May Wedderburn Cannan
Early morning over Rouen, hopeful, high, courageous morning,
And the laughter of adventure and the steepness of the stair,
And the dawn across the river, and the wind across the bridges,
And the empty littered station, and the tired people there.
Can you recall those mornings and the hurry of awakening,
And the long-forgotten wonder if we should miss the way,
And the unfamiliar faces, and the coming of provisions,
And the freshness and the glory of the labour of the day?
Hot noontide over Rouen, and the sun upon the city,
Sun and dust unceasing, and the glare of cloudless skies,
And the voices of the Indians and the endless stream of soldiers,
And the clicking of the tatties, and the buzzing of the flies.
Can you recall those noontides and the reek of steam and coffee,
Heavy-laden noontides with the evening’s peace to win,
And the little piles of Woodbines, and the sticky soda bottles,
And the crushes in the ‘Parlour’, and the letters coming in?
Quiet night-time over Rouen, and the station full of soldiers,
All the youth and pride of England from the ends of all the earth;
And the rifles piled together, and the creaking of the sword-belts,
And the faces bent above them, and the gay, heart-breaking mirth.
Can I forget the passage from the cool white-bedded Aid Post
Past the long sun-blistered coaches of the khaki Red Cross train
To the truck train full of wounded, and the weariness and laughter,
And ‘Good-bye, and thank you, Sister’, and the empty yards again?
Can you recall the parcels that we made them for the railroad,
Crammed and bulging parcels held together by their string,
And the voices of the sergeants who called the Drafts together,
And the agony and splendour when they stood to save the King?
Can you forget their passing, the cheering and the waving,
The little group of people at the doorway of the shed,
The sudden awful silence when the last train swung to darkness,
And the lonely desolation, and the mocking stars o’erhead?
Can you recall the midnights, and the footsteps of night watchers,
Men who came from darkness and went back to dark again,
And the shadows on the rail-lines and the all-inglorious labour,
And the promise of the daylight firing blue the window-pane?
Can you recall the passing through the kitchen door to morning,
Morning very still and solemn breaking slowly on the town,
And the early coastways engines that had met the ships at daybreak,
And the Drafts just out from England, and the day shift coming down?
Can you forget returning slowly, stumbling on the cobbles,
And the white-decked Red Cross barges dropping seawards for the tide,
And the search for English papers, and the blessed cool of water,
And the peace of half-closed shutters that shut out the world outside?
Can I forget the evenings and the sunsets on the island,
And the tall black ships at anchor far below our balcony,
And the distant call of bugles, and the white wine in the glasses,
And the long line of the street lamps, stretching Eastwards to the sea?
…When the world slips slow to darkness, when the office fire burns lower,
My heart goes out to Rouen, Rouen all the world away;
When other men remember I remember our Adventure
And the trains that go from Rouen at the ending of the day.
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem offers a vivid, nostalgic recollection of life in Rouen during wartime, capturing the rhythms of daily existence and the emotional highs and lows of those who passed through the city—soldiers, medics, and civilians alike. The narrator’s reflective tone suggests both the intensity of their experiences and a longing for a time when life was infused with purpose, however fleeting or painful that purpose might have been.
The poem is structured in a series of snapshots, each one evoking a distinct time of day—morning, noontime, evening, and night—bringing out different moods and atmospheres. These snapshots not only recall the physical setting of Rouen but also the emotional states tied to it. The opening lines describe a “hopeful, high, courageous morning,” filled with energy, anticipation, and the bustling, almost romantic idealism of embarking on an adventure. This idealism is quickly juxtaposed with the fatigue and repetition of daily life: “The laughter of adventure and the steepness of the stair,” soon followed by “the empty littered station, and the tired people there.” The contrast between youthful hope and physical exhaustion serves as a subtle comment on the dissonance between the outward-facing optimism of soldiers and the weariness that soon sets in once the reality of war takes hold.
Noontime in Rouen is captured in its full, unrelenting intensity—“the sun upon the city,” with its “sun and dust unceasing,” symbolizing the oppressive, often monotonous nature of wartime existence. Amidst this relentless heat, the sounds of soldiers, “the clicking of the tatties” (a reference to the Indian soldiers) and “the buzzing of the flies” reflect the sensory overload of wartime routine. The reference to “Woodbines” (a popular brand of cigarette) and “sticky soda bottles” introduces a sense of the ordinary, even in the midst of extraordinary circumstances—how war becomes part of the everyday, and how soldiers find fleeting moments of comfort in small, familiar things.
Evening transitions into the melancholic but almost celebratory mood of the soldiers’ departure: *“Can you recall the parcels that we made them for the railroad, / Crammed and bulging parcels held together by their string.”* This line speaks to the human need to offer something tangible, even in the face of inevitable loss. The soldiers are sent off with good wishes, but the finality of their departure is highlighted by the “awful silence when the last train swung to darkness,” signaling the shift from camaraderie to solitude. There is a quiet dignity in the way the soldiers are sent off, but also an overwhelming sense of emptiness and despair. The “mocking stars o’erhead” bring in a cosmic irony—how the universe continues as if nothing has changed, while the soldiers and those who remain behind are caught in their own personal tragedies.
The night-time sections of the poem introduce a darker, almost desolate tone. The image of “midnights” and “footsteps of night watchers” evokes the weariness of men who have become part of the dark machinery of war. These are men who “came from darkness and went back to dark again,” the cycle of life in the war zone marked by grueling, repetitive labor. The reference to “the promise of the daylight firing blue the window-pane” suggests a glimmer of hope, but it is an elusive hope, something to hold onto while enduring the punishing monotony of war.
The poem closes with a more personal reflection, as the narrator remembers the quieter moments of peace: “The white-decked Red Cross barges dropping seawards for the tide,” and “the blessed cool of water,” the simple comforts that serve as emotional anchors amidst the chaos. The final lines, *“When the world slips slow to darkness, when the office fire burns lower, / My heart goes out to Rouen, Rouen all the world away,”* encapsulate the sense of longing and the emotional weight of memory. Rouen, a place once full of movement and purpose, now exists as a distant echo, a place tied to both the grief of loss and the camaraderie of shared experience. The narrator’s heart “goes out” to Rouen, a place where war and life collided in such an intimate, irreversible way.
In many ways, the poem is an exploration of how we hold onto places and moments in time, particularly those tied to intense emotional experiences like war. The narrator’s memories of Rouen—though touched by the shadow of war—remain a profound part of their identity, and even as life moves on, the pull of that place remains. The trains that “go from Rouen at the ending of the day” carry not just soldiers, but memories, and in this simple act of departure, the weight of those memories is made all the more poignant. The poem suggests that it is not the grand gestures of war or its epic battles that leave a lasting impression, but the quiet, fleeting moments—the sunrises, the parcels, the laughter, and the silences—that shape our understanding of both war and peace.