Robert Graves
I never dreamed we’d meet that day
In our old haunts down Fricourt way,
Plotting such marvellous journeys there
For jolly old “Après-la-guerre.”
Well, when it’s over, first we’ll meet
At Gweithdy Bach, my country seat
In Wales, a curious little shop
With two rooms and a roof on top,
A sort of Morlancourt-ish billet
That never needs a crowd to fill it.
But oh, the country round about!
The sort of view that makes you shout
For want of any better way
Of praising God: there’s a blue bay
Shining in front, and on the right
Snowden and Hebog capped with white,
And lots of other jolly peaks
That you could wonder at for weeks,
With jag and spur and hump and cleft.
There’s a grey castle on the left,
And back in the high Hinterland
You’ll see the grave of Shawn Knarlbrand,
Who slew the savage Buffaloon
By the Nant-col one night in June,
And won his surname from the horn
Of this prodigious unicorn.
Beyond, where the two Rhinogs tower,
Rhinog Fach and Rhinog Fawr,
Close there after a four years’ chase
From Thessaly and the woods of Thrace,
The beaten Dog-cat stood at bay
And growled and fought and passed away.
You’ll see where mountain conies grapple
With prayer and creed in their rock chapel
Which Ben and Claire once built for them;
They call it Söar Bethlehem.
You’ll see where in old Roman days,
Before Revivals changed our ways,
The Virgin ’scaped the Devil’s grab,
Printing her foot on a stone slab
With five clear toe-marks; and you’ll find
The fiendish thumbprint close behind.
You’ll see where Math, Mathonwy’s son,
Spoke with the wizard Gwydion
And bad him from South Wales set out
To steal that creature with the snout,
That new-discovered grunting beast
Divinely flavoured for the feast.
No traveller yet has hit upon
A wilder land than Meirion,
For desolate hills and tumbling stones,
Bogland and melody and old bones.
Fairies and ghosts are here galore,
And poetry most splendid, more
Than can be written with the pen
Or understood by common men.
In Gweithdy Bach we’ll rest awhile,
We’ll dress our wounds and learn to smile
With easier lips; we’ll stretch our legs,
And live on bilberry tart and eggs,
And store up solar energy,
Basking in sunshine by the sea,
Until we feel a match once more
For anything but another war.
So then we’ll kiss our families,
And sail across the seas
(The God of Song protecting us)
To the great hills of Caucasus.
Robert will learn the local bat
For billeting and things like that,
If Siegfried learns the piccolo
To charm the people as we go.
The jolly peasants clad in furs
Will greet the Welch-ski officers
With open arms, and ere we pass
Will make us vocal with Kavasse.
In old Bagdad we’ll call a halt
At the Sâshuns’ ancestral vault;
We’ll catch the Persian rose-flowers’ scent,
And understand what Omar meant.
Bitlis and Mush will know our faces,
Tiflis and Tomsk, and all such places.
Perhaps eventually we’ll get
Among the Tartars of Thibet.
Hobnobbing with the Chungs and Mings,
And doing wild, tremendous things
In free adventure, quest and fight,
And God! what poetry we’ll write!
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem, often seen as a nostalgic and wistful reflection on war and its aftermath, captures both the absurdity and the deeper emotional resonance of soldiers’ hopes for a future beyond the horrors of the battlefield. Written by a soldier who had lived through the trenches, it presents a vision of post-war life in a whimsical, almost dreamlike manner. The narrator envisions a world that combines the absurdities of travel, the romanticism of adventure, and the deep yearning for peace, all while revealing the impact of war on the soldier’s psyche.
The opening lines immediately set a tone of camaraderie and optimism. The idea of meeting again “in our old haunts down Fricourt way,” with dreams of the future shaping their bond, suggests a closeness forged through shared experiences of the war. The phrase “jolly old ‘Après-la-guerre'” underlines this idealistic notion that life after the war will be simpler, happier, and free from the devastation they’ve experienced. However, the dreamlike nature of this vision soon becomes apparent as the poem shifts into a surreal description of the post-war retreat, Gweithdy Bach, a small Welsh country seat where the soldiers will regroup and heal.
The description of Gweithdy Bach, with its picturesque landscape and whimsical mix of history and myth, is both charming and absurd. The narrator imagines a “curious little shop” that never needs a crowd to fill it, as if war-torn soldiers will find solace in solitude, peace, and the simplicity of rural life. The detailed catalog of the surroundings—snow-capped mountains, a grey castle, and ancient ruins—creates an idyllic, timeless vision of Wales. Yet even within this reverie, there is an undercurrent of fantasy and exaggeration, with references to mythical figures like “Shawn Knarlbrand” and “Math, Mathonwy’s son,” blending the natural beauty of the land with a layer of historical and fantastical storytelling. The poem mixes these elements to show that the soldier’s mind, while yearning for peace, is also shaped by the stories and myths they’ve carried with them.
The juxtaposition of the bucolic and the fantastical points to a deeper longing for a world that cannot be entirely separated from the horrors they’ve endured. The soldiers imagine not just a retreat into peacefulness, but a life of adventure and exploration, embodied in their potential journeys to distant lands like the Caucasus, Persia, and even Thibet. This idealistic exploration, filled with “jolly peasants” and “vocal Kavasse” is a world far removed from the trenches they’ve left behind, yet it is still painted with the same brush of exaggeration and escapism.
The soldiers’ post-war dreams include more than just rest. There is an almost absurd and juvenile exuberance in their plans to travel the world, play the piccolo, and fight on new frontiers. Their vision of “wild, tremendous things” and writing “poetry” in distant lands suggests that, despite the ravages of war, they continue to dream of action, creativity, and discovery. These dreams are a way of regaining control, finding meaning, and asserting that life can go on, that there can be joy after the madness of battle. They are clinging to the hope that war doesn’t define them entirely.
But despite all the excitement of the “afterlife” imagined here, there is an undeniable melancholy behind the poem’s playful tone. The soldiers are clearly haunted by their experiences. The imagery of “dressing wounds” and “learning to smile with easier lips” suggests that the aftermath of war isn’t just physical healing, but emotional recovery, something that is never truly complete. The fact that they will “live on bilberry tart and eggs” until they feel “a match once more / For anything but another war” speaks to the tiredness and weariness of their lives. These men, shaped by war, long for peace, but they also know that their desire for adventure, excitement, and creativity may eventually pull them back to the madness of battle.
Ultimately, this poem balances between escapism and reality, presenting a picture of soldiers’ dreams for life after war while hinting at the deeper, unresolved struggles they carry with them. The vision of Gweithdy Bach—idyllic, nostalgic, and at times humorous—is a powerful metaphor for the soldier’s need to reconstruct a life and identity beyond the violence they’ve known. And yet, as we journey with them through these fantasies, we understand that no dream can fully wash away the scars of war, nor can it erase the complex reality of what it means to survive and return home.
In this way, the poem stands as both a dream of a better future and a reminder of how war shapes the psyche of those who endure it. The “wild, tremendous things” they plan to do are not just about the physical journeys they will take, but also about how they’ll rebuild themselves, trying to recover pieces of the joy and purpose they lost in the trenches. The poem’s carefree tone masks the fragility of these dreams—after all, the soldiers know, deep down, that another war could always be on the horizon.