So farewell Harry Patch
Where have the flowers, the flowers all gone
They sing at his passing, the Tommy now home
Passchendaele hell scorched deep in his brain
A century on, the squalor, the pain
The pals dead like cattle
The rapid guns' rattle
The bugles yet calling from sadness of shires
The shrill wailing shells, the mourning of choirs
No pity no mercy no purpose no gain
The millions of young men all slaughtered in vain
The fields gone to poppies
The poppies to wreaths
November skies weeping
Eternal flame keeping
His message persistent
The pity the shame
When will they ever, no never will learn
The flowers to young girls to young men all gone
Gone to the graveyards, the fathers the sons
So sing his farewell, let his long nightmare cease
Just one in a million, last Tommy at peace
Where have the flowers, the flowers all gone
They sing at his passing, the Tommy now home
Passchendaele hell scorched deep in his brain
A century on, the squalor, the pain
The pals dead like cattle
The rapid guns' rattle
The bugles yet calling from sadness of shires
The shrill wailing shells, the mourning of choirs
No pity no mercy no purpose no gain
The millions of young men all slaughtered in vain
The fields gone to poppies
The poppies to wreaths
November skies weeping
Eternal flame keeping
His message persistent
The pity the shame
When will they ever, no never will learn
The flowers to young girls to young men all gone
Gone to the graveyards, the fathers the sons
So sing his farewell, let his long nightmare cease
Just one in a million, last Tommy at peace
August 13th 2009 Flight from Toulouse to Gatwick
Harry Patch spent his last years in Wells and I always counted every year when his birthday came around in June. He was born in the same year as my grandfather but lived more than 50 years longer. It felt like a link to Grandad, a shared experience I suppose.
ReplyDeleteSadly, as he talked of the futility of war, in the West country we have seen the return in coffins of dozens of young men who have given their lives just as his friends did all those years ago. And for what?
I saw a beautiful interview with Harry, in which he explained that he and his pal had agreed, if they came across any Germans, they wouldn't shoot to kill, but just aim at their legs. In the madness of war, this is true loving selflessness - to give your enemy what you want most - a "Blighty wound". I'm so glad to know that he wasn't a puffed up war hound, but a man who saw - and grieved -the deep futility and horror of it all.
ReplyDeleteIt is indeed wonderful isn't it that this man, who had that attitude to war even whilst forced to endure it, became the very last surviving veteran. French friends and our current Texan visitors all knew who he was. It is so astonishing to think of our grandfathers, so long dead- and even my father, born in 1914, therefore involved in the 2nd W W, having been outlived for so long by Harry.I have always loved 'Where have all the flowers gone?' and thought it was a perfect choice by his grandson to express the poignancy the pity and the lesson never never learned.
ReplyDeleteHarry was familiar to us on local TV, he was always someone you would sit down and listen to. Alongside his death news of local 18 year olds returning dead and being paraded in Wootten Bassett. I had heard that it was Harry himself who had requested 'where have all the flowers gone'. I say this because he was always years wise but young at heart.
ReplyDeleteIts hard to explain how this poem makes me feel. It seems to touch my heart with a deep sadness and at the same time makes me feel grossly inadequate in my ability to understand what happened. I wasn’t around when back when so my only glimpses of that time are what I gather from others. I view this poem as a gift. Thank you.
ReplyDelete