Wonderful, terrible days

Lindisfarne Castle on Holy Island

Poetry of the Great War can turn up in the most unlikely of places. 

If you watch the tides of the Northumberland coast and cross to Holy Island, and if you then make your way to Lindisfarne Castle, passing through the rooms redesigned by Sir Edward Lutyens in 1901, you will find on a small desk in the library three volumes: a biography of the Victorian heroine Grace Darling, the novel The Dog Crusoe, and a slim volume of poetry, The Poets in Picardy. The poems were written by Edward de Stein during his service on the Western Front with the Machine Gun Corps and King’s Royal Rifle Corps (60th Rifles). 

The last poem in the collection is titled Envoi, from the French “a sending forth, specifically, the action of sending forth a poem, the concluding part of a poetical composition.” 

Envoi

How shall I say good-bye to you, wonderful, terrible days
If I should live to live and leave ’neath an alien soil
You, my men, who taught me to walk with a smile in the ways
Of the valley of shadows, taught me to know you and love you, and toil
Glad in the glory of fellowship, happy in misery, strong
In the strength that laughs at its weakness, laughs at its sorrows and fears,
Facing the world that was not too kind with a jest and a song?
What can the world hold afterwards worthy of laughter or tears?
        —Edward de Stein 

Major de Stein survived three years on the Western Front, but never forgot the men he led and those who were left “‘neath an alien soil.” 

He prefaced his only poetry publication with a brief explanation: 


The rhymes in this volume were all jotted down in France during 1916, 1917, and 1918, either in the trenches, in billets, or in the more dignified purlieus of staff offices.  Any merit that may be found in them is due to the influence of that wonderful spirit of light-heartedness, that perpetual sense of the ridiculous which, even under the most appalling conditions, never seemed to desert the men with whom I was privileged to serve and which indeed seemed to flourish more freely in the mud and rain of the front line trenches than in the comparative comfort of billets or ‘cushy jobs,’ so that one was almost tempted to consider ‘humour’ with Asper* — ‘To be a quality of air and water!’

After the war, de Stein became a highly successful banker, serving during the Second World War as director of Finance for the Ministry of Supply (for which he was knighted in 1946). He bought Lindisfarne Castle in 1929, and he and his sister left it to the National Trust in 1944. 

De Stein died 3 November 1965, and his obituary in the London Times remembered his “indefinable flair....and intuitive judgment” as well as his qualities “of imagination and initiative” that made him successful. The charmingly frank obituary concludes:

More than most successful men ... he had a wide range of outside interests. He was a keen musician and was himself responsible for starting a series of chamber concerts. He was a gifted artist who took up water colouring and petit-point. He had a real talent for light verse, graceful and witty, but with no malice. He ran a boys’ club at Shepherd’s Bush, and played a prominent part in a number of other causes, in particular the British Red Cross, of which he was chairman of the finance committee for 14 years. A small, sprightly man, a delightful and amusing conversationalist, he was yet far from rumbustiousness in temperament and preferred to live his life in small groups. He had his vanities and sometimes failed to recognize that in small things his enthusiasms did not always match his skills. He was a keen bird-watcher, but his eye was not unerring. He was welcome at bridge tables, but for his person perhaps rather than his play. When he turned to gardening he was best suited to the role of patron and spectator. But these were but the idiosyncrasies of a genuine individualist. He was unmarried and lived all his life with his sister.** 

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* Slang term in First World War for wild activity or panic

**Edward de Stein: Developer of Companies,” London Times, 4 Nov. 1965, p. 13. 

Bingo, the trench dog

Jackie, South African baboon

Welsh Fusiliers goat

The pilots of the Lafayette Escadrille kept two lion cubs (Whiskey and Soda); the 2^nd Battalion of the Welsh Regiment had a goat (Taffy IV); the South African 3^rd Transvaal Regiment awarded a baboon named Jackie the rank of Private; Australians took a koala to war with them, and the American 102^nd Infantry Regiment proudly boasted the most decorated dog of the First World War, Sergeant Stubby, who participated in seventeen engagements and was wounded twice.*

The British Imperial War Museum estimates that at least 16 million animals served in the First World War, assisting in military efforts.**  The role of horses in the war has received increased attention since the 1982 publication of Michael Morpurgo’s children’s novel War Horse (as well as the release of the award-winning play and movie based on the book), but other animals also played a critical part.  Camels, mules, donkeys, canaries, pigeons, cats, and dogs were used to transport supplies, detect gas attacks, send messages, hunt rats, rescue the wounded, scout enemy territory, and keep watch as sentries. 

Care for wounded horses, WWI postcard from "The Sphere" (newspaper)

Just as importantly, animals provided comfort and companionship, reminding soldiers of home and of the ordinariness of life before the war. Many units had mascots, and soldiers often smuggled pets with them or adopted stray animals they found at the front. Cats were popular for their prowess in killing the millions of rats that swarmed the trenches, but for many soldiers, dogs were fondly regarded as man’s best friend. It is estimated that over 50,000 dogs accompanied the armies on both sides of the conflict. 

Tragically, animals also became military targets and casualties of war. It is estimated that as many as eight million horses died during the First World War, and countless other animals were also killed in the line of duty.  Edward de Stein, an officer in the King’s Royal Rifle Corps, wrote in memory of a trench dog who had endeared himself to all who knew him.

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF BINGO, OUR TRENCH DOG

                        —by the Trench Bard (Major E. De Stein)

Weep, weep, ye dwellers in the delvèd earth,

Ah, weep, ye watchers by the dismal shore

Of No Man's Land, for Bingo is no more;

Northumberland Fusilier with Sammy, the regimental dog

He is no more, and well ye knew his worth,

For whom on bully-beefless days were kept

Rare bones by each according to his means,

And, while the Quartermaster-Sergeant slept,

The elusive pork was rescued from the beans.

He is no more, and, impudently brave,

The loathly rats sit grinning on his grave.

Him mourn the grimy cooks and bombers ten,

The sentinels in lonely posts forlorn,

The fierce patrols with hands and tunics torn,

The furtive band of sanitary men.

The murmuring sound of grief along the length

Of traversed trench the startled Hun could hear;

The Captain, as he struck him off the strength,

Let fall a sad and solitary tear;

'Tis even said a batman passing by

Had seen the Sergeant-Major wipe his eye.

The fearful fervour of the feline chase

He never knew, poor dog, he never knew;

Content with optimistic zeal to woo

Reluctant rodents in this murky place,

He never played with children on clean grass,

Nor dozed at ease beside the glowing embers,

Nor watched with hopeful eye the tea-cakes pass,

Nor smelt the heather-smell of Scotch Septembers,

For he was born amid a world at war

Although unrecking what we struggled for.

Yet who shall say that Bingo was unblest

Though all his Sprattless† life was passed beneath

The roar of mortars and the whistling breath

Of grim, nocturnal heavies going west?

Unmoved he heard the evening hymn of hate,

Unmoved would gaze into his master's eyes.

For all the sorrows men for men create

In search of happiness wise dogs despise,

Finding ecstatic joy in every rag

And every smile of friendship worth a wag.

The poem displays a tender humor as it uses formal language and an elevated style to mourn the loss of a small dog with the undignified name of “Bingo.”  Although he was “impudently brave,” the poem provides no list of the animal’s heroic deeds, and yet “well ye knew his worth.”

Bingo’s value lay in how well he was loved. Men showed their devotion to the dog by sneaking bones from food rations and stealthily liberating pork from beans – treats that were then shared with Bingo. From the highest military authorities to the lowliest sanitation men assigned to maintain the unit’s latrines, everyone loved the trench dog. Across ranks and assignments—cooks, gunners, sergeants and lonely sentinels— all felt his loss; some wept.

Sergeant Stubby, mascot of the AEF's 102nd Regiment

Bingo lived a short and hard life, never experiencing the simple doggy delights of chasing a cat, playing with children, or sleeping beside the calm safety of a hearth, “For he was born amid a world at war.” The war shaped the dog’s life, though he knew nothing of its causes or purpose.  Instead, he found his purpose in love. Above the roar of the guns, Bingo’s ears were tuned to his master’s voice. Surrounded by the chaos of human hate and killing, he “Unmoved would gaze into his master’s eyes.” Smiles and unlooked for treats brought him ecstatic joy and reminded his human friends of the precious worth of friendships formed during war. 

For another post on dogs at war, see "The Mascot Speaks." 

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*Statistics on Sergeant Stubby are from Alan Taylor’s “World War I in Photos: Animals at War,” posted to the Atlantic website 27 April 2014.  Those wishing to learn more about Stubby may be interested in Ann Bausum’s book Sergeant Stubby: How a Stray Dog and His Best Friend Helped Win World War I and Stole the Heart of a Nation.

**Imperial War Museum website, “15 Animals that Went to War.
† Spratt's was the first company to mass-produce dog biscuits.