Wilfrid Wilson Gibson
As I was marching in Flanders
A ghost kept step with me–
Kept step with me and chuckled
And muttered ceaselessly:
“Once I too marched in Flanders,
The very spit of you,
And just a hundred years since,
To fall at Waterloo.
“They buried me in Flanders
Upon the field of blood,
And long I’ve lain forgotten
Deep in the Flemmish mud.
“But now you march in Flanders,
The very spit of me;
To the ending of the day’s march
I’ll bear you company.”
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This short, haunting poem offers a striking meditation on war, time, and the eerie continuity of violence. The speaker, marching in Flanders — likely a soldier in World War I — becomes accompanied by the ghost of a soldier who fought a century earlier, during the Battle of Waterloo. The ghost’s presence seems to bridge the gap between two wars, linking the past with the present, and suggesting that the horrors of war are eternal, passed down from one generation of soldiers to the next.
The ghost that “kept step” with the speaker is both a literal and figurative companion. It’s not just a figure from the past, but a reminder that the soldier in the present is walking the same path as those before him. The ghost’s chuckle and ceaseless muttering give it a sinister tone, as if it is both mocking and lamenting the inevitable repetition of war. The fact that the ghost “marches” beside the soldier underscores the way war consumes both the living and the dead, creating a continuous march of violence, even across centuries.
The first significant moment in the poem is the ghost’s declaration that, like the speaker, it once marched in Flanders, “the very spit of you.” This suggests that the soldier of World War I, in his uniform and his march, is indistinguishable from the soldier of a century earlier. The use of the phrase “the very spit of you” implies not just similarity in appearance, but in the inevitability of their roles as soldiers. The ghost tells the speaker that it, too, fell in battle, just like the speaker might in the future. The way the ghost links its death at Waterloo with the soldier’s march in Flanders creates a sense of tragic inevitability — war is a repeating cycle, with soldiers destined to die in the same way, whether on the battlefields of the 18th century or the 20th.
The ghost’s next lines are particularly poignant: “They buried me in Flanders / Upon the field of blood / And long I’ve lain forgotten / Deep in the Flemish mud.” The ghost, a soldier lost in the aftermath of battle, represents all those whose deaths in war are obscured by time and forgotten by history. But this burial in the “Flemish mud” also speaks to the geographical continuity of war, as Flanders was the site of both the Battle of Waterloo and the front lines of World War I. This recurrence of violence in the same place symbolizes how war perpetuates itself, not just in the bodies of soldiers, but in the land itself.
The final lines bring the ghost’s role full circle, with the chilling line: “But now you march in Flanders, / The very spit of me; / To the ending of the day’s march / I’ll bear you company.” Here, the ghost seems to take on a more predatory, companion-like role. It no longer simply observes the speaker; it actively follows him, accompanying him on his march. The repetition of “the very spit of me” in the final lines emphasizes the eerie parallel between the two soldiers. The ghost will follow the living soldier to the end of his march, suggesting that the dead are never truly gone. They live on in the perpetuity of war, in the same rituals and experiences that continue to haunt each new generation of soldiers.
In essence, the poem explores the cyclical nature of war, suggesting that the brutality of conflict is a timeless force that continually claims new victims. The ghost’s presence is a reminder of the futility and repetition of war: no matter how many years pass, soldiers are fated to repeat the same destructive march. There’s a chilling inevitability to this idea, suggesting that history — particularly the violent history of war — is not linear but cyclical, a continuous loop of suffering and death that transcends time. The speaker is not just marching with a ghost, but with the weight of all the wars that have come before, and all those that will follow. The poem creates a powerful, disquieting image of the soldier as both a participant in and a victim of this endless cycle.