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Edward Tennant was born on December 6, 1897, in London. He came from an aristocratic background, being the son of the 1st Baron Glenconner. Despite his privileged upbringing, Tennant was drawn to the arts, particularly poetry, from a young age. He attended Eton and later went on to Trinity College, Cambridge, where he formed friendships with other poets, including Siegfried Sassoon and Robert Graves. These relationships influenced his literary style, and Tennant became part of the broader literary movement that included the Georgian poets and the war poets of World War I.
Tennant’s life took a significant turn with the outbreak of World War I. In 1915, at the age of 17, he enlisted in the British Army and was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the Royal Sussex Regiment. His military career was marked by the harrowing experiences of trench warfare. Tennant’s poems often reflect the brutal realities of war and its psychological toll on soldiers. His early works, while capturing the pre-war optimism of youth, soon turned darker as the realities of the front lines took hold.
Edward Tennant was killed in action on November 16, 1916, at the age of 18, during the Battle of the Somme. His death was a tragic loss, not just for his family, but also for the literary world. Although his body was never recovered, he is commemorated on the Thiepval Memorial in France, alongside many other soldiers who died during the Great War.
In terms of his literary legacy, Tennant’s work remains notable for its raw honesty and its exploration of youth and death amidst the chaos of war. His poetry, although not as well-known as that of his contemporaries like Wilfred Owen or Rupert Brooke, holds a place in the canon of war poetry for its vivid depictions of the soldier’s experience. Tennant’s life and death were emblematic of the lost generation of young men who were cut down before they could fully develop their potential.
Tennant’s influence can still be seen in the way modern poets approach the themes of youth, loss, and the effects of war. His poems, while few in number, provide a poignant glimpse into the mind of a young man who was not only a soldier but also an artist struggling to reconcile the brutalities of war with the human experience. His work is a reminder of the sacrifice made by so many and the fleeting nature of both life and art.
You may learn more at War Poets.org and Wikipedia.
THE MAD SOLDIER
Edward Tennant
I DROPP’D here three weeks ago, yes — I know,
And it’s bitter cold at night, since the fight —
SONG_
Edward Tennant
How shall I tell you of the freedom of the Downs ?
You who love the dusty life and durance of great towns,
And think the only flowers that please embroider ladies’ gowns,
THE GAZEBO
Edward Tennant
HIGH by the side of the flint-set wall,
Moss-grown and lichened by centuries’ tears,
TO P. G. AND G. W.
Edward Tennant
MY first small ship I dedicate
To twain I love : its little freight
Is very trifling : that it may
Easter, 1916.
Edward Tennant
I write these lines to send my love,
Across the English Channel,
“THE TIMES,” 1918.
Edward Tennant
O WARDS the end of November Bim came
home on leave. His Mother was sitting
awaiting him. She heard the front door
A BAS LA GLOIRE!
Edward Tennant
The powers that be in solemn conclave sat
And dealt out honour from a large tureen,
HOME THOUGHTS IN LAVENTIE.
Edward Tennant
GREEN gardens in Laventie !
Soldiers only know the street
Where the mud is churned and splashed about
IN MEMORIAM W. W., B.
Edward Tennant
Neuve Chapelle, 1915.
He looked ahead and smiled, and then looked back
On his past years, nor wished them here again,
RE- INCARNATION.
Edward Tennant
I TOO remember distant golden days
When even my soul was young ; I see the sand
Whirl in a blinding pillar towards the band
LIGHT AFTER DARKNESS.
Edward Tennant
ONCE more the Night like some great dark drop- scene
Eclipsing horrors for a brief entr ‘ acte
Descends, lead- weighty. Now the space between,
THE KNIGHT AND THE RUSSET PALMER.
Edward Tennant
GIVE you good day, Sir Knight,
And whither may you be bound ?
Methinks I could read your hand, Sir Knight,
WORPLE FLIT
Edward Tennant
UPON the feast of Candlemas to Church as I did go,
I met a witch upon the road who bobbing went and slow.
‘What makes you bob as you walk along ? ‘ said I , a – bowing low.
ΤΟ P. G. and G. W.
Edward Tennant
My first small ship I dedicate
To twain I love its little freight
Is very trifling : that it may