My brethren, the ways of God No man can understand, We can but wait in awe and watch The wonders of His hand.…
Geoffrey Anketell Studdert Kennedy, MC was an English poet and Anglican priest who was immortalised for his work with wounded soldiers of the First World War. His pastoral and humanist care earned him the epithet ‘Woodbine Willie’ because of his habit of distributing cigarettes of that name to the men. His distinguished military career earned him the Military Cross, awarded for a stunning act of bravery. He was born on the 27th June 1883 in Leeds into a large family; he was the seventh of nine children. His father, a local clergyman, was a Dubliner and, because of this and his Irish ancestry, Geoffrey always considered himself to be an Irishman, as opposed to being a Yorkshireman. His early education included Leeds Grammar School but he went to Trinity College, Dublin to study for a degree in divinity and the classics. He obtained this in 1904 and returned to England to train as a clergyman at Ripon College. His first two posts were as a curate in Rugby and then vicar of a church in Worcester. As war broke out Studdert Kennedy went to the front line as a military chaplain and soon became popular with the wounded men that he ministered to every day. During the 1917 Battle of Messines in Flanders he risked certain death by bravely running into no man’s land between the trenches to help recover wounded soldiers, winning the Military Cross for his outstanding efforts. It is worth quoting the citation here: Like many other poets of that era he wrote about his war time experiences and these were collected into two volumes. Rough Rhymes of a Padre came out in 1918 and More Rough Rhymes the following year. Many of these poems were written in a jaunty, vernacular style despite their grim subject matter and a good example was one dedicated to the brave men, like himself, who went out to collect the wounded from an often dangerous situation. Here is the opening verse of the poem To Stretcher Bearers: As they had done so for many others his wartime experiences changed his attitude dramatically to military action as a solution to problems. He became a pacifist and Christian Socialist and was now working in London. Two of his post-war books reflected his new outlook. Lies, published in 1919 and Democracy and the Dog-Collar (1921) were attacks on not only the Church but also on governments and capitalism. He spoke up for the common man at every opportunity as he became a prolific public speaker on Industrial Christian Fellowship tours around the country. Studdert Kennedy was famous for his emotional, heart-felt sermons and a newspaper report from 1928 described the scenes at his packed meetings where, invariably, He kept up a relentless schedule of work which, ultimately, cost him his life. On a visit to Liverpool he was taken ill and, suffering from extreme physical and mental exhaustion, he never recovered. Geoffrey Anketell Studdert Kennedy died on the 8th March 1929 at the age of 45. Shamefully the Dean of Westminster refused to sanction a burial in Westminster Abbey because of the socialist, anti-church pronouncements that Kennedy had made in the preceding years. Instead he was buried in Worcester and the funeral was well attended by ordinary people who had appreciated his efforts on their behalf. “Woodbine Willie” would be much missed.
Geoffrey Anketell Studdert Kennedy şiirleri
There was rapture of spring in the morning When we told our love in the wood, For you were the spring in my heart, dear lad. And I vowed that my life was good.…
I wouldn't mind if I only knowed The spot where they'd laid my lad; If I could see where they'd buried 'im, It wouldn't be arf so bad.…
' not Angles merely but of angel stock, These boys blue-eyed and shining from the sea, Which like a silver girdle belts their home. Not slaves but souls, not tools to use,…
There's another gorn to glory! Damn and blast these blinkin' 'Uns! Where's our damn retaliation? What's the matter wiv the guns?…
Yes, I've sat in the summer twilight, Wiv a nice girl, 'and in 'and, But I've thought even then of the shell 'oles, Where the boys of the old Bat. stand.…
Still I see them coming, coming, In their ragged broken line, Walking wounded in the sunlight, Clothed in majesty divine.…
You were askin' 'ow we sticks it, Sticks this blarsted rain and mud, 'Ow it is we keeps on smilin' When the place runs red wi' blood.…
There's a Jerry over there, Sarge ! Can't you see 'is big square 'ead ? If 'e bobs it up again there, I'll soon nail 'im - nail 'im dead.…
When there ain't no gal to kiss you, And the postman seems to miss you, And the fags have skipped an issue, Carry on.…
Easy does it — bit o' trench 'ere, Mind that blinkin' bit o' wire, There's a shell 'ole on your left there, Lift 'im up a little 'igher.…
There's a soul in the Eternal, Standing stiff before the King. There's a little English maiden Sorrowing.…
Our Padre were a solemn bloke, We called 'im dismal Jim. It fairly gave ye t' bloomin' creeps, To sit and 'ark at 'im,…
Well, I've done my bit o' scrappin', And I've done in quite a lot; Nicked 'em neatly wiv my bayonet, So I needn't waste a shot.…
Parson says I'm to make 'im a cross To set up over his grave, 'E's buried there by the Moated Grange, And I 'ad a damn close shave,…
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