DELVILLE WOOD
LONGUEVAL - SOMME - FRANCE
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DELVILLE WOODLONGUEVAL - SOMME - FRANCE |
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DELVILLE WOOD |
TTHE MENDI |
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by W.A. BEATTIE by F.C. CORNELL by E. CRESWELL-KNÜTSEN by R.E. VERNEDE |
by S.E.K. MQHAYI by LINDIWE MABUZA by MPHO RAKOMA |
Quelques années après la guerre, le Colonel Donald MacLeod demanda à W.A. Beattie d'écrire un poème sur le Bois Delville. Caporal au 4th SAI, Beattie y fut blessé.
By ruined homes in Montauban, by trench and sunken road.
All resolute and strong the living stream of khaki flowed.
Through land laid waste and seared and torn by ruthless giant guns
And so that stream South Africa had lent her sturdy sons.
Of Boer and British stock were they, and lean and lithe and tanned.
Yet mingling there as brothers fighting for one Motherland ;
For kith and kindred o’er the sea, for King and Country now
Their hands they joined in fellowship, and took the filial vow.
And thus they entered Bernafay through fire and fitid fume,
While every tree atrembling stood, as if it sensed its doom ;
And in that avenue of woe they paused to count their dead.
Then grimly on on Delville, where their path of glory led.
Within that wood of epic fame for days and nights they fought.
And backward thrust the stubborn foe, through every step was bought
With tragic toll of vivid youth, that had but life to give.
And gladly gave that precious gift, that you and I might live.
From hour to hour the battle raged and fearful tumult reigned.
And still they fought as men inspired and still their ground maintained ;
And as their stricken comrades fell, the shattered boughs dropped down
In pity on their mangled forms – and made their laurel crown.
So year by year we think of them and humble homage pay
To thocs who trad with courage high that Gethsemane.
Now Delville is South Africa blooddrenched with manhood’s bloom.
Our heritage from heroes brave, our temple and our tomb.
W.A. BEATTIE
In Delville Wood - In Delville Wood,
The German foe in thousands lay,
And no-man's land, with British blood,.
Ran red as wine that summer's day -
We'd sworn to take it - and we would !
God help the Bosche in Delville Wood !
To Delville Wood - To Delville Wood,
We faced his fire, and forced our way
To where his grim machne-guns stood,.
And where he fiercely turned at bay -
We'd sworn to beat him - and we would !
We'd turn him out of Delville Wood !
In Delville Wood - In Delville Wood,
As inch by inch the ground was gained,
With bullet, steel, and smashing butt.
We fought and fell, till few remained ;
But Boer and Briton steadfast stood,
For Freedom's sake - in Delville Wood !
In Delville Wood - In Delville Wood,
Midst splintered trees and shattered wrack,
From morn till night we still made good
Gainst shot and shell and massed attack,
We'd sworn to win, so firm we stood -
Or died like men - in Delville Wood !
In Delville Wood - In Delville Wood,
The shattered trees are green with leaves,
And flowers bloom where cannons stood,
And rich the fields with golden sheaves -
Sleep soft ye dead, for God is good -
And Peace has come to Delville Wood !
Ecrit dans les années vingt par Emma Creswell-Knütsen.
They left our sunny land so bright
They crossed the seas to join the fight ;
In Delville Wood they took their stand,
Briton and Boer - a noble hand
Of glorious Springbok boys.
When the great battle-cry rang out,
They answered with a joyous shout ;
They sprang right in the fiery zone -
Not one faltered, no, not one
Of our noble Spingbok boys.
They charged into the cruel fight,
Bayonetting, stabbling, left and right,
They held their captured ground ;
Then o'er the bodies of grey they bound -
On, on to greater glory.
Of the wonderful stand of that little band
'Gainst nine battalions grey,
The whole world will ring,
and our children sing,
Forever and for aye.
Old Africa"s proud of her gallant men,
We'll sound the praises again and again
Of our noble Springbok boys.
Emma Creswell-Knütsen.
Ecrit par Robert Ernest Vernède en 1916. Second Lieutenant dans un bataillon de la Rifle Brigade, il fut blessé durant la bataille de la Somme puis tué au combat à Havrincourt le 9 avril 1917. Il repose dans l'extension britannique du cimetière municipal de Le Bucquiere. Ce poème fut découvert dans ses affaires après sa mort.
At Delville I lost three Sergeants
And never within my Ken
Had one of them taken thought for his life
Or cover for aught but his men.
Not for two years of fighting
Through that devilish strain and noise;
Yet one of them called out as he died -
"I've been so ambitious, boys"...
And I thought to myself, "Ambitious!"
Did he mean that he longed for power?
But I knew that he'd never thought of himself
Save in his dying hour.
And one left a note for his mother,
Saying he gladly died
For England, and wished no better thing..
How she must weep with pride.
And one with never a word fell,
Talking's the one thing he'd shirk,
But I never knew him other than keen
For things like danger and work.
Those Sergeants I lost at Delville
On a night that was cruel and black,
They gave their lives for England's sake,
They will never come back.
What of the hundreds in whose hearts
Thoughts no less splendid burn?
I wonder what England will do for them
If ever they return?
Robert Ernest Vernède.
(tiré du livre Black Valour de Norman Clothier - traduit du Xhosa par J. Cope et M.C. Mcanyangwa)
Yes, So be it, though we already knew
A long time that this would come, and few
Of us were startled for we had seen most
Clearly it would happen as it must.
Out of all ways this was the chosen one -
So then, Lord, your will be done !
And as our bride down her last flood
The Mendi takes the service of our blood.
Say it was not for just a bride
Or for meat you left the hunger of your tribe ;
Not in the hope of piling up rewards
Or for wealth counted by the stars.
To you who died for Africa, who sailed down
Over the sea to meet the German, we make it known :
It was not for the King by any lotal tie,
It was not for Britain you went out to die.
When you came from your homes we talked with you ;
When you left your children we reached out to you ;
Our eyes were wet as we held your hands in ours,
Your fathers groaned, mothers shed bitter tears ;
And when you left behind these hills, this earth,
Your backs turned to the rivers of your birth,
Black men of our blood, we said this thing -
'On that far-off field you are our offering'.
Whith what victim do we make atonement ?
For home and family what offering is sent ?
Do we not sacrifice the bull-calves of the kraal,
Single out those most loved of all ?
So does our way lie open to the heart,
Seeking true words to show the path.
Was not Abel's death the whole world's price ?
Was not the Saviour heaven's sacrifice ?
Then be comforted, orphans of our nation -
From one death rises new creation ;
One man must serve that others may live on.
Accept, and let this pity be your shield ;
We say that thus the hurt mind is healed.
And we call old words up from the long past :
'Death is no stranger when it comes at last.''
Ah, those dead stood in the foremost rank
Of Africa - great the ship's burden when she sank.
Brave of the brave they were, men who bring
With their blood greetings to the King of Kings.
Death has its wage - to live again.
Gladly I would stand with them, new-riden men,
And shine like one whose work is well done
In the great brightness of that Day's dawn.
So then, let it be.
S.E.K. MQHAYI
Une élégie écrite écrite pour la cérémonie du 90e Anniversaire du naufrage du SS Mendi qui se tint le 21 juillet 2007.
Ninety
Long years
Bold young bones
Long buried
By History
Lay restless
In the tomb
Of foreign waters
Long
Very long decades
Our warrior spirits
Unbound
Craved to journey home
Yet remained hovering
With a massive ache
Amongst carefree
Seagulls
Floating
Over this unsteady
Burial site
Forever fluid
In climate most
Hostile
In seasons
Espacially harsh
To faces of the South
To sons of the sun
Ninety
Long years
Your tite of passage
Nipped at infancy
Could never flower
Hankering for delivrance
Your communal voice
Could not be heard
Silenced by deception
Stifled by
Educated cover-ups
Through the length
Of the longest journey
That has brought us
To these shores
Of your harrowing end
To hear again
Your anguish
Break
Through all waters barriers
With a heart-searing
A heart-tearing
Dirge
That even now
Rises from ancient seabeds
Scathingly
Mount on backs
Of Seathings
Uncaring
Along the crest
Of swollen waves
Forever swelling
Six hundred plus
Young
Male
Voices
Chorus
One African
Plaintive
Hum
That rises with each wave
In harmony
With rumours of
New life
Taking firm root4In the land of your birth
In alliance
With all that is young and good
And the present of pace
You bought us
With your undying love
Because wa have
Rediscovered our memory
Because we have
Recovered our souls
We can now hear
These sacred voices
In all our tongues
When they pierce
Through our amnesia
Shock our consciences
Into conscious
Recall
Of every soul
Lost in these wildernesses
Bed us to
Reclaim
Each mother's son
Whose coffin is
A ship
Each unsung hero
Forgotten in
The cold French soil
At Dieppe
Or amongst the trees
Of Delville Wood
All enriching foreign lands
With each drop
Of precious life
It is a prayer
To bow before
These child-heroes who
Though long gone
And deleted in history
Continue to bless
Listen
To the music of the birds
When united in their freedom
Lend melodious notes
And sweet rhythms
To the motion
Of such eloquent waters
With endless tales
Of the English Channel
Whose greed swallowed
All
Alive
Then belched them
Dead
On
Some icy
Ocean
Floor
Here
At the cemetery of the brave
All aboard
The doomed
SS Mendi
LINDIWE MABUZA - 16th July 2007
Ecrit par l'officier marinier Mpho Rakoma et déclamé par son compositeur le 23 août 2004 durant la cérémonie de dépose de germes par le SAS Mendi.
SS Mendi, our fallen heroes
We come here today
To commemorate
February 21, 1917
Celebrate your bravery
Hails for your courage
SS
Mendi, our fallen heroes
Our courtesy visit
Is also to acknowledge
The
mighty Mendi name
To understand its origin
SS Mendi, our fallen
heroes
We're visiting your resting place
To connect and accept the
event
For blessing and guidance
Through the deep blue seas
SS
Mendi, our fallen heroes
We bid you farewell
In accepting our call
To
guide the Mendi name
Aluta continua
Mpho Rakoma
