a run;
When the War is over and the German Fleet we sink,
I'm going to keep a silk-worm's egg and listen to it think.
The Captains and the Kings depart—
It may be so, but not lieutenants;
Dawn after weary dawn I start
The never-ending round of penance;
One rock amid the welter stands
On which my gaze is fixed intently—
An after-life in quiet hands
Lived very lazily and gently.
When the War is over and we've done the Belgians proud,
I'm going to keep a chrysalis and read to it aloud;Rightly regarded me as more like
A Bishop than a Major-Gen.,
And nothing since has made me warlike;
But when this age-long struggle ends
And I have seen the Allies dish up
The goose of Hindenburg—oh, friends!
I shall out-bish the mildest Bishop.
When the War is over and the Kaiser's out of print,
I'm going to buy some tortoises and watch the beggars sprint;
When the War is over and the sword at last we sheathe,
I'm going to keep a jelly-fish and listen to it breathe.
I never really longed for gore,
And any taste for red corpuscles
That lingered with me left before
The German troops had entered Brussels.
In early days the Colonel’s “Shun!”
Froze me; and, as the War grew older,
The noise of someone else's gun
Left me considerably colder.
When the War is over and the battle has been won,
I'm going to buy a barnacle and take it for a run;
When the War is over and the German Fleet we sink,
I'm going to keep a silk-worm's egg and listen to it think.
The Captains and the Kings depart—
It may be so, but not lieutenants;
Dawn after weary dawn I start
The never-ending round of penance;
One rock amid the welter stands
On which my gaze is fixed intently—
An after-life in quiet hands
Lived very lazily and gently.
When the War is over and we've done the Belgians proud,
When the War is over and we've finished up the show,
I'm going to plant a lemon-pip and listen to it grow.
Oh, I'm tired of the noise and the turmoil of battle
I'm going to plant a lemon-pip and listen to it grow.
Oh, I'm tired of the noise and the turmoil of battle
And I'm even upset by the lowing of
cattle,
And the clang of' the bluebells is death to my liver,
And the roar of the dandelion gives me a shiver,
And a glacier, in movement, is much too exciting,
And I'm nervous, when standing on one, of alighting—
Give me Peace; that is all, that is all that I seek…
Say, starting on Saturday week.
And the clang of' the bluebells is death to my liver,
And the roar of the dandelion gives me a shiver,
And a glacier, in movement, is much too exciting,
And I'm nervous, when standing on one, of alighting—
Give me Peace; that is all, that is all that I seek…
Say, starting on Saturday week.
—A.A. Milne
“From a Full
Heart” is the confession of a man who does not welcome war—he longs for the
quiet pleasures of a simple life. The First World War has not changed the
man, but rather exacerbated his fears: chilled by the sound of
guns, he now startles at the “clang of bluebells” and the “roar of a dandelion.”
His plans after the war are absurd: he wants nothing more than to take
barnacles for a run, listen to the musings of silk-worm’s egg, read to a
chrysalis, and listen to a lemon seed grow. He desires nothing more than Peace.
A decade after
the war had ended, Milne explained to young readers why poetry matters: “Every
piece of poetry has a music of its own which it is humming to itself as it goes
along … verses sing themselves into people’s heads, and stay there for ever, so
that even when they are alone and unhappy they have this music with them for
company.”*
Milne and his son, Christopher Robin |
Milne scholar
Ann Thwaite writes, “The House at Pooh
Corner [published in 1928] stands
in a glade between two dark shadows—the aftermath of one war that had just
finished and the dread of one coming. No one who fought in the First World War
knew it was the First World War. On the contrary, they had been told that they
were fighting the war that would end all wars. It must have been with the most
bitter irony and failure, then, that that generation—Milne’s generation—watched
their children march away to a war that they had been told would never happen.”**
In 1934, A.A. Milne published his
argument for pacifism, Peace with Honour,
in which he wrote, “I want everybody to think (as I do) that war is poison,
and not (as so many think) an over-strong, extremely unpleasant medicine.”
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* A.A. Milne, author’s
“Preface” to The Christopher Robin Story
Book, Methuen, 1929.
** Ann Thwaite, Goodbye Christopher Robin: AA Milne and the
Making of Winnie-the-Pooh, by Ann Thwaite, St. Martin’s, 2017
I do like his poison/medicine comparison
ReplyDeleteA wonderful writer, a powerful comparison/contrast. Thanks for reading and replying, Ian.
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