AJ Walley - Ollerton with Marthall

5 PARISH POST
For the Fallen
"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow
old…….
These very famous words are printed opposite
in the context of the complete poem by Laurence
Binyon that he called The Fallen. It was first
published in the Times newspaper on
21 September 1914. As this was very early in the
war, it was written as a reaction to the high
casualty rates of the British Expeditionary Force
at Mons and Le Cateau, but the verse has now
taken an existence of their own that apply to all
war casualties:
British poet and scholar, Laurence Robert
Binyon was born in Lancaster on 10th August
1869. He was educated at Trinity College, Oxford
and won the Newdigate Prize for his poem
"Persephone" whilst there. After university he
worked as a curator in the Oriental Department of
the British Museum.
Too old to join the BEF, he went to the Western
front as a Red Cross medical orderly and
returned to the British Museum after the war.
After his retirement in 1933, he was appointed
Norton Professor of Poetry at Harvard University
followed by the appointment as Byron Professor
of English Literature at Athens University.
In his lifetime, he wrote numerous works on Far
Eastern Art, several plays, a translation of Divine
Comedy by Dante and the first part of an
Arthurian trilogy called The Madness of Merlin,
the latter only published in 1947 after he had
died.
He died on 10th March 1943 and is buried at
Saint Mary's Church, Aldworth, Berkshire.
For The Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her
children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were
young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds
uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow
old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years
condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes
profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are
known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are
dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our
darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
Laurence Robert Binyon, 1869-1943
Notes by Howard Anderson for The Western
Front Association
More poems later……..