Edward Owen Rutter
Tiadatha had a notion,
All the Dudshires had a notion
That in France they’d drop for ever
Musketry and long route marches,
Drop the sloping arms by numbers,
Drop the everlasting press-ups,
As a steamer drops her pilot
When she reaches open waters.
Yet the Dudshires’ recollection
Of those days in France is mainly
One big blur of mingled P.T.,
Arm drill, long straight roads and marches.
Many miles my Tiadatha
Tramped along those endless highways.
Endless as a winter’s evening,
Straighter than the wife of Caesar,
Fringed with trees all apple-laden,
Apple-laden till the Dudshires
Had a short fall-out beneath them.
Many villages they came to,
Villages as like as marbles,
With a little church, a duck pond,
And a local pub, which furnished
Nothing in the world but vin rouge
(“Two vins, please, Miss,” called the Dudshires),
Beer as thin as tissue paper,
And (sometimes) a drop of cognac:
There were bars in which the soliders
Slept on straw and ate and grumbled,
Shaved and smoked and wrote their letters –
Tiadatha censored hundreds.
There were cottages that straggled
(Like some weary soldiers marching)
Down a very muddy main street;
In those cottages dwelt old men,
Women, children and some cripples.
But no men with able bodies,
Not a slacker, not a shirker.
Here is was that Tiadatha
Slept upon the chilly stone floor,
Or (if fate were feeling kinder)
On a mighty feather mattress,
Ate his dinner in the kitchen,
Drinking down great draughts of cider,
Talkin in his very vile French
To Madame, his kindly hostess,
Wrinkled as a russet apple.
By the fire he wrote his letters,
Wrote and told his green-eyed Phyllis
How he missed her every minute,
Thanked her for the cake she’d sent him,
Hinted that he’d like another.
Little dreamed my Tiadatha
How he’d miss the cottage kitchen,
Miss the long French loaves and butter,
And his kindly wrinkled hostess,
In the days that were to follow.
After several weeks of wandering,
From one village to another,
From one billet to another,
Came a sojourn in the trenches
Just to see what trenches feel like.
On the day that Tiadatha
Sallied forth into the trenches,
Wondrously was he accoutred.
On his head a cap with ear-flaps
(Very like a third-rate footpad’s),
On his feet a pair of waders,
Reaching upwards to his tummy.
Many bags of tricks he carried,
Compass, map case and revolver,
Respirator, two trench daggers,
And his pack was great with torches,
Tommy’s cookers, iron rations,
And a box of ear defenders,
Present from his Aunt Matilda.
As they saw him in the distance,
Bearing down upon their billets,
His platoon turned out in wonder,
Watched the apparition coming,
Speculated who it might be,
Freely making bets about it,
Till they found it was none other
Than their own platoon commander.
Then he trudged off to the trenches,
Followed many muddy C.T.s,
Till at last he reached a dug-out,
And “reported for instruction”
To the hero who commanded
That small sector of the trenches.
This stout hero and his fellows
Made my Tiadatha welcome,
Straightway plying him with whisky,
Saying “Wont’ you take your kit off?
All you’ll need up here’s a Sam Browne.”
Then his host expounded to him
Many mysteries of warfare,
And the routine of the trenches,
All the habits of the Boche cove.
All the Boche’s beastly habits,
When he crumped, and when he didn’t,
How you got retaliation;
Spoke of Véry lights and whizzbangs,
Lewis guns and working parties,
Of his leave, due Friday fortnight,
Of the foibles of his Colonel,
Of the rats that he had captured
With some cheese upon a bayonet.
Then they took him round their trenches,
Round their muddy maze of trenches,
Rather like an aggravated
Rabbit warren with the roof off,
Worse to find one’s way about in
Than the dark and windy subways
Of the Piccadilly tube are.
In the day and night that followed
Many things learnt Tiadatha
Of the subtleties of trench-craft.
Learnt of crumps and duds and shrapnel,
And enjoyed himself immensely,
Little knowing how he’d loathe crumps
When he got to know them better.
There are very many trials
That a soldier can get used to;
Senior officers and bully,
Dug-outs, mules and ration biscuits,
Even standing-to in trenches
At some God-forsaken hour
On a cold and rainy morning,
But a crump is one of those things
That you never quite get used to,
And the longer that you know them,
Usually the less you like them.
Crumps are like the gilt-haired fairies
(Very swift and rather thrilling)
Tiadatha played about with
In the days he was a filbert –
Quite amusing when you meet them
Once or twice or even three times,
Who become a little trying
When they all turn up to supper
Regularly every evening.
But in those days Tiadatha
Didn’t mind the crumps a little.
Laughed to hear them rustling over
All the time that he was shaving,
Laughed to see a couple bursting
In a traverse near his dug-out,
As he laughed at Cloe’s sallies
On the day that he first met her
In her dressing room at Daly’s.
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem offers a humorous and sometimes poignant exploration of the mundane and absurd realities of war, particularly from the perspective of Tiadatha, a soldier who seems more bewildered by the circumstances of battle than fully immersed in its chaos. The tone of the poem is a mixture of light-heartedness and subtle reflection, with Tiadatha’s experiences both comical and disorienting.
At first glance, the poem feels almost like an absurd comedy of errors, with Tiadatha stumbling through his military experiences in a way that emphasizes the disorganization and oddity of war. The descriptions of life in the trenches, with its “muddy maze” and soldiers sporting “a cap with ear-flaps” and “waders,” immediately strike a tone of absurdity. Tiadatha is outfitted in an overstuffed kit, so ill-fitting that it borders on the ridiculous, suggesting the humor inherent in a soldier’s daily grind. His awkward, clumsy appearance—“bearing down upon their billets” in a fashion that elicits speculation—is a far cry from the traditional heroic image of a soldier, underlining the poet’s message that military life is often more about survival and endurance than glory.
The repetition of mundane activities—drinking “great draughts of cider,” censoring letters, and writing to Phyllis—makes Tiadatha’s experience feel more like an absurd cycle of routine than a heroic or tragic narrative. There’s a palpable sense of detachment in these moments, as if the trivial daily activities of the soldiers serve as a form of distraction from the horrors around them. Yet there is also a melancholy undercurrent to this detachment. Tiadatha “little dreamed” how much he would miss the small comforts of daily life, like the “long French loaves and butter” or the “kindly wrinkled hostess,” foreshadowing the deeper disillusionment to come. This brief nostalgia for simple comforts contrasts sharply with the chaotic life in the trenches that follows.
The lighthearted tone continues as Tiadatha ventures into the trenches for the first time, where he learns the “subtleties of trench-craft” with an almost childlike enthusiasm. His ignorance and naivety about the reality of combat provide much of the poem’s humor, especially when he “enjoyed himself immensely” despite the brutal surroundings. But there’s an important shift as Tiadatha begins to understand the dangers of war, particularly with the introduction of the “crumps,” a type of artillery shell. Initially, he laughs them off, likening them to “gilt-haired fairies” that are thrilling and exciting when encountered briefly but soon become oppressive and terrifying with repetition. This gradual shift in perspective captures the essence of a soldier’s experience in war—initial curiosity and excitement followed by dread and exhaustion.
The humor, though prominent, never fully masks the darker elements of the poem. The soldiers’ lives are defined by an endless cycle of routines and drills, the constant threat of danger, and the pervasive, numbing presence of violence. The crumps, which might once have seemed thrilling, become a symbol of war’s relentless and ever-present danger, something that can never be fully adapted to or accepted. The poem’s focus on Tiadatha’s growing awareness of the harsh realities of war reflects a subtle, but poignant commentary on the dehumanizing nature of conflict.
Ultimately, the poem balances humor and pathos to reveal the complex nature of war. Tiadatha, with his fumbling, over-preparedness and naïve enthusiasm, is a figure both laughable and tragic. His journey from ignorance to awareness, from enjoying the novelty of military life to becoming weary and disillusioned by its dangers, speaks to the universal experience of soldiers who are thrown into a world they are ill-prepared for and left to navigate the absurdities of it all. Through Tiadatha’s eyes, the poem illuminates the often overlooked absurdities of war, while still acknowledging the very real suffering and transformation that soldiers experience.