Monday, November 12, 2007

Ninety years ago


In November, 1917, the Canadian artillery battery that includes gunner Harry Whitfield Mollins has advanced into Belgium from northwestern France. In his November 9 diary page, he indicates that his unit is billeted in a building--instead of in dugouts near the guns--quite a distance from "the position" where the battery's big cannon are based.

He describes the depressing area and his grim feelings in the two days before his birthday. Friday, November 9: "This is an awful, desolate looking country. It is all torn up by shell fire. There are several tanks lying around out of action."

Then:

Saturday, November 10, 1917 Weather: Rain

Left the billets this morning at 7.30 for the guns. Arrived at 9 oclock. We were firing steadily nearly all day. "Fritz" [the German artillery] dropped some around pretty close & made us take cover several times. Raining all day. The mud is something fierce. All the shell holes are full of water. I am wet thru & coated with mud. Am disgusted with everything. Shall be glad when tomorrow morning comes. There is a steady stream of traffic on this road & the road is lined with dead horses and mules.

--

Sunday, November 11, 1917 Weather: Showers
Were relieved this morning at 9 A.M. Was never so thankful for anything in my life. Was wet thru & coated with mud from head to foot. Returned to billets & turned in for a sleep. Stayed in bed all day. We fired 240 rounds during our twenty-four hours duty This is my twenty-second birthday. Spent my last birthday in England and the one before that in Canada. Where shall I spend the next? I hope in Canada.
#

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Winter's a-comin', goldarnit!


On this day, our seven-eleven (7-11-07), Torontonians awoke to Celsian zero-zone weather--sub-freezing with the wind-chill factor--while snow-coloured clouds hung menacingly over our front-yard Maple, ironically still richly clad in golden leaves.

It made one think of Ezra Pound's variant rewrite of the Olde English song "Svmer is icumen in Lhude sing cuccu!"

You may recall that Pound put his parodic song this way:

Winter is icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.

Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damn you, sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, 'tis why I am, Goddamm,

So 'gainst the winter's balm.
Sing goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm,
Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.
- - - - - - - - -

Where my visitors are located