Thursday, January 18, 2024

The Actor-Soldier

 

Red Cross Hospital #6-7, Souilly France (Oct. 1918) 
Library of Congress, Signal Corps

On the night of January 19, 1919, a sentry on the deck of the SS La Lorraine saw two women calmly walk to the ship’s rail, quickly climb over, and plunge into the icy water. By the time the Captain of the Lorraine could be notified, the ship had traveled five miles beyond the place the Cromwell twin sisters were last seen. Their double suicide provoked widespread public debate concerning the mental effects of war work on women volunteers (see previous post “The Extra”).  



Gladys and Dorothea Cromwell had sailed for France to volunteer in the Canteen Service of the Red Cross in January of 1918. For eight months they were stationed at Chalons-sur-Marne, working long shifts in support of the French army, sometimes under enemy fire. Anne Dunn, a former teacher who corresponded with the sisters during the war, writes, “they suffered from the exhaustion that is so acute to those who have never known physical labour; yet no one suspected until the end came that for many months they had believed their work a failure, and their efforts futile.... In September, at their own request, they were transferred to an Evacuation Hospital [because] ... they longed to work with ‘our own boys.’”* 



Gladys is 2nd from the left; Dorothea is far right
Red Cross Evac Hospital #6-7
LOC, SIGNAL CORPS (13 Oct 1918)

Anne Dunn reveals that the horrors of tending wounded and dying men near the Front at Verdun “broke their already overtaxed endurance. In the diaries they left, signs of mental breakdown begin to show as early as October…. but years of self-control and consideration for others made them conceal the black horror in which they lived—the agony through which they saw a world which they felt contained no refuge for beauty and quiet thought.  In such a world they conceived they had no place, and when on their way home, they jumped from the deck of the Lorraine, it was in response to a vision that promised them fulfilment and peace.”*



Gladys Cromwell’s Poems was published posthumously. Here is her first poem in the collection:



The Actor-Soldier

American volunteer at Red Cross Evac Hospital #6-7
Souilly, France (14 Oct 1918)
Library of Congress, Signal Corps
On the grass I’m lying,

My blanket is the sky;

This feeling is called dying.



No one will testify

They saw me suffer this;—

There’s no one passing by.



The wonder of it is,

I’m by myself at last

With plain realities.



No one is here to cast

A part for me to play;

My term of life is past.



No one is here to see

How I can meet and take

This end;—how gallantly—



Though the ice that binds a lake

Must weigh less heavily

Than Death to my soul awake.



I must have thirsted, indeed,

For pity, then love, then praise;

For to win them, in every deed,

I endeavoured all my days.



The Soldier and the Son

Were my seductive parts;

But I could act the clown,—

Draw laughter from dumb hearts.



The Soldier part was my best,—

’Twas my last and my favourite.

Every gift that I possessed

I displayed for their benefit.

Who are They? On my breast

Weighs the infinite.



Ah, yes, I appeared heroic,

Unflinching, true and brave;

I wore the look of a stoic;—

All hurts I forgave.



But now on the grass I turn

To ease a little the pain;

It is not too late to learn.



Last night I lay in the rain

Until  my body was numb,

Hearing like a refrain:

“O Masquerader, come!”

And even like a drum

It beat into my brain:

“O Masquerader, come!”

—Gladys Cromwell



Both the men and the women who experienced the suffering of the First World War often felt the need to repress their feelings of grief and horror. Whether acting as the clown, the hero, or the ministering angel, they numbed themselves to their own pain, believing “No one will testify / They saw me suffer this.”

Anna Ryan, another American volunteer in the Smith College Relief Unit, writes,

“The Cromwell sisters were working devotedly at Chalons-sur-Marne for weeks while I was there—a particularly trying post, as the town was then under bombardment from earth or air almost every day; and from there they went directly to another post of duty at Verdun. Although even robust soldiers must be relieved after six weeks at the Front, no one seems to have ordered these girls to take a rest. At the end, they were undoubtedly suffering from what the French call cafard, a condition of abysmal depression resulting from nerve-exhaustion. Unquestionably, they deserve to be honored among those who have died for their country and the cause.”**

Gladys’ and Dorothea’s bodies were recovered several months after their suicide; they were buried in France with military honors. Gladys Cromwell’s posthumously published Poems won the Poetry Society of America prize in 1920.***

I was fortunate enough to find a copy of Cromwell’s Poems; the inside cover is inscribed from “M.R.” to Rosina Sherman Hoyt.**** Below the inscription are penned the words, “White violets gathered at dawn.”

___________________________________________________________________________


* Anne Dunn, “Biographical Note” in Poems by Gladys Cromwell, Macmillan, 1919, pp. 116 – 117.  

** Harriet Monroe, “A Gold Star for Gladys Cromwell,” Poetry, vol. 13, no. 6, Mar. 1919, p. 328. 

*** For further information on the Cromwell sisters, see Jeff Richman’s blog post “A Twin Tragedy,” 23 Jan. 2017.
**** Rosina was a wealthy New York heiress who also wrote poetry and was the great-niece of Civil War general William Tecumseh Sherman. 

Friday, January 12, 2024

We can lay claim to nothing

 

Battlefield of Ypres
David Y Cameron, ©IWM ART 2626

It is estimated that 40,000 Welshmen died during the First World War.* One of those was the Welsh shepherd, soldier, and poet Private Ellis Humphrey Evans, better known by his Welsh bardic name, Hedd Wyn. 

Born in Trawsfyndd, Wales on January 13, 1887, Evans was killed on July 31, 1917 at Pilckem Ridge, near Ypres. Less than six weeks after his death, on September 6, 1917, Hedd Wyn was announced as the winner of the Welsh National Eisteddfod’s prestigious poetry chair. Learning that the poet had been killed in Flanders, presenters draped the chair in black, and since then the honor has been referred to as The Eisteddfod of the Black Chair. 

An anthology of Hedd Wyn’s poetry, Cerddi’r Bugail (The Shepherd’s Poems) was published posthumously in 1918. The best-known poem is “Rhyfel” (“War”) and was shared earlier on this blog. Here is another of Hedd Wyn’s war poems: 

The Black Dot         Y Blotyn Du†


We can lay no claim to the stars, Nid oes gennym hawl ar sêr,

Nor a yearning taste of the moon, Na’r lleuad hiraethus chwaith,

Nor the cloud with its gold border Na’r cwmwl o aur a ymylch

In monotonous blue. Yng nghanol y glesni maith.



We can lay claim to nothing Nid oes gennym hawl ar ddim byd

But the tired earth’s story; Ond ar yr hen ddaear wyw;

And the turning of all to disorder A honno sy’n anhrefn i gyd

Amongst God’s glory. Yng nghanol gogoniant Duw.
   
—Translated by Gillian Clarke††    —Hedd Wyn

David Goldie notes that Wyn’s “poems are not so much protests against the atrocities of war as mournful expressions of resignation at its effects.”** The poet writes with longing, but is unable to possess with any permanence the wonders of the stars, moon, and clouds. With poignant grief, the poet bears witness: the beauties of the natural world have been stained, and the chaos of war has disordered the glories of God on the earth. 

David Edward Pike writes, “The death of Hedd Wyn rapidly came to symbolise for Wales the loss of all those Welshmen killed in the war, and perhaps too a sense of the vulnerability of the rich and highly creative and poetic Christian culture of non-conformist Wales before the behemoth of secular, indifferent, mechanistic modernity.”***

For those interested in the art of translation and shaping meaning from one language to another, here are other excellent translations of the poem: “The Black Blot” by Michael Ratcliffe, “The Black Mark” by Ceridwens Soul, “The Black Blot” by Richard B. Gillion, “Black Spot” by A.Z. Foreman, “The Black Spot,” by Alan Lwyd, and “The Black Spot” by David Edward Pike.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* John Davies, “The legacy of WW1,” BBC Wales History, https://www.bbc.co.uk/wales/history/sites/themes/periods/ww1_background.shtml.
** David Goldie, “Archipelagic Poetry of the First World War,” in Poetry of the First World War, edited by Sananu Das, Cambridge UP, 2013, p. 166.
*** David Edward Pike [Welldigger], “100 Years Ago: Hedd Wyn,” https://daibach-welldigger.blogspot.com/2017/08/100-years-ago-hedd-wyn.html.

† The poem can be listened to in Welsh at this link: https://soundcloud.com/yrysgwrn/edgar-parry-williams-y-blotyn
†† Gillian Clarke in M. Elfyyn and J. Rowlands (editors) The Bloodaxe Book of Modern Welsh Poetry, Bloodaxe Books, 2003.