Because of thee, Gallipoli - poem by Ethel L. Newcombe - 1915

ANZAC BEACH, GALLIPOLI. 1915. PHOTOGRAPH SHOWING TROOPS AND STORES ON THE BEACH WITH BOATS IN THE BACKGROUND AND SOME MEN BATHING.
Source: Australian War Memorial.

There is something of a tradition in posting something ANZAC related on this blog during the ANZAC period. This year I am publishing a poem which found its way into a significant number of newspapers in 1915 (see list after the poem).  

Ethel L. Newcombe contributed a number of other poems to newspapers over the years. I have also listed these after the poem, of the 35 articles that the search term "Ethel L. Newcombe" yields on Trove, all of them are related to poetry, either publishing a work or referencing collections of poetry that include her verse. 13 of them reprint the work presented here. There is nothing biographical on Trove with the name she used for her poetry. Ethel released a book in 1941 entitled 'A Southern voice verses by Ethel L Newcombe', followed by "Songs of Australian Trees" in 1945, from which the poem "White Gum" is taken (links take you to a digitised copy of the books at the State Library of Victoria.  The Herald quotes Dr. F. W. Boreham with regard to Songs of Australian Trees "[she] has set to music feelings that, at some time or other, have surged through our hearts." As a person who has attempted a couple of poems about trees, I like how Boreham appreciated her work.

The poem consists of four verses, each of 12 lines with and AABB structure. The opening words of each verse being the emphasised "Gallipoli, Gallipoli" and the final line, always ending with "Gallipoli" ... the repetition speaks of sacredness. For at least the first three verses, the closing couplet uses the word 'alone'. It is a grief signal, men who have died in places where their bodies are far from family. The youth of these men is hinted at with the 'beardless lip', 'the radiant face', 'the stalwart arm'. They die in Gallipoli, and in the process the land becomes the mother to them, holding them as a mother would. This is an early sign of the sacredness with which Australia reveres this Turkish soil.

Pay attention to the timeline. The key moment in the Gallipoli campaign is the landing of the allied forces on 25 April 1915, and the order to extract the forces is not enacted until December of that year. But here is Ethel L. Newcombe chronicling the narrative we know today - sons who participate in a  noble quest, being made men in a land made sacred because of their sacrifice - as early as October of 1915.

Her poem is almost a prefiguring for the words attributed to Ataturk, the Ottoman commander at the Dardanelles during the Gallipoli campaign, from 1934. 

When You, the mothers, who sent their sons from far away countries, wipe away your tears. Your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.”

BECAUSE OF THEE, GALLIPOLI

Gallipoli, Gallipoli!
I dare not take mine eyes from thee;
Thou hold'st the darling of my race,
The beardless lip, the radiant face,
The stalwart arm, no swift to do,
The eyes and heart, that follow, too.
There—lay them, mother, deep to rest,
Yes, rock them to thy heaving breast,
No mothers' arms, with soft caress;
No mothers' lips are near to bless;
    Alone they lie, beside the sea,
    Because of thee, Gallipoli!

Gallipoli, Gallipoli!
How can we show our love to thee?
Who took us from our baby's place,
And made a king—a new-old race,
Content to live and love and fight.
For God and duty, home and right;
We drop them, mother, at thy feet,
This wreath of manhood, crushed but sweet;
The mothers' prayers blow round to bless,
The lovers waft a mute caress,
    Alone—but happy let them be
    Within thine arms, Gallipoli.

Gallipoli, Gallipoli!
It means that Christ will come to thee
And walk upon thy waters blue.
To raise a Cross, where crescent flew,
That He will sit with Greek and Turk,
When these, who sleep, have done their work.
Accept them, mother, let them lie;
The Christ, Himself, could choose to die—
The mothers all will pause and bless
The Angels stoop, in deep caress,
    With God and glory, let them be,
    Alone with thee, Gallipoli!

Gallipoli, Gallipoli!
How can we keep our best from thee?
These sleeping sons, whose smiles of light,
Beckon each brother to the fight,
These mothers, pouring heart-blood free,
Have lost—and won—for you and me.
Strange mother of our wondrous dead;
Cast forth thy halo, o'er each head;
That women all will rise and bless,
And say, "We cannot give thee less."
    Triumphant shall Australia be,
    Because of thee, Gallipoli!

—Ethel L. Newcombe.

List of Newspapers in which this poem was published.

Link will take you to the Trove record in the appropriate newspaper.

Port Fairy Gazette (18 October 1915) ... http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article94720936 

Malvern News (6 November 1915) ... http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article154358203

The Ballan Times (11 November 1915) ... http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article119549731

Snowy River Mail (12 November 1915) ... http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article89264551

The Lilydale Express (12 November 1915) ... http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article74596263

Ringwood and Croydon Chronicle  (12 November 1915) http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article92086118

Mortlake Dispatch  (13 November 1915) ... http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article130001103

Colac Reformer (13 November 1915) ... http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article154236372

Cressy and Lismore Pioneer and Western Plains Representative  (17 November 1915) ... http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article132677918

The Yackandandah Times (18 November 1915) ... http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article144936428

Omeo Standard and Mining Gazette  (23 November 1915) ... http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article130131210

Maryborough and Dunolly Advertiser (24 November 1915) ... http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article93796543

Clunes Guardian and Gazette (4 January 1916) ... http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article119484027

Other poems by the author

Below is a list of more poems by the same author that appear in newspapers. I suspect some were written prior to the newspaper publication, as the later mentions have a sense of someone bringing forward a well loved poem for consideration by others. 

The Doctor (1911)

Because of Thee, Gallipoli (1915)

Memory (1929)

The Baby (1929)

Springs Venite (1936)

The Old and the New (1938)

Pansy Face (1938)

Peace (1938)

Daffodils (1941)

A seasonal Message (1943)

White Ships of Fancy (1945)

A Rainy Day (1945)

The White Gum (1945)

In memoriam of the late Rev. Wm. Hill - A poem by Zachariah Sutcliffe 1869

Portrait of the Rev William Hill.
Photograph by Charles Wherret
Source: National Portrait Gallery

This poem is part of a theme in this blog examining the poems of Zachariah Sutcliffe. An index of blog articles related to Sutcliffe can be found here.

Sutcliffe published this work as a stand alone poem, a copy of which is pasted into a scrapbook in the State of Library of Victoria’s (SLV) Sutcliffe Archive, along with the following newspaper clipping which appears to be from the Mount Alexander Mail of 31 July, 1871.

Mr Z. Sutcliffe has left with us a copy of his new book of poetic effusions. Some of the pieces are very creditably written, more particularly one on the death of the Rev. Wm. Hill.

This indicates that the poem was subsequently printed as part of a collection, probably one of the editions of “A Few Simple Lines”.

The SLV does provide an electronic version of the stand alone poem ... available here.

The poem consists of ten quatrains with an ABCB rhyming pattern. It is undated but probably dates to the year in which the murder took place, 1869. Unless Sutcliffe knew Hill personally it probably postdates the publication of some of the tributes. The line “he who hath carried glad tidings of peace, To swarthy sons of the Orient strand” would be linked to Hill’s missionary work in India, details of which were not present in the first flush of reportage.

A post about the murder of Rev. Wm Hill can be found here. It is too long a digression to act as an introduction to a poem.

IN MEMORY OF THE LATE REV. WM. HILL, Who was killed by a Convict (RITSON) while administering the solaces of the Gospel to him, at Pentridge Stockade, on 13th May, 1869.

Hark! what means that loud cry, swelling high on the breeze, 

Resounding the length and the breadth of our land? 

'Tis the voice of a nation, in loud indignation, 

Denouncing a cruel and murderous hand.

A brother has fallen, the beloved lies low, 

A ministering Abel is brutally slain;

And the wails of a people, as tolls from the steeple 

Fall on the ear of a blood-guilty Cain.

Yes, he who hath carried glad tidings of peace 

To swarthy sons of the Orient strand; 

And hath echoed the chime in Australia's clime, 

And won for himself a name in our land;

A name that doth shine fair, illustrious, and perfect, 

And bright among Austral's noblest and best; 

Yet, in criminal's cell, there, bleeding he fell; 

His blood dyed the hand he had labored to bless.

Behold in the horizon a beautiful star 

Shedding its light calm and tranquilly bright, 

When an envious cloud doth its lustre enshroud, 

And shadows are left in the trail of its flight.

Then be hushed every cry, the star has not fallen, 

But hid for a season the brighter to shine; 

When the shadows shall flee, then wondering we'll see 

In the deep rolling cloud a finger divine.

Then fare-thee-well! brother, we cannot deplore thee; 

Thy life was a life of labour and love; 

When death did its duty, its clothing was beauty, 

A herald of glory to take thee above.

There the crown of the martyr shall circle thy brow 

And sweetly the song of victory sing; 

The palm shall be thine, -- Oh! how bright wilt thou shine, 

Whose last moments were spent in serving thy King.

Yet we cannot but think of thy once happy home, 

Of the orphans now so doubly bereft, 

Their light and their guide both winged from their side, 

And they lonely and weeping are left.

True, we cannot restore their dear parents again, 

Or stem the sad tears of their natural grief; 

But the destitute's cry we can surely supply, 

And honor the dead by giving relief.

ZACHARIAH SUTCLIFFE.

[Undated]

The poems of Zachariah Sutcliffe an index.

This post is a stub. 

Zachariah Sutcliffe has a large number of poems which I hope to catalogue in this blog. I have made this post 'live' in order make the links in the index work. Definitely a work in progress!

Introduction 

blah blah

Stand alone poems

A Fatal Accident on the Bay

A Requiem in the memory of Charles Dickens

The Wreck of the Loch Ard [1878]

In memoriam of the Late Rev. Wm. Hill [1869]

List of Publications with associated poems

A few Simple Lines [the small blue edition] - 1883

A few simple lines [the Morpeth edition] - Date

In memory of the lady who offered one thousand guineas

In memory of Albert the good

Lines addressed to H.K. an Australian

To a would be critic

Thoughts of the blind

To Mr J.D.

A mother to her boy in heaven

Lines in memory of my mother

The dying mother to her child

The dying child to its mother

The mother's lament o'er lost son

The last gaze on my mother

An epitaph for my mother's tombstone

Let my name not be forgotten 

The Christians farewell

My home

On leaving Sydney

On leaving Morpeth

Farewell to the kind inhabitants of Sydney, NSW

Not my will, but they will be done

To the stranger

When all others have foresaken me thou has not

Home: or, my father's footsteps

Moonlight

Lines addressed to Z. Sutcliffe from E.T.

To Miss Sarah A.

To Miss Ellen T.

To Miss Maria L.

I cannot forgive her

Advice to my friends

Just two years ago

A word

I'm proud of my country

Saturday night at the Eastern Market Melbourne

To horseskin an' Simon

A hint to lovers

A word to idlers

Composed while lying on the Maitland racecourse

Beware of the lions

On meeting my friend

Dunn, the bushranger

Australian rambler

Let us fight the good fight

To my child

God save those wicked men

A hint to the selfish

The bushrangers

It is not thy will that one should perish, but that all should live

Look beyond the clouds

Tell me what is love?

Oh for a day

Lines addressed to myself

Prayer

To H.N. of Morpeth

An old man's lament

To those men that are looking for work, and praying they find none

Killed by the Rescue - boating death in Hobson Bay - 1878 - Poems of Zachariah Sutcliffe

Green, Allan C (1900). RESCUE [in front of a steamship].
http://handle.slv.vic.gov.au/10381/28653

This post forms part of a larger series devoted to the poetry of Zachariah Sutcliffe. Here a link to the Sutcliffe Index.

The Poem

The poem draws its inspiration from factual events and can be found as a stand-alone printing in the State Library of Victoria's archive of Sutcliffe's poetry [1].

The poem consists of seven quatrains, within an inconsistent and sometimes forced rhyming pattern.

The loose document has no printing date and I have not been able to find a copy of this poem in any newspaper - this would have provided an upper writing date. I assume it to be soon after the story broke in the newspapers.

Fatal Accident
On the Bay March 14th, 1878.

The night was dark, a drizzling rain
A boat seen go from the pier;
The Son with a parcel in his hand
To give it to his parents dear.

YUILLE and SEGGIE pulled the boat,
The latter for his hire,
The former with his parcel went
To please his own desire.

Each are pulling their very best,
To reach the ship WHAMPOA;
Joy filled their manful breasts
I know, I feel, I'm sure

SEGGIE'S hopes were honest ones,
YUILLE'S likewise were;
But little did they think of death,
Or its terrors were so near.

Yes, death was sitting on their backs,
Ready their lives to take,
And nought ne'er on this earth,
Can e'er this monster shake.

He came on a Steamer's float
And in a flash struck the boat,
Leaving Widows and Children all alone,
Until he comes to carry them home.

Oh death? thou comest in thine own way
Riding on foam, dipping in spray,
Tapping the heads of men in a boat
Nought left behind but bodies afloat.

ZACHARIAH SUTCLIFFE. 

The Story

The following paragraphs are the account from the Argus, Friday 15 March 1878, page 5. The Argus [2] names the boatman as Saggae, Sydney's Evening News of the same date [3] favours the spelling 'Teggie' and a later edition of the Argus [4] favours 'Seggie' which is the form used by Sutcliffe. 'Seggie' is the most common in numerous later reports.

There is irony in the fact that incident was the fault of the Steam-tug name the 'Rescue', and I have tried to capture that in the post title.

FATAL BOAT ACCIDENT.

A sad boat accident happened in Hobson's Bay last night, resulting in the death of two persons. It appears that the steamer Rescue was returning from Dromana with a con-tingent of the grocers' picnic party, and when near the Nelson buoy a crashing noise was heard, and it became known that one of the paddles had come into collision with some object. A passenger who was looking over the side at the time stated that he saw a dark object and the body of a man float post. The steamer was stopped and a search made. After tacking about, the dead body of a well known waterman named Robert Saggee was found entangled in a boat a sail. The face of the deceased was much bruised and dis figured, and it was supposed that he had been struck by the paddle of the steamer and killed instantaneously. It was evident that the steamer had come in collision with some boat, and it was feared that a number of other persons had perished. Some of the passengers on board the Rescue said they saw ladies in the water, but this was only imagination. It was subsequently ascertained, however, that Mr. Wm. Yuille, son of Mr. W. C. Yuille, commission agent, of Bourke street west, had been on the boat, and consequently that he must have been drowned. Inquiries made at a late hour elicited that Saggee and Mr Yuille, jun., left Sandridge pier in a rowing boat, at about 8 p.m., for the Whampoa, which was lying in the bay on the eve of departure for England. Mr Yuille, sen., and his wife were on board that vessel, and their son, who had seen them embark during the day, was now returning with a parcel for his mother. That there were no other persons in the boat is affirmed by two watermen named Monk and Tempest, who saw them leave the pier. Mr Yuille was assisting Saggee by pulling an oar, and both the occupants had thus their backs to the Rescue when the collision occurred. The steamer carried the usual lights, but the boat had none, and therefore could not havr been seen, as the night was very dark, and a thick rain was falling. The police boat was out search-ing for the body of Yuille until about mid-night, but was not successful, nor could any trace of the boat be found. Intelligence of the melancholy event soon reached the Whampoa, and on Mr. and Mrs. Yuille hear-ing of their bereavement they at once decided to abandon their intended voyage and re-turn to shore with their luggage. The body of Saggee was conveyed to the Sandridge morgue, where Mr. Candler will hold an inquest on the remains.

As far as I can tell the body was never recovered and given the lack of notices Yuille's funeral would have been a private ceremony. 

References

[1] Sutcliffe, Z. (1859). Poems, 1859-1885 [manuscript]. State Library of Victoria Archive - RecordID 9916395893607636

[2] FATAL BOAT ACCIDENT. (1878, March 15). The Argus (Melbourne, Vic. : 1848 - 1957), p. 5. Retrieved December 9, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article5925032

[3] Boat Accident in Hobson's Bay. (1878, March 15). Evening News (Sydney, NSW : 1869 - 1931), p. 3. Retrieved November 29, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article107939518

[4] THE FATAL BOAT ACCIDENT. (1878, March 16). The Argus (Melbourne, Vic. : 1848 - 1957), p. 8. Retrieved December 9, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article5925261

Gaba Tepe - poem by Lewis F. East (1915)

Gaba Tepe and Anzac Cove with lone soldier.
Pencil sketch by William Kieth Eltham
https://www.awm.gov.au/collection/C169909?image=1

On the 4th on October 1915, The Argus published the following poem 162 days after the landing it describes. The text is heroic in tone and has the feel of a poem written from afar. Gaba Tepe (or Kabatepe) is a headland overlooking the Anzac Cove at Gallipoli.

GABA TEPE

Silent and dim in the murky dawn the ghost transports lay
Shepherded close by warships grim, at anchor in Anzac Bay,
Silently boats steal out, shoreward they swiftly fly,
Straight for the beach, where the berthing heights loom darkly against the sky,
Now the sleeping foe awakes, the shrapnel screams o'erhead,
And the boats as they touch the strand are met with a hail of lead
"Forward Australians!" With answering cheer bronzed warriors leap ashore,
Racing for death-grips, steel to steel, as their grandsires fought of yore.

Torrent-like, onward they charge, faster and faster still;
For the trench-torn slope where the rifle fire crashes across the hill,
Midst the cry and the gasp and the groan, as comrades join the dead,
And the crash and the scream of the bursting shell, ever they press ahead
Onward, and on, and up, and they whirl through the thick of the fight,
On through the trenches, with ringing cheer, and thrusting to left and right,
On to the crest, and the bayonets flash, the shattered foe rallies no more,
A new and a glorious page is writ in the book of the nations' war

Knowing not fear of death, ever they charged in the van
Soldiers and brothers and heroes all, colonel and captain and man,
For the testing time was on them, and they felt that the world looked on,
Knowing their deeds, for glory or shame, would live when themselves were gone
So they fought for her honour who gave them birth, holding their lives as cheap,
Smiling at hunger and death and pain, sowing that she might reap,
Fighting from sea to sea, with the graves upon either hand,
Fighting for Freedom and Righteousness, and the fame of their own dear land

The nations salute us now, God's champion of right against wrong,
Looking at us with respect, as men at a man who is strong
For our sons have been tested by fire. Right well have they answered the test,
Brothers in arms with the world's best men, and holding their own with the best
Crowned with their glorious deeds, wrought out where their life blood flowed,
Straighten the back with pride of them, our lads who have carried the load
Hail to them, heroes all! for they have been men among men
Here's to them, lads, with a three times three! And a tiger! Again! And again!

LEWIS F. EAST.

Notes:

This poem, consisting of four eight-line verses built of rhyming couplets, was published in at least three newspapers, all in 1915 (see the sources 1- 3 below). I have been unable to find any other poetry by the poet.

If the names match correctly, Lewis F. East was a clerk in the public service, having passed his 'ordinary clerical' entrance exam in 1888 [4]. He rose in the public service to become Chief Clerk of the Customs Department before becoming the Acting Director of Maritime Navigation [5]. He continued in federal leadership of maritime matters until his retirement. I could not find any evidence of military service on the Australian War Memorial database.

Sources:

[1] GABA TEPE. (1915, October 4). The Argus (Melbourne, Vic. : 1848 - 1957), p. 7. Retrieved April 25, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article1567364 

[2] Poetry. (1915, October 16). Western Star and Roma Advertiser (Qld. : 1875 - 1948), p. 5. Retrieved April 25, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article98166660

[3] Poets' Corner. (1915, November 2). Cootamundra Herald (NSW : 1877 - 1954), p. 4. Retrieved April 25, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article139531115

[4] PUBLIC SERVICE EXAMINATIONS. (1888, March 2). The Argus (Melbourne, Vic. : 1848 - 1957), p. 5. Retrieved April 25, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article6106832

[5] DIRECTOR OF NAVIGATION (1919, May 6). The Herald (Melbourne, Vic. : 1861 - 1954), p. 10. Retrieved April 25, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article243472953

When Will Mammy Come? - Poem for recitation - 1885

This poem for recitation brings a theme we have seen before in this short series on poems for recitation, grief, loss and children. Described in one paper as a 'pathetic piece' for the pathos it draws from the audience.

It is a series of rhyming couplets, I am unsure if I have managed to add the verse breaks in the correct spaces. For my mind the first verse seems to long but it is consistent with what I saw in three of the papers in which it was published.

I cannot find any other poetic work by the Gilhooley. The poem was published in at least twelve newspapers in the period July 1885 to January 1886. There are many notes in the papers after this time noting that it was performed publicly. Some of these as concert pieces and others as competition entries. My image to accompany this post are the remarks on one of the performances as reported for a Lyric Competition in the Bendigo Independent, 26 Nov 1913.

When Will Mammy Come?

A Poem for recitation.

By Gilhooley

Twas just at evening at the office, that they came to me, and said,
With kindly words, the news to soften, that my darling wife was dead!
She I'd left that very morning, with the love light in her eye,
Who'd kissed me e'er the garden gate, and waved her hand, to say, "Good-bye!"
Within that lately happy home now cold and silent rested there!
Oh, God! It seemed a horrid dream! A dream too cruel, too hard to bear!
I staggered when the news was brought, and felt as struck by poison'd dart;
A desert drear my life appeared; a piece of stone my broken heart.
And then I thought upon our child, and choked despair for his dear sake;
And went up to my dreary home, while swelled my heart as if 'twould break.
Along the pathway from the house two little feet came toddling down;
And little Willie cried "Oh, Daddy! I's so glad 'on's come from town,
For I cannot find my Mammy!" I kissed the child, but stood, as dumb;
Whilst the tiny lad persisted, "Daddy, when will Mammy come!"
It sear'd my soul to hear him question, and my heart's wound freshly bled;
I cuddled baby close to me, kissed his face, and falt'ring said,
"When will Mammy come? my boy; she cannot come: poor Mammy's dead!"
"Dead! " cried Willy; "Mammy dead!" My heart was dead; I could not speak;
While sobbing loud, " I want my Mammy!" little baby fell asleep.
Into the house I gently bore him; into the room where the body lay;
And stood beside the still white figure, whose soul that morn had flown away.
And as I gazed upon the features, lately filled with joy and life,
Gazed upon this fearsome thing!—That morning mother, friend and wife!
God! I felt I should go crazy with my overpow'ring doom;
If I any longer tarried in that horror—haunted room!
On the morrow, little Willie sought his mother high and low,
And outside the door of death the little boy was seen to go;
Striving hard to turn the handle; crying out amid the din,
"Mammy! Mammy! I is Willie! Won't 'ou come an' let me in?"
And when the funeral was over, oft' within our silent home,
Nestling in my arms, he'd ask me, "Daddy, when will Mammy come?"

And when a few short months were over baby lay with fever ill,
And his merry feet and prattle—All the world to me!—were still.
And one evening in the Autumn, when the sun was sinking fast,
The doctor called me from my study, and said, " this night is baby's last!"
I hastened to the little chamber; there he lay upon his bed,
His little hands so thin and wasted, while the curls from his dear head
Straggled o'er a pale wee face, where the hectic flush was plain;
And his breath was hot and laboured, while throbb'd fast the fever'd brain:
God! To think of that sad picture; mark the minutes quickly go,
Taking from you the last sunshine, filling up your cup of woe,—
This to feel! Oh! none but fathers—none but mothers o'er can know!
"Daddy," said the little fellow, as if he saw a vision fair,
"Mammy's coming, I can see her; and I's going back with her;
And from my neck his hands were loosed, as his lips grew cold and numb;
"Good-bye Daddy, I's going,—going, Daddy: Mammy's come!"

This is all my little story,—tale of long and far away;
But these words are even with me, even at this distant day.
Again I the blue eyes beaming, and the hair like golden foam;
And my soul cries out, with prayer unceasing, "When to me, will Mammy come."

Sources:

When Will Mammy Come? (1885, June 19). The North Eastern Ensign (Benalla, Vic. : 1872 - 1938), p. 2 (SUPPLEMENT TO The North Eastern Ensign.). Retrieved March 28, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article70807065

AFTERNOON SESSION. (1913, November 26). The Bendigo Independent (Vic. : 1891 - 1918), p. 7. Retrieved April 10, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article226790033

Critique and response - The Wreck of the Loch Ard Poem - 1878

In a previous post I spoke about how W. S. of Blackwood, poet of The Wreck of the Loch Ard, received a letter via The Bacchus Marsh Express either complementing or criticising his poem (it is a bit hard to tell).  As promised here is the letter [1] and the response in verse form from W. S. [2].

Just as I have been unable to expand much on the identity of W. S. beyond their initials, the identity of the author of the letter below is also unknown.  However I can reveal that the quoted poem attributed to G. F. A. was penned by George French Angus.  The Dunbar ran aground at Sydney in 1857. The poem of which a sizeable extract (11 of the 21 verses) is included in the critique letter. G.F.A.'s poem was first published in 1857 [3], and then again as part of a collection in 1874 [4].

The critique letter was printed on 27 July 1878. The newspaper printer has set it out is the preamble to the 'reflections' which I have covered previously.  W. S.'s response to the letter appears a week later on 3 August 1878.

The letter feels duplicitous in its construction, the author uses the voice of an unnamed, 'evil-minded', person, 'who is no judge of poetry' to critique W. S. I suspect that this un-named complainer and the letter's author are one and the same. For me the two greatest slurs are

W. S. is not a signature at all, but means "Wretched Stuff," and that it is not poetry but doggerel.

and

"W. S." is not a Byron or a Tennyson, but as a local poet, treating a local subject in a descriptive fashion in rhyme his production has quite sufficient merit to justify its publication in a local paper, at any rate.

I feel it is safe to dimiss GFA as the author, as a well known identity his timeline is well known an he would have return to England by the time of these publications.

To the Editor of the Express. [1]

SIR, — 

It must be a gratification to your readers to find a second time in your columns that noble poem on the wreck of the Loch Ard. Such an event is calculated to rouse the strongest feelings of our hearts, and if a man has any poetry in him to compel him to pour it forth. I am proud of Blackwood for possessing such a poet as W. S. All honour to him! I wish his merits were more widely known. I shall certainly spread his fame as far as I can. I have heard some remarks from one person, who is evidently no judge of poetry, which, as he is a person of some little influence, may, if allowed to spread, injure the fair name of W. S.; therefore I take the liberty of writing to you, sir, to expose his ignorance, and uphold the character of our "local poet." This evil minded person says that W. S. is not a signature at all, but means "Wretched Stuff," and that it is not poetry but doggerel. Now, sir, I recollect that some years ago there was a somewhat similar catastrophe at Port Jackson — the wreck of the Dunbar. Upon that occasion a poem was written, a copy of a part of which I enclose, that you may see that, in poetry, Sydney is a long way behind Blackwood, and that G. F. A. cannot for a moment be compared with W. S.

THE WRECK OF THE DUNBAR.

She rode the midnight sea,
With the land upon her lee,
Fond hearts hoped soon to be
At home again.

No moon lights up the deep,
No stars their vigils keep,
And the weary ones asleep
Dream their last dream.

The doom'd ship ploughs the wave,
She bears them to their grave,
Where the mad surges rave,
And sea fires gleam.

Visions of friendly greeting--
Dreams of to-morrow's meeting--
Alike old age are cheating,
And youth's bright crown.

Toy of the mocking wave,
Helpless her crew, to save;
The beautiful and brave
They all went down.

Then mingled with the roar
Of the wild surf on the shore
From is hundred souls and more
One shriek of woe.

That cry went up to Heaven,
As in darkness they were driven;
And the strong ship was riven
At one fell blow.

Death rides in triumph there!
Through that midnight of despair
The last faint gurgling prayer
Is heard no more.

And then the giant sea,
By God's right hand set free,
Mocks man's proud mastery,
And all is o'er? 

... 

Calm Calm sleep be their sleep
While many mourners weep
The lost ones in the deep--
The fair--the brave. 

God help the hearts that mourn--
The stricken and forlorn;
Whose ties are rudely torn
By the salt wave.

G. F. A.

You will be able to judge, sir, whether the effusion of G. F. A., or that of W. S., should more correctly be styled wretched stuff. Allowances must certainly be made for G. F. A., because the romantic incident of the rescue of the "afflicted Miss" was wanting in the case of the Dunbar. As only one life was saved on that occasion, G. F. A. could not have written such noble lines as those in which W. S. has recorded the heroic conduct of Thomas Pearce thus--

"He brought her brandy from the tide,
And rushes from the mountain side,
And both were properly applied."

The evil-minded person mentioned above says that the "tide," meaning the sea, is not the usual place to go for brandy, and that rushes are not generally found on mountains; also, that while he, not being a teetotaller, can see how brandy can be "applied" beneficially, he does not understand the "proper application" of rushes. Let him come to Blackwood. I have no doubt W. S. will explain to him how those articles are to be found in those places, and also the "proper application" of them. But let him not again presume to find fault with any poet who belongs to BLACKWOOD.

We should feel ourselves a party to deception if we did not state that the writer of the above is not a resident at Blackwood. He indulges in satire which some persons may consider "wretched stuff' instead of the poetry he criticises. All excellence is comparative, and "W. S." is not a Byron or a Tennyson, but as a local poet, treating a local subject in a descriptive fashion in rhyme his production has quite sufficient merit to justify its publication in a local paper, at any rate. His critic quotes perhaps the worst verse in the whole, and does so in a spirit which shows that he does not know or ignores the fact that literal accuracy is a drawback rather than a merit in poetry, which should be imaginative, and fanciful. Indeed the verse complained of is too accurate in its description of the acts narrated, and if we took the trouble to analyse it, and "Blackwood's" rendering of it, we could show that the latter is wrong, even according to his own canons of criticism. We commend to Blackwood's poetic soul the following verse as more worthy of his attention than the one he quotes:--

Ungoaded by the love of fame--
Untwitted by the taunts of shame--
No crowds were there to praise or blame,
Or weep suppose he died,
Yet swift as eagle on his prey,
Or lightning's flash he's borne away
Headlong dashing through the spray
He stems the seething tide!

W. S. understandably took exception to the criticism. Their response, in my opinion, is more doggerel than poetry. I suspect they deliberately plays this up as a rebuke, they hint at this at the end of verse one.

REPLY TO THE WOULD-BE CRITIC OF THE LINES ON THE WRECK OF THE LOCH ARD. [2]

Friend or critic, great unknown,
For the courtesy you've shown
A deep debt is due to thee
By Mt. Blackwood or by me.
Your opinions of our bard
Claim the following reward;
'Tis the least that we can do
To express some praise of you
While your virtues I extend
Even to the world's end.
Others' thoughts are herein shown;
Like yourself I nurse my own.
Here's the stuff that crowds rehearse,
All strung up in doggerel verse.

Critic, bard, or nameless thing,
When your fancy first took wing
Did it fly in search of fame
To procure its Dad a name ?
Its melodious siren strain
And honeyed words were all in vain,
For the music lost its charm
And wily words failed to disarm
Suspicion, though inspection proof--
All except the cloven hoof,
Which your readers saw, and smiled.
Poor old Brimstone, were you foiled?
After spending all your wit
Not a side with laughter split.

Some aver you're not so bad,
Only for the drop you had.
Though, poor wrecker, from the tide
You with brandy were supplied,
Who should make a song of this
Or your sympathy for Miss?
Some maintain it raised the steam,
Then you eyed as in a dream
The rushes in a whirlwind glide
Away from every mountain side.
Spirit medium, did they pass
While you struggled in the grass?

Keener critics, more acute,
Stranger things still attribute--
Overweening wish to shine
Fans they say that flame of thine.
We admire those lines of worth,

Pretty lines, to which you give birth.
Sydney's bard will doubtless see
They might have died but for thee.
Though you borrow every line
May you not by proxy shine?
While your scarecrow croak is clear
Rhyming dunces die from fear.
If your wit the world may share
Tell us what you've got to spare.
Feed not all on other's fame;
Sneer not, thing without a name,
Be you pedagogue or prince;
Small's your rate if taxed on sense.

Now, if vain presuming elf
Self conceit consumes thyself,
Curb the flame, and pray for sense.
Gag your mouth in self defence.
Bid not worlds in wonder gaze
At an addled critic's craze.

Or if toady tool thou art,
Sycophant to evil art,
Be the cat's-paw while you may;
You'll crack nuts another day.

Baffled critic, sad and lone,
Hope of honour fled and gone,
Conscience-smitten, ill at ease,
What can Blackwood do to please?
Pity prompts her humble muse
Both to pardon and excuse
All thy testy lines of spleen--
Pointless, pungentless, and mean.

W. S.

BLACKWOOD.

References

[1] To the Editor of the Express. (1878, July 27). The Bacchus Marsh Express (Vic. : 1866 - 1943), p. 3. Retrieved April 7, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article89702152 

[2] Advertising (1878, August 3). The Bacchus Marsh Express (Vic. : 1866 - 1945), p. 2. Retrieved September 25, 2019, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article89702507

[3] Poetry, Original and Select. (1857, October 17). Adelaide Observer (SA : 1843 - 1904), p. 2 (Supplement to the Adelaide Observer). Retrieved December 28, 2019, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article158116535

[4] ANNIVERSARY OF THE WRECK OF THE DUNBAR. (1897, August 22). Truth (Sydney, NSW : 1894 - 1954), p. 1. Retrieved April 7, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article169756185

Round the Bivouac Fire - poem for recitation - 1885

Another poem from Samuel K. Cowan. Once more with themes of warfare. This one shows an inward struggle, a warrior who recruits God, is eager to give God credit for the bloody mess they have made, yet an awareness that the same God would rather be known as the God of Peace.

This poem was published in at least ten newspapers in the first half of 1885.

Round the Bivouac Fire.

(Poem for Recitation.)

Round the bivouac fire, at midnight, lay the weary warrior-band;
Bloody were their spears with slaughter: gory was each hero's hand :
For the ghastly fight was ended : from each soul a whisper came :
"God of Battles! we have triumphed: hallowed be Thy Mighty Name!"  

It was beautiful, at midnight, when the bloody war was done,
When the battle clashed no longer, and no longer blazed the sun,
Calmly, in the balmy starlight, to repose out wearied limbs,
Not a sound to stir the stillness, save the sound of holy hymns: 

"Thou hast given us the glory: Thou hast cast our foes to shame!
God of Battles! we have triumphed: hallowed be Thy mighty name!
Thou hast given us the glory: Thou hast bade our troubles cease:
Thou art great as God of Battles: Thou art best as God of Peace!"

Peaceful was the world around them: in the peaceful summer skies
Watched the sentry stars above them, like the host of angel-eyes :
Shone the sentinel stars in splendour on each slumbering hero's head,
And the moonlight gleamed in glory on the dying and the dead.

Rosily wore the night to morning: cheerily, at their heart's desire,
Sang the soldiers songs of triumph, round the ruddy bivouac fire:
Flushed their faces were with glory: strong were they, and brave, and tall:
But the tender tears of childhood bathed the bravest face of all!

Pensive, by the gleaming firelight, mute the lonely warrior stood:
In his hand a paper grasped he, scrawled with letters, large and crude:
In his gory hands he grasped it; and the tender childly tear,
From his manly bosom welling, bathed the blood upon his spear!

Silent wore the night to morning: silent, at their heart's desire,
Watching lay the weary warriors, round the gleaming bivouac fire:
"What's the news from England, comrade! What's the sorry news for thee,
From the friends we left behind us, and our home beyond the sea?"

Then the gory paper sped he, scrawled with letters, crude and wild:
"Little news from England, comrades: 'tis a letter from my child."
"From our merry babes in England, welcome is the news!" they said:
And the soldiers lay in silence, while the warrior rose and read :

"Little brother died at Christmas: mother told me not to tell;
But I think it better, father, for you said, 'The dead are well.'
He was buried side o' Mary—mother since has never smiled
Till we meet, good-bye, dear father—from your little loving child "

Silent wore the night to morning; silent, at their soul's desire,
Lay the warriors, lost in dreaming, round the dying bivouac fire;
Home were they, once more, in England! miles were they from war's alarms!
Hark! the sudden bugle sounding! Hark! the cry: " To arms to arms! "

Out from ambush, out from thicket, charged the foemen through the plain;
"Up, my warriors! arm, my heroes! Strike for God and home, again!
For our homes, our babes, our country!" And the ruddy morning light
Flared on brandished falchions bloody still with gore of yesternight!

Purple grew the plain with slaughter-steed and rider, side by side;
And the crimson day of carnage in a crimson sunset died:
Shuddering on the field of battle glimpsed the starlight overhead,
And the moonlight, ghost-like, glimmered on the dying and the dead!

Faint and few, around the fire-light, were the stretched, out wearied limbs:
Faint and few the hero-voices that uprose in holy hymns:
Few the warriors left to whisper, "Thou hast cast our foes to shame :
God of Battles! we have triumphed: hallowed be Thy mighty Name!"

On the purple plain of slaughter, who is this that smiles in rest,
With a shred of gory paper lying on his mangled breast?
Nought remaining, save a fragment, scrawled with letters, crude and wild:
"Till we meet, good-bye, dear father—from your little loving child!"

Raise him softly: lift him gently stanch his lifeblood, ebbing slow:
He is breathing—he is whispering—what is this he murmurs low?
"Saved! my child—my home—my country! Father, give my pangs release:
Thou art great as God of Battles: Thou art best as God of Peace!"

SAMUEL K. COWAN M.A., in The Theatre.

Source:

Round the Bivouac Fire. (1885, April 17). The North Eastern Ensign (Benalla, Vic. : 1872 - 1938), p. 2 (SUPPLEMENT TO The North Eastern Ensign.). Retrieved March 28, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article70806556

Reflections on the wreck of the Loch Ard - A poem (1878)

Miss Eva Carmichael Departing Australia aboard the P&O Steamer, Tanjore.
The Australasian Sketcher with Pen and Pencil

Access Under the Lino's,  Loch Ard Index here.

As mentioned in my previous blog post, this poem is a follow up from W. S. of Blackwood's poem 'The Wreck of the Loch Ard'. The Bacchus Marsh Express republished that poem on the day that this poem was written. Whether the poet had been contemplating the matter and the republishing prompted them to write is hard to determine. Perhaps rereading their poem in the paper made them realise they had more to say on the matter.

The poem clearly has Eva Carmichael in focus, even assuming her voice, as this verse shows.

Where foam-crested billows, in fury and madness,
Dealt death and destruction with hideous roar;
And left me an orphan, alone and in sadness,
A pilgrim to pine on a far-distant shore.

The only other survivor of the wreck, Tom Pearce, could not claim to be left an orphan by the event. In the first eleven verses the poet assumes Eva's voice, and the language is heavily nuanced in a way that suggests demonic forces at work in the wrecking of the ship. Those thoughts were absent from the first poem.

In the final two verses Eva clearly becomes the subject of the verse, rather than the imagined author, as the poet laments Eva's departure from Australia. It would in many ways be better to treat the final two verses as a separate poem.

Eva Carmichael departed Australia aboard the P&O Steamer, Tanjore, on the 6th August 1878 [1]. Yet to read the final two verses of this poem, written three weeks previous, you would assume she had already departed. Perhaps by this time she had departed the shelter of the Gibson home, and the journey to Melbourne indicated that a journey to Ireland (poetically referenced as Erin's Isle) was imminent.

REFLECTIONS ON THE WRECK OF THE LOCH ARD. [2]

When evening's shadows round me close,
My soul in slumber backward goes
To scenes of wreck and rending woes
By yonder goblin cave.
Where fiends the forms of bats assume,
By day concealed in caverned tomb,
But sally forth in evening's gloom
Like vultures to the wave.

Where Satan in his demon's pride,
With water imps on every side,
Commands the billows far and wide
With spells to scathe and sere:
Till terror-seized by ocean's swell,
And sounds of victims' drowning yell,
And sights of which I dare not tell,
My senses sink in fear.

'Midst scenes appalling to the eye,
And meteors flashing through the sky,
And victims unprepared to die,
My brain with fever burns;
Till bathed in perspiration's stream
In frenzy wild for help I scream--
The sounds awake me from the dream
And consciousness returns!

Now, bereft of home and gladness;
Family, friends, and comrades brave:
Sunk at once in bitter sadness,
Hopeless by the cruel wave.

Still my senses seem to borrow
Sounds that ape the ocean's swell.
And forms, alas! I left in sorrow
Gasping still a last farewell.

Where foam-crested billows, in fury and madness,
Dealt death and destruction with hideous roar;
And left me an orphan, alone and in sadness,
A pilgrim to pine on a far-distant shore.

Where heartrending cries never fade from my hearing,
Where grim visions sinking in death seem to glare;
Where my heart-breaking parents, midst foam disappearing,
Cling to brothers and sisters in pangs of despair!

They who smiled at my gladness, my sorrows would share,
And tenderly turn every grief from my brow;
Oh! how could I value their infinite care
If Providence pleased to award it me now!

But, alas! cruel fate has destined us to sever,
And leave me lamenting in anguish and pain,
To mourn o'er the dear ones departed forever;
Oh! how can I live and not see them again!

May the sun that descends to enliven with blossom
The hearts of the herds or the lambs on the lea,
Not dispel the dark gloom that abounds in my bosom
And shed a kind ray of condolence on me?

Victoria's hearts and her land of green bushes,
While memory survives will be honoured by me;
Though the home of my childhood to memory rushes
And binds me more closely now, Erin to thee!

….

May your bark in safety glide
O'er the ocean's billows wide,
Till you view with native pride
The land you long to see, Eva.
Where friends of youth in Erin's isle
Your cares with kindness will beguile,
And the gentle shamrock's smile
Awaits to welcome thee, Eva.

Though we sadly say adieu
Our hearts in unison beat true
With love for Erin's isle and you,
Since there you wish to dwell, Eva;
There may you be by fortune blessed,
By care and happiness caressed.
Though loth to part, you say we must,
Then ever fare thee well, Eva!

W. S., Blackwood, 13th July 1878.

Source:

[1] NEWS OF THE DAY. (1878, August 7). The Age (Melbourne, Vic. : 1854 - 1954), p. 2. Retrieved April 4, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article199354529

[2] REFLECTIONS ON THE WRECK OF THE LOCH ARD. (1878, July 27). The Bacchus Marsh Express (Vic. : 1866 - 1945), p. 3. Retrieved September 25, 2019, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article89702151