Crimea, 1854: The Charge of the Light Brigade...

[Hekate]

Fareed Zakaria referenced this poem in his Sunday GPS program -- not only referenced it but played a recording of Tennyson reading it aloud. In the old man's voice I heard irony, disillusionment, bitterness. The second stanza says it all.

http://www.nationalcenter.org/ChargeoftheLightBrigade.html

This poem was written to memorialize a suicidal charge by light cavalry over open terrain by British forces in the Battle of Balaclava (Ukraine) in the Crimean War (1854-56). >snip< Britain entered the war, which was fought by Russia against Turkey, Britain and France, because Russia sought to control the Dardanelles. Russian control of the Dardanelles threatened British sea routes.

The Charge Of The Light Brigade

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Half a league half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred:
'Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd & thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack & Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,
Shatter'd & sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse & hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

[Hekate]

1. kick

[treestar]

2. Probably similar reasons for fighting over it now. nt

[rafeh1]

3. multiple western attempts

multiple western attempts to liberate Russia have repeatedly failed.

the Russians refer to artillery as the god of war. And when you have god on your side..

they gave a rude awakening to Uncle Adolf and friends too..

[jwirr]

4. That poem was my first introduction to the futility of war. I can never read it without crying.

[Hekate]

5. Kick

[CTyankee]

6. Well, we all know what happened to the British Empire, don't we?

I don't think Obama is going that way....really...

[muriel_volestrangler]

7. A poem based on a misunderstanding of an early war report

From this Saturday's Radio 4 'Today' programme in the UK - starting about 1:53:50

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b03xcmh9

Professor Andrew Lambert from the War Studies department at King's College, London:

...
It's the first (war) that has a dedicated war reporter, a man called William Howard Russell who works for The Times. And he's able to get his reports back to Britain fairely quickly, so within little more than a week, using the new cable telegraph system, people in the UK are reading reports of battles, and they're uncensored. These are not embedded journalism. These are the reports of a man who's hanging aroudn the edge of the camp, talking to anyone who's got a story to tell.

And that was a first?

This was a first, and it led spectacularly to some serious misunderstandings. Russell's report of the charge of the Light Brigade suggests that almost the entire cavalry squadron of over 600 men had been masacred. This was then picked up by Lord Tennyson, the Poet Laureate, and he wrote a wonderful poem about the sacrifice of these men, only to discover when he finished it that the report was whole erroneous. The casualties were far less than the initial report had suggested. Russell had quite simply got hold of the wrong end of the stick. The initial muster of the men after the battle - only 120 men turned up. And he presumed that the rest were dead. Of course, they weren't, they just hadn't got back to the muster point. Many of them didn't have their horses, some of them were wounded, a few of them were captured, but only about 120 men out of 600 were actually killed in the battle. Tennyson then decided he would publish the poem anyway, because it was just a cracking verse. And so everybody's view of the charge of the Light Brigade is it was futile, stupid and hugely costly. It was actually none of those things. It was a very successful charge which terrified the Russians who never again came out and played cavalry with the British army for the rest of the war.

Casualties for the whole of the Battle of Balaclava were about even.

[Hekate]

8. Fascinating, Muriel. Thank you!

[Riftaxe]

9. Crimean War Poetry?

Well why not then....

"The Last of the Light Brigade

~Rudyard Kipling

There were thirty million English who talked of England's might,
There were twenty broken troopers who lacked a bed for the night.
They had neither food nor money, they had neither service nor trade;
They were only shiftless soldiers, the last of the Light Brigade.

They felt that life was fleeting; they knew not that art was long,
That though they were dying of famine, they lived in deathless song.
They asked for a little money to keep the wolf from the door;
And the thirty million English sent twenty pounds and four!

They laid their heads together that were scarred and lined and grey;
Keen were the Russian sabres, but want was keener than they;
And an old Troop-Sergeant muttered, "Let us go to the man who writes
The things on Balaclava the kiddies at school recites."

They went without bands or colours, a regiment ten-file strong,
To look for the Master-singer who had crowned them all in his song;
And, waiting his servant's order, by the garden gate they stayed,
A desolate little cluster, the last of the Light Brigade.

They strove to stand to attention, to straighten the toil-bowed back;
They drilled on an empty stomach, the loose-knit files fell slack;
With stooping of weary shoulders, in garments tattered and frayed,
They shambled into his presence, the last of the Light Brigade.

The old Troop-Sergeant was spokesman, and "Beggin' your pardon," he said,
"You wrote o' the Light Brigade, sir. Here's all that isn't dead.
An' it's all come true what you wrote, sir, regardin' the mouth of hell;
For we're all of us nigh to the workhouse, an' we thought we'd call an' tell.

"No, thank you, we don't want food, sir; but couldn't you take an' write
A sort of 'to be continued' and 'see next page' o' the fight?
We think that someone has blundered, an' couldn't you tell 'em how?
You wrote we were heroes once, sir. Please, write we are starving now."

The poor little army departed, limping and lean and forlorn.
And the heart of the Master-singer grew hot with "the scorn of scorn."
And he wrote for them wonderful verses that swept the land like flame,
Till the fatted souls of the English were scourged with the thing called Shame.

They sent a cheque to the felon that sprang from an Irish bog;
They healed the spavined cab-horse; they housed the homeless dog;
And they sent (you may call me a liar), when felon and beast were paid,
A cheque, for enough to live on, to the last of the Light Brigade.*

O thirty million English that babble of England's might,
Behold there are twenty heroes who lack their food to-night;
Our children's children are lisping to "honour the charge they made - "
And we leave to the streets and the workhouse the charge of the Light Brigade!"

[Hekate]

11. Too bloody real -- and here we are again today

[Cha]

10. Mahalo, Hekate~

[Hekate]

12. Remember when Laura Bush was to have a gathering of poets at the WH?

Does anybody remember when Laura Bush decided to hold a tea for American poets, and the poets wanted to recite their anti-war poems? I think Laura canceled -- but what I most vividly remember is this: Laura the Librarian said that poetry wasn't about ugly and topical things like war, but about truth and beauty and twinkly-twee stuff like that. Shhh, said the Librarian.

Poets know.