Those Who Marched Away
War infects everything it touches. For everyone, whether combatant or not, it is the most testing of times, when the old certainties and moral imperatives cannot be guaranteed. Life hangs by a gossamer thread and many people who would otherwise not keep diaries are moved to record what they see, feel and do.
Arranged as a diary around a calendar year, Those Who Marched Away tells many individual stories from many wars down the ages, with several compelling entries for each day of the year. Here are some of the diary entries that can be found this week in September:
7 September
1940 [London]
Midnight.Well here I sit in the air-raid shelter with screaming bombs falling right and left, and Sir John Squire, roaring tight, sitting opposite me next to his Scotch Presbyterian cook. Squire’s breath fills the shelter and the cook looks as if she’s going to be sick. Sid is reading Maxim Gorky and I’m trying to write this diary, though I can’t see very well as there is only a storm lantern. Squire keeps on saying he wants to read Wodehouse’s Uncle Fred in Springtime once more before he dies.
I can’t help feeling that each moment may be my last, and as the opposite of death is life, I think I shall get seduced by Rupert tomorrow. Rowena has promised to go to a chemist’s with me and ask for Volpar Gels, just in case the Reanch thingummy isn’t foolproof.
Another bomb, quite near this time. Squire leapt to his feet and is making for the exit. ‘I want some cigarettes. I’m going to the pub –’‘Oh no you’re not,’ says Sid, clutching his arm. ‘You’re not leaving his shelter until the all-clear goes!’
‘Ma’am,’ says Squire, evading her with dignity, ‘I am!’ He climbs over her, remarking indistinctly that he has never stepped over a lady before, and disappears into the shell-scarred night, walking with difficulty.
Joan Wyndham
8 September
1870 [Paris]
Empire or Republic, nothing really changes. It is annoying to hear people saying all the time: ‘It is the Emperor’s fault.’ If our generals have shown themselves to be inefficient, if our officers are ignorant, if our troops have had their moments of cowardice, that is not the Emperor’s fault. Moreover, a single man cannot have so great an influence on a nation, and if the French nation had not been disintegrating, the Emperor’s extraordinary mediocrity would not have robbed it of victory. Let us not forget that sovereigns always reflect the nation over which they rule, and that they would not remain on their thrones for three days if they were at variance with its soul.
The Brothers Goncourt
9 September
1939 [Italy]
War makes men barbarous because, to take part in it, one must harden oneself against all regret, all appreciation of delicacy and sensitive values. One must live as if those values did not exist, and when the war is over one has lost the resilience to return to those values.
Cesare Pavese
10 September
1855 [Balmoral]
Albert said they should go at once and light the bonfire. In a few minutes Albert and all the gentlemen, in every species of attire, sallied forth, followed by all the servants, and gradually by all the population of the village – keepers, gillies, workmen – up to the top of the cairn.We waited, and saw them light it; accompanied by general cheering. The bonfire blazed forth brilliantly, and we could see the numerous figures surrounding it – some dancing, all shouting. About three-quarters of an hour after, Albert came down, and said the scene had been wild and exciting beyond everything. The people had been drinking healths in whisky, and were in great ecstasy. The whole house seemed in a wonderful state of excitement. The boys were with difficulty awakened, and when at last this was the case, they begged leave to go up to the top of the cairn.
We remained till a quarter to twelve; and, just as I was undressing,all the people came down under the windows, the pipes playing, the people singing, firing off guns, and cheering – first for me, then for Albert, the Emperor of the French, and the ‘downfall of Sebastopol’.
Queen Victoria
11 September
1939 [France]
War is here. In order to escape its obsession, I am going over and learning long passages of Phèdre and of Athalie. I am reading the Atheist’s Tragedy of Cyril Tourneur and Eichendorff ’s Taugenichts. But the oil lamp throws a poor light; I must close the book and my mind returns to its anguish, to its interrogation: is this the twilight or the dawn?
André Gide
October 30th, 2009 at 9:17 am
[...] Read an extract here. [...]