A.P. Herbert
So here’s another of your wicked wiles—
A rocket which can whizz four hundred miles?
Do not suppose, if it could travel ten,
That it would save your bacon, silly men.
But if the ancient ways of war must cease,
We’ll have to take new thought about the peace.
The Atlantic Charter did not, I believe,
Provide for folk with rockets up their sleeve.
Be careful, Fritz. The farther you can throw
The farther into Europe we must go;
And then, that it may not occur again,
The farther—and the fiercer—we’ll remain.
Maybe, to pen the Prussian fireworks in,
We now shall need a bridgehead in Berlin.
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem is a direct and unapologetic response to the changing nature of warfare, particularly the technological advancements represented by the development of long-range rockets during World War II. The speaker’s tone is a mix of defiance and warning, drawing attention to the dangerous consequences of new weapons and their potential to escalate the conflict even further.
The opening lines, “So here’s another of your wicked wiles—/ A rocket which can whizz four hundred miles?” immediately set the stage for the poem’s criticism. The speaker refers to the “wicked wiles” of the enemy, likely a reference to Nazi Germany’s V-2 rockets, which were a technological marvel at the time but also deadly tools of destruction. The question “Do not suppose, if it could travel ten, / That it would save your bacon, silly men” is a clever and dismissive response to the notion that such weapons could alter the course of the war. There’s a suggestion here that no matter how advanced the technology, the resolve of the Allied forces will be enough to overcome it.
The poem moves from mockery to more serious reflection with the lines, “But if the ancient ways of war must cease, / We’ll have to take new thought about the peace.” The speaker acknowledges that the nature of war is changing—no longer will it be fought with only traditional tactics and technologies. The mention of “new thought about the peace” hints at the aftermath of the war and the need for new strategies and agreements to secure a lasting peace in a world where rockets and other advanced weaponry are now commonplace.
The reference to the Atlantic Charter is a subtle yet significant critique of the idea of peaceful diplomacy, particularly the notion of “freedom from fear” and “freedom from want.” The speaker suggests that the existence of new, dangerous technologies like rockets may require a rethinking of such ideals. The line, “The Atlantic Charter did not, I believe, / Provide for folk with rockets up their sleeve,” implies that the peace agreements made during the war, which aimed to secure international stability, were ill-prepared for the new era of warfare.
The final lines, which suggest that the Allies may need to push deeper into enemy territory (“The farther into Europe we must go; / And then, that it may not occur again, / The farther—and the fiercer—we’ll remain”), suggest a more aggressive stance. The poem ends with the chilling notion that in order to prevent further aggression from the enemy, the Allies may need to take extreme measures: “Maybe, to pen the Prussian fireworks in, / We now shall need a bridgehead in Berlin.” This line evokes the image of a direct military presence in Germany to ensure that the threat is fully eradicated—a grim acknowledgment of the lengths to which the Allies might need to go to secure lasting peace.
Throughout the poem, the speaker mixes sarcasm with a sense of grim determination. The tone is both defiant and pragmatic, acknowledging the reality of the situation while refusing to be cowed by the technological advancements of the enemy. The speaker suggests that while the weapons may change, the ultimate goal remains the same: to defeat the enemy and ensure that the horrors of war are not repeated. There’s a stark realism in the poem’s conclusion—peace may only come through further conflict and a decisive resolution.
The poem reflects the tension of the era, with its complex mix of technological advancement, military strategy, and the question of what kind of peace could emerge from such unprecedented violence. It is a response to the growing uncertainty about the future—an acknowledgement that, while the enemy’s new weapons may be formidable, they will not break the resolve of those fighting for freedom. The speaker’s mix of mockery and serious contemplation captures the complex, often contradictory emotions of wartime—a struggle between despair and defiance, progress and destruction.