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You are here: Home / Archives for Article topics / Poetry

Poetry

Occasional Paper 57: The Naval Ode and Laurence Binyon

July 6, 2019

July 2019

There are moments when we first gaze upon a work of art, whether in the pictorial or written form, and are drawn to its beauty and are inspired.  The evocative lines of the Naval Ode combine to create such an occasion.

These two simple but disparate verses are often attributed to the English poet Laurence Binyon.  While the second verse comes from Binyon’s tribute ‘For the Fallen’ extensive research has failed to find authorship to the opening verse which may well have come from an earlier folk song.  Although of entirely separate derivations this unlikely but happy literary marriage serves us well. 

 

They have no grave but the cruel sea,

No flowers lay at their head,

A rusting hulk is their tombstone,

Afast on the ocean bed.

 

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

We will remember them.

Laurence Binyon, the son of a Quaker pastor, was born on 10 August 1869. He was educated at St Paul’s School in London and read literature at Trinity College Oxford, winning the Newdigate Prize for poetry. His later career was at the British Museum where he became a published expert of oriental art. In 1904 he married historian Cicely Powell, and the couple had three daughters.

Profoundly affected by the horror of the Great War and the tragic number of casualties of the British Expeditionary Force, Binyon wrote his most famous work ‘For the Fallen’. This was composed while on the cliff tops of the rugged north Cornish coast. The stanza ‘They shall grow not old’ was written first and dictated the rhythmical movement of the whole seven stanza poem. The scholar did not have to look far for inspiration, drawing on Shakespeare’s description in Anthony and Cleopatra ‘Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale’. Binyon’s poem was first published in ‘The Times’ on 21 September 1914 and found widespread appreciation. Keen observers will note that the second line of the author’s manuscript remains faithful to the original text using ‘Age shall not wither them’ which was subsequently changed to ‘Age shall not weary them’.

Manuscript of Laurence Binyon’s original draft

In 1915, then aged 46, beyond the age of conscription and despite being a pacifist, Binyon volunteered to work as a hospital orderly caring for the wounded in France. After the war he returned to the British Museum and continued writing on art. In 1931 his two volumes of collected poems were published and in 1932 he rose to become Keeper (departmental head) of Prints and Drawings. The next year however he resigned from the Museum in favour of the Norton Professorship of Poetry at Harvard. He later returned to England and continued his academic work until he died in 1943.

In 1932 Lawrence Binyon was awarded the prestigious Order of the Companion of Honour (CH) for his outstanding achievement in the field of art. He is commemorated by a plaque in the Poets’ Corner at Westminster Abby.

Lest we forget.

Publication, March 2015 edition of the Naval Historical Review (all rights reserved)

Terse Verse

June 1, 1999

The following verse was apparently composed on the occasion of the initial Task Force of the British Pacific Fleet joining up with the US 3rd/5th Fleet in the North Pacific in 1944. I don’t think it was penned by an RN Communicator, but by a Gunnery Officer, and he was probably Commander Michael Le Fanu. He was RN Liaison Officer aboard the US flagship Indianapolis at the time.

He became First Sea Lord, 1968-70, and was popularly known as the “Chinese Admiral” – because of his name, and later as “Dry Ginger” – because of his red hair and his wise move in abolishing the RN daily rum issue. He was destined to be CDS but died suddenly of leukemia – though not before writing some witty verse about missing out on this appointment.

“This OLD PACIFIC OCEAN had inspired a strange devotion
It was bitter and at intervals it stank
It was tough and it was risky
It was full of rotten whiskey
It was rugged but goddammit it was “yank”

Until there came invasion, on that memorable occasion
When towards the TBS we turned an ear
And a voice both arched and skittish, and undoubtedly British
Said … Rogah … Thanks old boy … You’re loud and cleah”.

A Naval Airman’s Christmas Carol

December 27, 1996

Or “Who me, Joss?” (Courtesy – HMAS Albatross)


Jossman Wencelas looked out On the Feast of Stephen, When the R.P.O.s stood round about, Blancoed, crisp and even.

Loudly swore the Joss that night Like a London coster, When he found an N.A. bright, Missing from his roster.

“Hither Crusher, stand by me, If thou know’st it, spill it. This here N.A. – who is he? Where the hell’s his billet?”

“Joss, he lives a good league hence, And his name is Taffy. ‘Spect he’s having plonk and pies In Happy’s Heavenly Cafe”.

“Izzat so? Fall in, two men! Let us go and nick him. Thou and I will find him then And on defaulters stick him!

Joss and Crusher forth they went Though the night was lousy; Found the N.A. sweating hard In a game of Housey.

In the Jossmen’s steps he trod, With two men as flankers, Trembled at the Commander’s nod And got ten days Jankers.

Therefore N.A.s all, be sure, When you’re warned for duty, If you’re not there on the dot, You’ve had it – like this beauty. -P.O. Foster.

Glossary – for non-naval members.

  • “Jossman”  – Master-at-arms
  • “R.P.O.”  – Regulating Petty Officer – Ship’s police.
  • “N.A.” – Naval Airman “Crusher” (See R.P.O.)
  • “Housey” – Housey Housey – Bingo
  • “Jankers” – Punishment such as leave stopped, extra work etc..

Letters – ‘Detail Action’

June 21, 1983

The poem “Detail Action” in the March issue, and which you state may have been attributed to “Gatey” Crawford, was in fact written by Gerald O’Driscoll, R.N.

Under the name ‘Giraldus’, he wrote some very funny and knowledgeable books, notably “Musings of a Merry Matelot”, and “The Merry Matelot Again”. I have a copy of the latter which contains the poem in question. The writings are most entertaining, but mainly to the old permanent ratings, who endured the intensive training, heavy discipline and petty restrictions of the pre-war navy.

To such people, his books may be read and re-read, and are good for a laugh every time, and in gratitude for this I would like to see honour done where due.

D.A. Walker, Ex Chief G.M.

The Battle of Kolombangara

March 21, 1983

In darkness and quiet of the morning,
As the squadron steamed steadily north
The admiral signalled a warning,
That Jap warships were–sallying forth.

We knew not their size nor their number
Their speed or their object that night,
But ours was to send them down under
So we steamed to the north and to fight.

One o’clock. and “stand to” is sounded,
And the speed is increased to our best
All’s tense – scarce a whisper is heard
Till we open our fire with the rest.

Action! full hot is the pace
Guns ablaze and shells scream through the night
Each man is closed up at his place
To fight for his cause and the right.

“Leander” was pouring out shell
Her hull rocked and reeled with the blast
A round us the “Yanks” gave them hell
For they knew how to shoot and shoot fast.

The Jap guns were flashing and roaring
And some of the shells landed near,
But our broadsides we see to be scoring
We’re making them pay and pay dear.

At the height of this furious show
A terrific explosion is heard
She shudders and reels neath the blow
And seems to go dead. Scarce a word

As we help with the dead and the dying
And feel our way round in the dark.
We know by the way she’s now lying
That a “tin fish ” has made us its mark.

No words I can find or can borrow
Can tell of the thoughts in our mind
Our grief at the bloodshed, our sorrow
For messmates cannot be defined.

We’re crippled-fight, steam we’re unable­
A fine sitting shot for the Jap­
But the “Yanks” – or those that are able
Haul in and get on with the scrap.

Now the days of “Zeander” were over
Were it not for the boys down below
Who wouldn’t admit they were beaten
And said “we will get her to go”:

They swore and they cursed – they were weary
They prayed as they coaxed her along
But they all stuck it out and were cheery
And even spared breath for a song.

Dawn found us still limping to southward
The victors, but we’d paid a price.
Jap bases were close on our starboard
They’ll surely be here in a trice.

With eyes that were strained and were swollen
The lookouts kept scanning the sky
And the sight of our own fighter squadron
Was a sight to gladden each eye.

Twenty-eight of us paid for this glory
For them all we offer a prayer
Their names will live on in our story
Their dear ones are safe in God’s care

Their sweethearts, their wives and their mothers
We’ll care for as though they’re our own
To their menfolk – their fathers and brothers
We promise to see this job done.
 

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