It’s Veterans Day here in the U.S. In the UK and Commonwealth, France, Belgium and Serbia, it’s Armistice Day — marking the end of World War One at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918.
The Great War as it was known until it was eclipsed by a still greater cataclysm, was the watershed moment of modern times. It marked the end of the “long 19th Century” and ushered in a terrifying modern world. Political extremism unchained and armed to the teeth with a heretofore unimagined capacity for destruction. Almost 100 years on, the closing gun of the Great War continues to echo.
To mark the day, my favorite version of Australian folksinger Eric Bogle’s “Green Fields of France,” by Dropkick Murphys:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7M3OalT-H8
Oh how do you do, young Willy McBride
Do you mind if I sit here down beside your graveside
And rest for a while ‘neath the warm summer sun
I’ve been walking all day, and I’m nearly done
And I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When you joined the great fallen in 1916
Well I hope you died quick
And I hope you died clean
Oh Willy McBride, was is it slow and obsceneDid they beat the drums slowly?
Did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play the Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined
And though you died back in 1916
To that loyal heart you’re forever nineteen
Or are you a stranger without even a name
Forever enshrined behind some old glass pane
In an old photograph torn, tattered, and stained
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frameDid they beat the drums slowly?
Did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play the Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?The sun shining down on these green fields of France
The warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance
The trenches have vanished long under the plow
No gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing now
But here in this graveyard that’s still no man’s land
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man’s blind indifference to his fellow man
And a whole generation were butchered and damnedDid they beat the drums slowly?
Did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play the Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?And I can’t help but wonder oh Willy McBride
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you the cause?
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing and dying it was all done in vain
Oh Willy McBride it all happened again
And again, and again, and again, and againDid they beat the drums slowly?
Did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play the Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
deuce says
Great tune. As Chesterton said about the Irish (and, indirectly, Gaelic music), “All their wars are happy and all their songs are sad.”
Damned straight the Great War was a watershed. The world would be completely different otherwise.
When we visited Newcastleton in Liddesdale (the home valley of our ancestors), my mom and I stood before the inevitable WWI monument. Ten percent of the town’s adult men died in the trenches. The US never saw that even in the Civil War (though 4 out of 8 Nixon boys in my line died on the “altar of freedom” in that bloodbath).
As I said at the time, “World War One was where Western Civilization tried to commit suicide. We’ve never recovered.” I also said (considering the fact that the Border Counties supplied more than their share), “They draft the white trash first round here anyway.” (Steve Earle reference)
It’s a bloody, muddy, mustard-reeking gash across modern European history. The Crusades brought vitality. WWI brought only despair.
JimC says
“World War One was where Western Civilization tried to commit suicide. We’ve never recovered.”
That’s as well said as anything I’ve ever heard on the subject.
Keith West says
This is another of my favorite songs, but I’ve never heard this version. I love it. You’ve exceeded your usual high standards in music selection this week. Well done, sir; well done.
JimC says
Thx, Keith. Glad you liked it.
Norm Andrews says
My Great Uncle William G Collins , lied about his age and gave a false name to join up , really he was only 15 years old, he served right through but was killed on the 18th of October 1918 , 18 days before the end. The family paid to have him brought home, so he is buried in our village Churchyard about 200 yards from our house, but still has a commonwealth war grave headstone. I have travelled the battlefields of France many times, WWII I can come to teams with , but WWI is just crazy , I mean no disrespect but it was crazy, in places the trenches are no more than 30 to 40 yards apart, it’s like you dig in there we will dig in here no one move for 4 years , and we can just slaughter each other.
Norm.
JimC says
The end game of the War was a sick tragedy. An arbitrary deadline — and men died right up to it.
Paul McNamee says
Never a better example of “foreign entanglements” than the Great War. Except for the U.S. holding out as long as we did, everyone else got sucked down a whirlpool of alliances.
And yeah Deuce, – “World War One was where Western Civilization tried to commit suicide. We’ve never recovered.”
Best damn thumbnail of that war I’ve ever read.
VBell says
You can say that the trouble that the west is having with the arab world is directly descended from the naive way that region was handled during and after the Great War. Fires that were kindled are still burning, and ironically and tragically are spreading back to Europe. WWI started in a mess and stopped in a mess. I don’t think it has truly ended, and we are still paying it.
JimC says
The ghost of Sykes-Picot stalked the streets of Paris last night.