Wilfred Owen, killed in action, 4 November 1918

Wilfred Edward Salter Owen was born a Shropshire lad on the 18th March 1893, the eldest of four children – sister, Mary and brothers Harold and Colin. Wilfred was educated at the Birkenhead Institute and then Shrewsbury Technical College. He did pass his matriculation exam for the University of London, but not securing a scholarship his parents could not afford for him to attend. Instead, he attended classes at University College, Reading and worked as a lay assistant to the Vicar of Dunsden. He taught English and French in Bordeaux, privately, from 1912. His poetic influences came from the Bible and John Keats and when war was declared he considered joining the French army, but later decided to return to England where he joined the Artists' Rifles for officer training and received his commission as second lieutenant in June 1916 with the Manchester Regiment.

After a number of traumatic experiences Wilfred Owen was diagnosed with neurasthenia (shell shock) and was sent to Craiglockhart War Hospital for officers, in Scotland. Here he met Siegfried Sassoon and that relationship transformed Owen's life.

One of the most outstanding pieces of Great War literature has to be Pat Barker's Regeneration Trilogy where both Owen and Sassoon are brought to life. Barker uses one of Owen's corrected poems, Anthem for Doomed Youth, to create a conversation between the pair in Regeneration. The third book, The Ghost Road, tells of Owen's tragic death on the 4th November 1918, just one week before the Armistice was signed.

On the 1st October 1918 Owen led units of the Second Manchesters to storm a number of enemy strong points near the village of Joncourt and was awarded the Military Cross for his courage and leadership, but was not gazetted until the 15th February 1919.

Owen was killed in action, aged just 25, on the 4th November 1918 during the crossing of the Sambre-Oise canal and was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant the day after his death. His parents received the sad news on Armistice Day. He is buried in Ors Communal Cemetery, France.

His poetry lives on and some of his famous works are used in many different ways; in schools, on memorials, as insignias. Only five of Owen's poems were published before he died.

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

from Anthem for Doomed Youth, 1917

Pals on the Somme - Sheffield Park - Poems

We are in a place called Sheffield Park; a tranquil and somewhat overwhelming corner of Somme countryside.  It’s quite a walk from the main Serre Road.  You can also get here by car if it isn’t too wet – you won’t want to get stuck in the Somme mud on rainy days though. The lane which takes you there is a dirt track across fields of crops.  You will see a British Cemetery (Serre Road No 3) and just behind it is Sheffield Park.  The path is lengthy and you never know, you might find some shrapnel, a bullet, a shell or other long buried relics of The Somme battlefields.   (Best not to touch the shells though, they may be live).

                         SHEFFIELD PARK

I approach Sheffield Park and see bricks,   

A Memorial,

To the brave Pals from Accrington. 

Stop.

Listen.

Red bricks.

Red Accrington bricks.

Travelled, as the men before them,

Here, to their final resting place.

I turn to the right,

There before me,

The Barnsley Pals

Honoured in stone.

Yorkshire lads,                                               

Brave,

Slaughtered,

Remembered here. 

Burnley,

Chorley,

'Where larks sing        

and poppies grow,

they sleep in peace

for evermore'.

  

I walk down the gentle slope,

Scarred earth, now covered in verdant grass,

Pitted with deep craters,

Shell-holes where men lost their lives. 

At the foot,

Railway Hollow.

Quiet simplicity,

Serene,

The most tranquil of places

I could ever imagine. 

The stillness wraps around me,

I close my eyes,

I hear the guns which boomed

Nearly a hundred years ago.

One of the many hundreds of casualties here on the morning of 1^st July 1916 was the poet
 John William Streets. John's body was not found for almost a year.

In memory and honour of these brave Pals, I have written a poem, which I would like to share with you .

Pals

In this lonely place                                                      

    rows of white stone

        mark the spot                                                                      

                   
                   where we once saw the dawn. 

                                                                                     

In this lonely place

     a solitary oak 

         whispers its sadness

                   where we once carved our names.

In this lonely place

     a flower blooms

         bright as the sun

                   that once warmed our cold backs.

In this lonely place,

    a breeze ripples grass

        silent now

                  where once we sought sleep.

In this lonely place

    a bird bravely flies

        soaring above

                   where the Howitzers roared.

In this lonely place

      shell-holes remain

         empty craters

                  Armageddon we once faced.

In this lonely place

    a rabbit passes by

       on the same earth

                   that once oozed the smell of mortal fear.

In this lonely place

    a whistle blew

        over we went

             where shells scorched Picardie.

In this lonely place

    a battle raged

      pals joined in conflict

                    divided ranks, into hell we ran.  

In this lonely place

    a tear was shed

        destiny marked

                     with the vile taste of despair.

In this lonely place

    the sun went down

         mud took claim

              where a Bergmann gun^[1]spat our names.

                            

  We prayed

       We cried

              We lived

                     We died

                                    In this lonely place.

THEIR NAME LIVETH FOR EVERMORE

^[1] Bergmann machine guns were not used on the Somme until 1918

© Karen Ette

Best Billet on the Somme

English Ancestry