Edward Owen Rutter
In this war the Hun has brought us,
Some have learnt to make returns out,
Some have learnt to write out orders.
Some have learnt the way to kill Hulls,
Some to lead the men that kill them,
Some have learnt to cope with bully,
Learnt to shave with army razors,
Learnt to make the best of blizzards,
Mud and slush and blazing sunshine,
Learnt to coax a little comfort
Out of bivvies, barns and dug-outs,
Learnt of things they never dreamed of
In July of 1914.
And they all have learnt this lesson,
Learnt as well this common lesson,
Learnt to hold a little dearer
All tile things they took for granted
In July of 1914-
Whether it be Scottish Highlands,
Hills of Wales or banks of Ireland,
Or the swelling downs of Dudshire,
Or tile pavement of St. James’s —
Even so my Tiadatha.
So I leave him and salute him
Back in his beloved London,
Knowing that the war has one thing
(If no others) to its credit —
It has made a nut a soldier,
Made a silk purse from a sow’s ear,
Made a man of Tiadatha
And made men of hundreds like him.
And the world has cause to thank us
For that band of so-called filberts,
For those products of St. James’s,
Light of heart and much enduring,
Straight and debonair and dauntless,
Grousing at their small discomforts,
Smiling in the face of danger.
Who have faced their great adventure,
Crossed through No Man’s Land to meet it,
Lightly as they’d cross St. James’s.
Eyes and heart still full of laughter,
Till the world had cause to wonder
Till tile world had cause to thank us
For the likes of Tiadatha.
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This final section of the poem brings Tiadatha’s transformation into sharp focus, showing how the war has shaped him from a carefree young man into a soldier who has experienced real hardship and growth. The tone remains ironic, but there’s a subtle undercurrent of admiration for the way war, though cruel and harsh, has fundamentally changed people like Tiadatha—turning them into men capable of facing great adversity.
The opening lines reflect how various soldiers have adapted to the brutal realities of war. Tiadatha, along with countless others, has learned lessons he never imagined in his life of comfort before the war. These lessons are both practical—how to cope with the harsh conditions of warfare, how to make do with what little is available—and emotional, as the soldiers learn to appreciate what they once took for granted. The shift from a life of luxury to one of hardship has instilled a greater value for the simple things—whether it’s a familiar landscape, a warm home, or the comforts of civilian life. The repetition of the phrase “Learnt to” emphasizes the depth and breadth of the soldiers’ transformations. The war has taught them survival, resilience, and perhaps, in a strange way, gratitude.
For Tiadatha, this transformation is not just physical or practical, but spiritual. He has grown from a man who sauntered down St. James’s, preoccupied with his own pleasures, to someone who has faced the trials of war. The mention of various places—whether the Scottish Highlands or the pavement of St. James’s—ties his journey back to his origins, highlighting how the war has not only altered his actions but shifted his perspective. The world that once seemed so comfortable to him now holds new meaning.
The final stanzas shift from the personal to a broader reflection on the impact of war, especially for the so-called “filberts” or naive young men like Tiadatha. The poem acknowledges that the war has, in a sense, “made a man” out of these young soldiers, turning them into people capable of enduring hardship and facing danger with courage and resilience. The phrase “made a silk purse from a sow’s ear” underscores the dramatic transformation that the war has wrought—not just on Tiadatha, but on all those like him. The world, it seems, has reason to thank these men for their bravery, their endurance, and the very qualities that were once untested in their privileged lives.
In this closing section, the humor is tempered with a sense of respect. Though the poem has laughed at Tiadatha’s naïveté and his comically misguided preparations for war, it ends by acknowledging the true nature of the journey these soldiers have undergone. The poem moves from irony to a kind of reverence, reflecting on how the war, with all its horrors and difficulties, has forged something vital in these young men. There is a recognition that Tiadatha, and men like him, have faced their “great adventure” with the same lightheartedness they once applied to their civilian lives, yet with a depth of character that they never could have imagined before.
In a way, the poem paints war not just as a brutal force that crushes lives, but as a transformative experience, one that molds people into something stronger, more resilient, and—perhaps—more human. Tiadatha’s journey from a frivolous young man to a soldier who has survived the worst that war can throw at him becomes symbolic of the larger change that the war wrought in society: a shift from complacency to resilience, from innocence to the painful realities of adulthood. The world may have cause to thank the likes of Tiadatha, not because of the war itself, but because of how it shaped him into someone who can face life—and death—with strength, humor, and a newfound understanding of what truly matters.