Poppy’s Day : exploring World War I and life in the trenches
The Year 10 pupils have been working on World War One in English and reflecting on their daily life in the trenches. They paid tribute to the soldiers by reciting and recording two iconic poems on Remembrance Day: In Flanders’ Fields by John McCrae and The Last Laugh by Wilfred Owen.
Discover their recording below:
In Flanders’ Fields
by John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
This poem was written during the First World War by Canadian physician Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae. He was inspired to write it on May 3, 1915, after presiding over the funeral of friend and fellow soldier Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, who died in the Second Battle of Ypres.¹ At that time he noted how poppies quickly grew around the graves of those who died in the battle.² According to legend, fellow soldiers retrieved the poem after McCrae, initially dissatisfied with his work, discarded it. In Flanders Fields was first published on December 8 of that year in the London magazine Punch.³
¹ Wikipedia, In Flanders Field, Introduction
² Gillmor, Don (2001), Canada: A People’s History, p. 93
³ Wikipedia, In Flanders Field, Introduction
The Last Laugh
By Wilfried Owen
‘O Jesus Christ! I’m hit,’ he said; and died.
Whether he vainly cursed or prayed indeed,
The Bullets chirped—In vain, vain, vain!
Machine-guns chuckled—Tut-tut! Tut-tut!
And the Big Gun guffawed.
Another sighed,—‘O Mother,—mother,—Dad!’
Then smiled at nothing, childlike, being dead.
And the lofty Shrapnel-cloud
Leisurely gestured,—Fool!
And the splinters spat, and tittered.
‘My Love!’ one moaned. Love-languid seemed his mood,
Till slowly lowered, his whole face kissed the mud.
And the Bayonets’ long teeth grinned;
Rabbles of Shells hooted and groaned;
And the Gas hissed.
Wilfred Owen, who wrote some of the best British poetry on World War I, composed nearly all of his poems in slightly over a year, from August 1917 to September 1918. By May 1918, Owen regarded his poems not only as indivudual expressions of intense experience but also as part of a book that would giver the reader a wide perspective on World War I. In November 1918, he was killed at the age of twenty-five, one week before the Armistice.
