Robert W. Service
No, Bill, I’m not a-spooning out no patriotic tosh
(The cove be’ind the sandbags ain’t a death-or-glory cuss).
And though I strafes ’em good and ‘ard I doesn’t ‘ate the Boche,
I guess they’re mostly decent, just the same as most of us.
I guess they loves their ‘omes and kids as much as you or me;
And just the same as you or me they’d rather shake than fight;
And if we’d ‘appened to be born at Berlin-on-the-Spree,
We’d be out there with ‘Ans and Fritz, dead sure that we was right.
A-standin’ up to the sandbags
It’s funny the thoughts wot come;
Starin’ into the darkness,
‘Earin’ the bullets ‘um;
(Zing! Zip! Ping! Rip!
‘ark ‘ow the bullets ‘um!)
A-leanin’ against the sandbags
Wiv me rifle under me ear,
Oh, I’ve ‘ad more thoughts on a sentry-go
Than I used to ‘ave in a year.
I wonder, Bill, if ‘Ans and Fritz is wonderin’ like me
Wot’s at the bottom of it all? Wot all the slaughter’s for?
‘E thinks ‘e’s right (of course ‘e ain’t) but this we both agree,
If them as made it ‘ad to fight, there wouldn’t be no war.
If them as lies in feather beds while we kips in the mud;
If them as makes their fortoons while we fights for ’em like ‘ell;
If them as slings their pot of ink just ‘ad to sling their blood:
By Crust! I’m thinkin’ there ‘ud be another tale to tell.
Shiverin’ up to the sandbags,
With a hicicle ‘stead of a spine,
Don’t it seem funny the things you think
‘Ere in the firin’ line:
(Whee! Whut! Ziz! Zut!
Lord! ‘ow the bullets whine!)
Hunkerin’ down when a star-shell
Cracks in a sputter of light,
You can jaw to yer soul by the sandbags
Most any old time o’ night.
They talks o’ England’s glory and a-‘oldin’ of our trade,
Of Empire and ‘igh destiny until we’re fair flim-flammed;
But if it’s for the likes o’ that that bloody war is made,
Then wot I say is: Empire and ‘igh destiny be damned!
There’s only one good cause, Bill, for poor blokes like us to fight:
That’s self-defence, for ‘earth and ‘ome, and them that bears our name;
And that’s wot I’m a-doin’ by the sandbags ‘ere to-night. . . .
But Fritz out there will tell you ‘e’s a-doin’ of the same.
Starin’ over the sandbags,
Sick of the ‘ole damn thing;
Firin’ to keep meself awake,
‘Earin’ the bullets sing.
(Hiss! Twang! Tsing! Pang!
Saucy the bullets sing.)
Dreamin’ ‘ere by the sandbags
Of a day when war will cease,
When ‘Ans and Fritz and Bill and me
Will clink our mugs in fraternity,
And the Brotherhood of Labour will be
The Brotherhood of Peace.
© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
You may find this and other poems here.
Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem offers a stark, gritty view of war, capturing the conflicted thoughts of a soldier standing guard in the trenches. The speaker, who addresses a fellow soldier named Bill, reflects on the senselessness of war, the common humanity shared by enemies, and the tragic absurdity of fighting for causes that seem far removed from the reality of life on the frontlines. The language is direct and raw, avoiding any glorification of the war effort or patriotic sentiments, which are often staples of war poetry. Instead, the speaker’s tone is marked by bitterness, fatigue, and a longing for peace.
The poem opens with the speaker rejecting “patriotic tosh” and acknowledging the shared humanity of the enemy soldiers. He describes his enemies, the “Boche,” not as faceless villains but as individuals who, like him, have homes, families, and dreams. He muses that if they had been born in Germany instead of England, they would likely feel the same way about the war — that they were right, and that they were fighting for something meaningful. This acknowledgment of the commonality between soldiers on opposing sides is a central theme in the poem, and it cuts against the narrative often found in war propaganda that demonizes the enemy.
As the speaker stands sentry, leaning against the sandbags, his thoughts seem to drift into a surreal, almost philosophical space. The environment around him — the darkness, the sound of bullets whizzing past, and the distant flashes of star-shells — triggers these reflections. The rhythm of the poem, with its frequent onomatopoeic sounds of “zing,” “ping,” and “wham,” mimics the constant barrage of gunfire, providing a physical sense of the soldier’s surroundings. The repetition of certain sounds and phrases emphasizes the monotony and danger of trench life, where thoughts of life, death, and the purpose of it all come in fragments, much like the moments of clarity one might experience in a constant state of alert.
The poet contrasts the stark reality of the soldier’s experience with the grand ideas of war espoused by those far removed from it — politicians, the wealthy, and the empire builders. The speaker scorns the “glory” of England’s cause, suggesting that if the people who profited from war had to fight in it themselves, the story would be very different. The speaker’s anger and frustration are clear in lines like “Empire and ‘igh destiny be damned!” He views the war not as a noble endeavor but as a game for those who do not have to suffer its consequences. The only reason he can see for men like him to fight is self-defense — to protect their homes and families. But even that, he points out, is something shared by both sides. The Germans, too, believe they are fighting for their own reasons, and the “self-defense” narrative feels hollow when applied to an international conflict like the one in which they are embroiled.
In the final stanzas, the speaker’s weariness becomes more pronounced. He dreams of a time when the war will end, when soldiers from both sides — “Ans and Fritz and Bill and me” — will sit together in peace, sharing a drink in the spirit of brotherhood. This moment is utopian, but it’s also a powerful moment of hope amid the disillusionment. It’s the dream of peace that stands in stark contrast to the brutal reality of the present. The “Brotherhood of Labour” transforming into the “Brotherhood of Peace” hints at the idea of solidarity across national lines, a vision of unity for working-class soldiers who are caught in a system they did not create, fighting for causes they never fully understood.
The poem’s tone throughout is one of frustration, resignation, and a deep yearning for peace. The speaker is far from naive or patriotic; he is a soldier who has seen the ugly side of war, the chaos and violence, and the futility of it all. Yet, even in the face of such disillusionment, he dares to imagine a better world, one where the bonds between people transcend the lines drawn by national conflict. His is not an idealistic dream of glory but a longing for the simplest of human connections: understanding, fraternity, and peace.
In essence, the poem stands as a critique of war and the lies that often surround it, particularly the idea that war is fought for noble or patriotic causes. It challenges the myth of the enemy as an inhuman “other,” instead presenting a view of war that is deeply personal and human. The soldier’s reflections are raw and real, grounded in the painful reality of trench warfare but ultimately guided by a hope for a better, more peaceful world.