'Over the Top: Ypres, July 31, 1917', a Great War Poem by 'Sgt. S. B. Fullerton, Returned Soldier'

Century-old verse by Stanley Burton Fullerton (1869-1952), resident of Amherst, Nova Scotia, from his self-published chapbook Poems (1918). The poet's spelling and punctuation are respected, as is his false claim to having achieved the rank of sergeant.

OVER THE TOP

Ypres, July 31, 1917 

Calm was the morning, not a Hun to be seen,

     As I peeped o'er the land which at one time was green

There in the distance, with a tangle and twine

     Lay the broken barbed wire of the German first line 

Peacefull it looks now, but, ah, they don't know

     That our Boys will be over, we have not long to go.

As I stood in the trench with my phone on my back,

     I looked at our boys who were soon to attack. 

You could tell by their faces, they were deeply in thought

     As you'll always see them before the battle is fought

I then heard a whisper, what's that I hear?

     It was passed by their Captain, is the signaller here. 

Yes, I replied, sir, he answered, thank you

     Two minutes, sir, for zero, it was time to stand to

In that two minutes, they filled the first line,

     Then a roll of great thunder and up went our mine. 

Oh, what an explosion it made one feel shocked

     As we stooped 'til it settled, Lord, how the ground rocked

Then, with a spring, a jump and a hop,

     Like pulled with a string we were over the top. 

Crash, bang, went our guns an unceasing clatter

     As the German first line we started to batter. 

It was like one long fire, with a bursting of shell 

     Nothing could be worse for him, no, not even hell, 

We reached their first line and were slashing them hard,

     Some called for mercy Oh, mercy comrad

With terror stricken faces they were trembling with fright,

     When we get to close quarters they've no heart to fight. 

Onward we went with a rush through the mud

     For our next obective which was, this time, a wood.

At this we were cautious, they had so many runs,

     We knew it was fortified with many machine guns. 

I spoke on my phone and warned my O. C.

     Fire on second target, sir, the big scraggy tree.

I'm going to fire now, he said, so take a good sight

     That is just about it, sir, try two degrees, right 

Got them, that's perfect let them have fifty rounds;

     I knew that would get them, they are running like hounds. 

Now for a smoke as calmly I stood

     Watching my shells burst into the wood. 

Then came a runner with a message that read

     Order all guns to lift, we will now go ahead.

Onward they went, some at the double

     Taking the same wood without so much trouble. 

Then came the report; our objectives are gained 

     The advance was completed so there they remained

It was now gettiug late and night drawing near

     So I found an old dug out, says I, I'l stop here. 

What a miserable feeling as I sat there alone 

     And smoked up my woodbine with my ear to the phone

Then laid my head on a dirty old sack

     Waiting, in case of a counter attack.  

It poured, Heavens hard, rained all through the night, 

     Wet through and slashed up, I did look a sight;

Moreover than that I was feeling half dead 

     Being forced to partake of some German black bread. 

Then came the next morning I was pleased to see light,

     Thanking God to myself for his guard through the night

On my phone came a call so I answered hello;

     A Battery, signaller, you may pick up and go. 

I then disconnected, put the phone on my back

     Then took a glimpse around to make sure of my track.

I braced myself up after picking my trace,

     Then set off in excitement, you bet, a good pace 

Firmiy I walked beneath the Hun's bursting shell

     I am in for a hot time, I know it quite well

Then eventually I reached my old battery once more

     I was pleased to sit down by my old dug out door 

I sat there thinking of what would come next

     I thought of the trenches so badly wrecked.

I have been in some battles but proved this the worst

     I will never forget YPRES on July thirty first

Related post:

'After Ypres' by Robert Stanley Weir

The Dusty Bookcase in the Toronto Star

Not my pool, sadly, but that belonging to a friend and old work colleague. Today's Saturday Star features a piece by Nick Patch on the forthcoming Dusty Bookcase book. Although the article itself isn't available online – not to non-subscribers – my picks of five books worthy of attention is open to all:

Rare Reading List: Four Essential Obscure Canadian Reads

(And One Non-Essential)

Because I've received requests for links to my writing on the titles mentioned in the list and article:

The Last Canadian - William C. Heine

Toronto Doctor - Sol Allen

Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk - Maria Monk

The Plouffe Family - Roger Lemelin

A Stranger and Afraid - Marika Robert

The Midnight Queen - May Agnes Fleming

Orphan Street - André Langevin

Michael's Crag - Grant Allen

Bilingual Today, French Tomorrow - J.V. Andrew

The publication date for The Dusty Bookcase is 15 August. It is available for pre-order at Amazon, Chapters/Indigo, and McNally Robinson.

Where Is Jenny Now?

Did she forget to pack pyjamas? Who wears shoes to bed? These questions and others are answered in my new review of Frances Shelley Wees' 1958 mystery, just posted at at the Canadian Notes & Queries website. You can read it here:

To Serve and To Serve and Protect

Regular readers may remember my praise for Wees' The Keys of My Prison, a mystery I liked so much that I worked to get it back into print as part of the Véhicule Press Ricochet Books series. Will history repeat itself? I somehow doubt it.

Related posts:

A Rival for Margaret Millar?

Romance and the Psychopath's Daughter

The Return of Frances Shelley Wees

CBC Books' French Problem

The time has come to ask why CBC Books demonstrates so little regard for this country's French language writing. Published yesterday, its 150-title "Great Canadian Reading List" features just six books in translation from French into English. That's one fewer than the number written by women named Margaret.

Coincidentally, CBC Books' abysmal "100 Novels that make you feel proud to be Canadian" from three years ago also featured six. The number in its 2015 "100 young adult books that make you proud to be Canadian" list was one.

I'm not the first to note that the maple leaf featured in its photo is Japanese, though I do believe I am the first to point out that the pages are blank.

Related posts:

Why You Shouldn't Feel Bad about the 100 Novels That Make You Proud to Be Canadian List (and Why the CBC Should)

CBC's Awful List, Radio-Canada's Disheartening List
and Perhaps the Best Book List I've Ever Seen

Canada's 100 Best Books? 102? 110?

Cover and Illustrations by Seth!

With just about a month until The Dusty Bookcase begins arriving in stores, it seems a good time to reveal the final cover design. I have Seth to thank for this and the interior illustrations.

I can also reveal that the book will be 368 pages – 64 more than first announced. More books, more dust!

The Dusty Bookcase is available for pre-order at Amazon, Chapters/Indigo, and McNally Robinson.

'Canada to England, July 1st, 1917' by Horace Bray

A 100-year-old poem for the sesquicentennial, written during the dark days of the Great War by Horace Bray of Thamesview, Ontario. A rector's son, the poet enlisted in the Canadian Over-Seas Expeditionary Force at the age of eighteen. He fought in the cavalry at the Ypres salient, and was badly wounded. After recovery, Bray joined the RAF. On July 9, 1918, he was killed in a mid-air collision over Shropshire, England.

This version of the poem is taken from John W. Garvin's anthology Canadian Poems of the Great War (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1918).

CANADA TO ENGLAND, JULY 1ST, 1917 

We hold the pride You held — and now we give

        New pride to add unto your garnered store,

New deeds beside the old ones, meet to live

        And pass into our hearts forevermore.

We do not boast: but we are proud this day

        That we have stood the stern and sudden test;

We too have done a little in the fray,

        And we have given of our little best.

We too have lost the ones we held most dear,

        And we are linked by a new bond of grief;

We too have fought against and mastered fear,

        We have sought comfort of the same Belief.

Men called you great, and feared your anger just —

        May we too know the strength of noble ire:

As all men honour you because they must,

        Teach us to grasp a little of your fire.

Now we are proud, and thankful that the Day

        That saw your testing, gave to us our trial,

To pay the debt our fathers fain would pay

        And chalk the even score upon the dial.

Mother and daughters now may journey forth

        Comrades in arms, along that better way

That comes with Peace, and things of nobler worth,

        And brings the dawning of a brighter day.

Perchance in days gone by, we thought you cold —

        You may have thought us childish still, and weak —

But now we know; we know your heart of Gold;

        We know the things you felt and could not speak.

And you, mayhap, have learned a little too,

        Of eager youth, impetuous to aid,

Impatient of delay, and quick to do,

       Too young, too ignorant, to be afraid.

O little Mother of the Island Race!

        O Mother-Mistress of the distant seas!

We heard your call, and proudly take our place

        Now by your side, no longer at your knees!

Horace Edgar Kingsmill Bray
1896-1918
RIP

Related posts:

'O Canada! beloved native land...'
'O Canada! our native land thou art!'
Patriotic Verse from the Garden of a Girl's Dreams
A 123-Year-Old Poem for Canada Day

Two Hurrahs for the New Dominion

Charles G.D. Roberts' Dominion Day Collect

More News from a Messy Desk in a Dusty Room

I wrote in the previous post that changes were afoot... and now they've begun. Starting this week, most new reviews of our suppressed, ignored, and forgotten will be posted at the Canadian Notes & Queries website. In fact, the first, of Kenneth Orvis's Cry Hallelujah!, went up just yesterday.

I've been researching Orvis on and off for three years now. A fascinating figure, he was born and raised in Montreal, yet I've not been able to find a single person who knew the man. Between 1956 and 1974, Orvis published a total of seven novels (he claimed the number was eight). Cry Hallelujah! stands out in that it doesn't focus on crime or espionage, but evangelism. Published in 1970, it followed his two biggest sellers, The Damned and the Destroyed (1962) and Night Without Darkness (1965), bombed terribly, and sent Orvis's career into a tailspin from which it never recovered.

You'll find my new review of this old book here:

'A Thriller Writer's Very Bad Career Move'

None of this is to say that this blog will disappear. I'll still be posting other things, including the occasional review of some old book or other. And, um, there's also The Dusty Bookcase – the book – coming from Biblioasis. Look for it in early August.

Related posts:

Kenneth Orvis: A Plea

Betting the House

'A Relentless Story of the Hell of Drug Addiction'