John Masefield’s Great War: Collected Works

by Philip Errington

  . . . It is true, we tried the tank, but it seems to me that we tried it much too much as an experiment, and too little as a weapon certain to have some success.107

  On 12 May Masefield stated ‘the battlefield is fairly clear in my head now’108 and contemplated the next phase of his research:

  I don’t look forward to foul London and the record office after so much out of door life. To be out of doors from 8 till 6 and not to read or write at all is pleasanter than to sit in foul air, stewing over papers.

  I probably know more of the Somme field than any of the soldiers who fought there. Parts of it do not attract me, parts repel me, some of it is romantic, some strange, some unearthly, some savage . . . 109

  The American publishing contracts for The Old Front Line hint at the problems Masefield was to encounter in writing of the Somme. The first contract, signed before Masefield had left for France, is dated 19 January 1917 and refers to ‘a work the subject of which is an account of the Battle of the Somme’. A later contract is dated 15 June 1917 and refers to ‘a work the subject or title of which is The Story of the Battle of the Somme’.110 The contract has become less precise: ‘the subject . . . is an account’ becomes ‘the subject or title . . . is The Story of . . .’ Masefield’s expected great sequel to Gallipoli became two truncated volumes: The Old Front Line (published in 1917) and The Battle of the Somme (published in 1919). In his foreword to the latter, Masefield explained:

  In June, 1917, when I felt that I knew the ground so intimately well, from every point of view, that I could follow any written record or report of the fighting, I returned to England, hoping to be permitted to consult the Brigade and Battalion diaries, as in 1916, when I wrote a history of the campaign in Gallipoli. It was not possible for me to obtain access to these documents, and as only four others, of any worth, existed, my plan for the book had to be abandoned.

  Feeling that perhaps some who had lost friends in the battle might care to know something of the landscape in which the battle was fought, I wrote a little study of the position of the lines, as they stood on July 1, 1916. This study, under the title The Old Front Line, was published at the end of 1917. I then attempted to write an account of the battle from what I had seen and heard, and had written as much as is here printed, when I was turned to other work, of another kind, many miles from Europe and the war.111

  Neville Lytton later wrote:

  I had . . . read his book on Gallipoli and it had made a profound impression on me . . . here at last I thought was a second Homer . . . It is incredible that, after producing such a masterpiece as Gallipoli, his unique gifts should have been wasted . . . 112

  Masefield had intended to complete his research one day, as a letter to Annie Horniman reveals:

  I must apologize for the book’s shortness. It was, simply, the preface to my book on the Somme fighting, which has been laid aside while I speak about the war here. I hope to finish the book someday, and then it will not be such short measure.113

  And where was Masefield speaking about the war? Once again he was in America on a lecture tour.

  As noted, Masefield had written to J.B. Pond during November 1916 to propose ‘another lecture tour for the winter of 1918’.114 Although the seven month tour commenced on a commercial basis it concluded as a tour of the training camps for soldiers and sailors under the auspices of the Y.M.C.A. This time, of course, Masefield was speaking to Allies. He had written to Florence Lamont in April 1917:

  So we are now Allies. It must seem strange to Americans to be allied with us in a war. I hope that it may be a real alliance . . . 115

  and the desire to speak directly to troops came from Masefield’s sense of a spirit of co-operation. A further contrast to the earlier tour was the inclusion of the West Coast and South-West in a gruelling itinerary, described by J.B. Pond as a ‘fully booked’ tour.116 At the beginning of 1918 Masefield had been invited by The New York Times to contribute a statement on America’s part in the war (see ‘America’s Part to Bring Victory and a Real Peace’) and before the end of January Masefield was in New York himself having had ‘a dismal journey across’117. On this trip Masefield discovered train-sickness to add to his predilection for seasickness. ‘Still’, he wrote to Florence Lamont, ‘who would not be sick for England?’118

  At the beginning of February, Masefield wrote to Margaret Bridges, daughter of the Poet Laureate and a great friend, that:

  . . . it has been a crowded and feverish time, with speaking once a day, sometimes twice, and many interviewers and reporters, and beastly lunches and teas where I have to say a few words, and then off to a hot train for 3 or 400 miles to repeat the process.119

  and, a few days later, despaired of journalists in Chicago:

  I am still here, speaking to city audiences of varying sizes, and being mis-reported by journalists who do not know their job. I’ve been described as a red revolutionary, and as a believer in brute force, and as a pacifist, and I have now grown weary of denying, but let them say what they will.120

  In general, however, Masefield was receiving a great deal of press coverage. On 27 January The New York Times had included an article by Montrose J. Moses under the title ‘Prospect of Labor’s Ruling British Parliament’ which was sub-titled ‘Official Historian of Haig’s Army, John Masefield, talks about politics, battle scenes, German unrest, peace outlook, and after-the-war problems’. Much of the article directly quoted Masefield and these extracts are included in the present collection. As ever, Masefield’s humour broke through and this enabled the article to end on a note of black comedy:

  As Mr. Masefield talked he fingered the identification tag on his wrist. He fondled it as if there were running through his mind the idea that, though the bosche may deprive him of his life, he cannot take from him the record which shows that he is entitled to the burial service of the Church of England. As he fingered it, a sad flicker of a smile crossed his face. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I ought to have four of these identification tags – one on the other wrist and one on each ankle. We cannot take one chance with the bosche’.121

  As the months wore on, Masefield grew increasingly homesick and anxious to promote England’s role in the war. At the beginning of March, he wrote to Florence Lamont:

  I am trying to fix a lecture for Aeolian Hall, on April 23rd, and think of speaking solely of England’s share in this war. Do you think that this would be wise, as well as acceptable? You see, it is St. George’s Day, which gives an excuse; but I don’t want to do an unwise thing. Will you consider this?122

  And a few days later repeated his request with one of the few occasions he used the word ‘propaganda’ within private wartime correspondence:

  . . . I want your advice very much on this matter of my talk, and of propaganda generally . . . 123

  The lecture was advertised by J.B. Pond as the ‘Farewell Appearance of John Masefield England’s Soldier Poet’ where for $15 a box, and seats from 50c to $2 the public could hear the lecture ‘England and the War’.124 In August 1918 Macmillan published in America two of Masefield’s lectures as The War and the Future. The St. George’s Day speech was included as ‘St. George and the Dragon’. English publication would occur in 1919 by Heinemann when the volume was entitled St. George and the Dragon. The texts have been included in the present volume chronologically by their date of delivery rather than publication.

  During his time in America Masefield wrote to Florence Lamont about his desire to return to France:

  . . . I long to be back in France; in the trenches if they will take me; for I don’t feel that I have done any good here, talking to special audiences, instead of to colleges and all comers, free of charge, and if I’m to be wasted I’d like to be wasted properly . . . 125

  This led to Masefield’s plan to speak to military camps:

  Do you think it would be acceptable if I were to go to the camps here, in the east and middlewest, to speak on England’s achievement in the war, free, to the men, and everyone who c
ared to come? I daresay they would wish me at the devil, me and my England, tho I would try to make it a pleasant talk.126

  and the announcement was made on 1 June – Masefield’s fortieth birthday – that he would tour the camps with the support of the Y.M.C.A. The New York Times reported that:

  . . . speaking of the work of the Y.M.C.A. during the war, Mr. Masefield said that he considered the wartime Y.M.C.A. one of the greatest products of the war, and the Secretaries of the Y.M.C.A. at the front are invaluable in making the life of the soldiers in the trenches agreeable and sustaining their spirits and morale.

  ‘Morale is as important to armies as heavy artillery,’ Mr. Masefield said, ‘and I feel proud to be able to work with the Y.M.C.A. in the great work it is doing to keep up the morale and contentment of the American troops abroad’.127

  Masefield reported to Margaret Bridges that:

  . . . the camps are amazing places, with hotels for the soldiers’ lady friends to stay at, and theatres, and movie-theatres, and rifle-ranges, where you can hit clay pigeons at a cent a go, and the most excellent huts and lecture halls, and generally a music hall as well, besides billiard rooms with fifty tables. They give the men a jolly good time here, and the men are splendid. It is a treat to talk to them.128

  and later that:

  . . . all this army and navy are superb . . . splendid, alert, full of what is here called ‘pep’, and also full of initiative and invention. It is wonderful to think that this fresh and magnificent army is really entering France on our side.129

  Whilst in America, Masefield was invited by the Manchester Guardian to contribute to a special issue on the first Russian Revolution of March 1917 (February in the Russian calendar). Masefield was enthusiastic and called it ‘the profoundest and most living event of our time’.130 He was apparently silent on the second revolution of November (October) although he later recalled seeing Lenin in the British Museum Reading Room around 1908 and, on one occasion, holding the door open for him.131

  In June, Masefield received honorary degrees from Harvard and Yale (see ‘The Common Task’ for his acceptance speech at Yale) and in early August he concluded his tour. To Florence Lamont he confided that it had been a ‘cushy job’ and hoped he would return to France:

  Joy, joy, joy, to be going back to the front

  To lie inside a hole and try to see a stunt

  With a gasmask on your face and a helmet on your head

  Above you, stinks of shells, beneath you, stinks of dead,

  Around you howls and bangs and little flitting rats

  And clods and flying shards to hit you heavy bats,

  And roars and dust and glimmers and curses loud and deep,

  And little tickling things which keep you from your sleep.132

  By the time Masefield was back in England the war had but another three months to last. Masefield had a new home in Oxford to discover and busied himself in writing: to A.G. Gardiner of the Daily News he stated:

  . . . I am rather snowed up with official work . . . travelling continuously eats into my time and I’ve had a lot to do lately . . . 133

  Despite a lack of time, Masefield did make himself available to a young writer, lately returned to England. Writing to Siegfried Sassoon, Masefield noted:

  . . . It will be a great pleasure to me to see you. My movements are uncertain, but I shall probably be here for week-ends for some time to come, and I hope that we may meet when you are near Oxford.

  I have followed your work for some time with great interest and admiration. You have done some splendid work, and I have much admired the way you have stood up for the Cambridge Magazine. I would have written to you long ago, but had a natural shyness, lest I should be . . . one of the old anti-Christs to be bowled out of the way ... 134

  Sassoon visited Masefield on 9 November 1918 (as recorded in Sassoon’s diaries) and he left with a photograph of Masefield in uniform inscribed ‘for Siegfried Sassoon from John Masefield Nov 9. 1918’.135 Although Sassoon was not uncritical of Masefield the two writers enjoyed a number of meetings and an occasional correspondence until Masefield’s death four months before that of Sassoon in 1967.

  By the beginning of October, Masefield was working for the ‘Department of Hospitality to American Forces’ under the Ministry of Information based in requisitioned accommodation in Horrex’s Hotel just off the Strand. The department was formed, under the directorship of Lieutenant-Colonel R. McCalmont, from ‘The British Committee for Entertaining American Forces’ and the new name was implemented at the end of September 1918. Masefield set about recruiting potential speakers and wrote to numerous friends:

  Part of the work of this Department is to supply Lecturers and Public Speakers to the Rest Camp and Permanent Stations of American Soldiers and Sailors now in this Kingdom.

  Lectures and speeches about particular events and aspects of the war, about this country’s many shares in it and contributions to it, and about English life, history, achievements, ideals, hopes and institutions, are much liked by these men, who come here knowing nothing of our share in this struggle and little of our aims and past . . . 136

  Recipients included E.P. Bell, Cecil Roberts, Ronald Ross and Walter de la Mare.

  When the Armistice was signed, Masefield was in London. He wrote two days later to Florence Lamont:

  It is over now . . . so now we have peace, and some prospect of unwinding the accursed chain to some purpose. The day of peace was dark, with a lowering sky and rain, so much rain, that the tumults were kept within bounds. Flags, yells, a little gunfire and a little drunkenness saw the day through. Yesterday, being fine, they went further and burnt a bonfire in Piccadilly Circus. Tonight, being fine, and the streets lighter, I expect something rowdier and more drunken. But it has been a happy time of deliverance, a setting free from death, a loosing of bonds . . . may this great, kind, generous and truly noble people find its reward in beauty and happiness after all these years of death and hell.137

  Ever diligent, Masefield continued to speak for the Department of Hospitality to American Forces. He was, consequently, unable to review H.W. Nevinson’s The Dardanelles Campaign on the day of publication for the Manchester Guardian (see ‘The Most Heroic Effort’). Masefield apologised to his friend:

  . . . I had to go up to the north to speak, and was away for the best part of a week. This delayed matters, and then, at the best, I’m a very bad reviewer. Either a man speaks, like yourself, with the tongue of men and angels, or he is just sounding brass to me, and belongs with Alexander the coppersmith . . . 138

  At the beginning of December 1918 Masefield was in Manchester ‘to speak, as usual, on Anglo-American friendship’.139 However, the Department was formally closed down on 31 December 1918.

  The periodical Answers ran a feature before the end of the year. They noted that

  . . . the new era which is heralded by the dawning of peace is full of grave problems, and the termination of hostilities does not mean that our energies can be relaxed. On this page will be found a collection of views which have been expressed, on our invitation, suggesting the most vital matters which should engage our attention after the war.140

  Masefield’s views had, it seems, become important to the press. It seems appropriate also to include in this collection a short article entitled ‘1919 – 1920: Signs of the Times’ in which Masefield, at the invitation of the Manchester Guardian wrote about ‘the significance of the past year’.

  On 20 December 1918, Masefield was at home in Oxford. In a small canvas-bound notebook he started writing his first long narrative poem since 1913. Reynard the Fox was published in 1919 just after The Battle of the Somme had been issued in a small limited edition. Haig and Esher never got their official history of the Somme and yet even Neville Lytton was wrong about Masefield’s writing. Masefield the poet had not been wasted during the war. Reynard the Fox is not simply ‘the tale of the hunting of a fox’.141 In 1946, for a new edition, Masefield finally admitted:

&nb
sp; It is . . . a symbol of the free soul of humanity, then just escaped from extinction by the thoughtless, the debased and the determined leagued against it for four years of war.142

  Although excluded from the present collection, Masefield had eventually written his epic poem of the Great War.

  Dr Philip W. Errington

  Deputy Director,

  Department of Printed Books and Manuscripts, Sotheby’s

  Honorary Research Fellow,

  Department of English, University College London

  Notes

  1 John Masefield (JM), letter to Florence Lamont (FL), 19 May 1917 (ed. Corliss Lamont and Lansing Lamont, Letters of John Masefield to Florence Lamont, London: Macmillan, 1979 (LtoFL), p.43)

  2 Marsh was quoted by Constance Masefield (CM) in a letter to JM, 3 Oct 1916 (Constance Babington Smith, John Masefield – A Life, Oxford: University Press, 1978, (CBS), p.159). Neville Lytton, The Press and the General Staff, London: Collins, 1920, (Lytton) p.81

  3 See ‘A Consecration’, Salt-Water Ballads, London: Richards, 1902, pp.1 – 2

  4 JM, So Long to Learn, London: Heinemann, 1952, p.185

  5 See Muriel Spark, John Masefield, London: Nevill, 1953, p.5 for Lord Alfred Douglas’ comment. Barrie’s words were delivered while awarding a Royal Society of Literature prize in 1912. (See The Times, 29 Nov 1912, p.6)

  6 John Betjeman, ‘Preface’ to JM, Selected Poems, London: Heinemann, 1978, p.vii

  7 JM, ‘St. George and the Dragon’, St. George and the Dragon, London: Heinemann, 1919, p.13