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looking for this war poem thing...
Hi,
i've been looking for 'The Evacuee' by R.S. Thomas on the web for ages, and i couldn't find anything except a pdf version. i need to print out a copy of it to put some brand new annotations. brain waves, you see
ALSO 'route march rest' by vernon scannell i can't find that one on the net either
i've been looking for 'The Evacuee' by R.S. Thomas on the web for ages, and i couldn't find anything except a pdf version. i need to print out a copy of it to put some brand new annotations. brain waves, you see
ALSO 'route march rest' by vernon scannell
i can't find that one on the net eitherReply 1
Tomorrow is the day I take a journey
Far, far away from precious mum.
Sleep will not come, I fear the dawning.
How I wish tomorrow would never come.
Confusion all around, my eyes see nothing,
Holding tight to little sister's hand.
Waiting for hours on the dock-side
Wondering, where will the big boat land?
Though tired we cannot sleep, my sister's weeping.
The hurt inside us both brings many tears.
Snuggle together on prickly straw beds.
Close our eyes, hoping not to feel the fears.
Herded into school while ladies watch us.
Waiting for a finger to point our way.
Trying very hard to will a kind face
That will say, "You may come and stay."
Prayers are said each night but he doesn't hear us.
The darkness is the hardest part of day.
If we press our hands much tighter saying prayers,
Maybe Jesus will hear us when we pray.
Days are long, we are forbidden to enter house.
She calls us when food is ready laid.
Villagers come to buy eggs and milk,
Stare at us, like cattle on display.
Asking, "What are they like? Do they come from London?
Are they clean? And do they eat a lot?"
Talking of us as though we're Aliens.
Looking at us like trophies, freshly shot.
Yes, we were strange. We didn't talk like them.
Our faces pale, we had no rosy cheeks.
Our eyes were sunken, cheeks were swollen,
From crying before we went to sleep.
Just a page of life so many years ago.
Remembering, made me cry again.
Pulling, from hidden depth, a painful memory,
That I'd burried, never to live again.
is this the right one?
Far, far away from precious mum.
Sleep will not come, I fear the dawning.
How I wish tomorrow would never come.
Confusion all around, my eyes see nothing,
Holding tight to little sister's hand.
Waiting for hours on the dock-side
Wondering, where will the big boat land?
Though tired we cannot sleep, my sister's weeping.
The hurt inside us both brings many tears.
Snuggle together on prickly straw beds.
Close our eyes, hoping not to feel the fears.
Herded into school while ladies watch us.
Waiting for a finger to point our way.
Trying very hard to will a kind face
That will say, "You may come and stay."
Prayers are said each night but he doesn't hear us.
The darkness is the hardest part of day.
If we press our hands much tighter saying prayers,
Maybe Jesus will hear us when we pray.
Days are long, we are forbidden to enter house.
She calls us when food is ready laid.
Villagers come to buy eggs and milk,
Stare at us, like cattle on display.
Asking, "What are they like? Do they come from London?
Are they clean? And do they eat a lot?"
Talking of us as though we're Aliens.
Looking at us like trophies, freshly shot.
Yes, we were strange. We didn't talk like them.
Our faces pale, we had no rosy cheeks.
Our eyes were sunken, cheeks were swollen,
From crying before we went to sleep.
Just a page of life so many years ago.
Remembering, made me cry again.
Pulling, from hidden depth, a painful memory,
That I'd burried, never to live again.
is this the right one?
Reply 2
or this?
Can I come home now?
Can I come home now?
Can I come home now mum?
Can I come home now?
I went to the school house
A change of clothes in a sack.
We then walked to the station
But we didn't come back.
We got on to a train
It headed due south.
We got off the train
At a little town called Louth.
The war it won't last long
You'll soom be back home.
But it seems like for ever
I must be brave and not moan.
You can't come back home yet
The planes they still fly,
The bombs they still fall,
and the danger's still nigh.
You'll have to be patient.
One day you'll come home.
When the war it is over
And we're all free to roam.
They say I am safer here
Than where I've left behind
And the people looking after me
Are warm, good and kind.
But home is where the heart is,
and home is with you.
Is it time for me to come back now
And be back home with you?
I used to play with my brother,
We had such good fun,
But he went to Ilkley
and I'm here all alone.
Last night we had an air-raid.
I was frightend and alone.
When will it all end mum?
When can I come home?
Yes you can come home,
Yes you can come home.
You can come home now son.
You can come home now.
Can I come home now?
Can I come home now?
Can I come home now mum?
Can I come home now?
I went to the school house
A change of clothes in a sack.
We then walked to the station
But we didn't come back.
We got on to a train
It headed due south.
We got off the train
At a little town called Louth.
The war it won't last long
You'll soom be back home.
But it seems like for ever
I must be brave and not moan.
You can't come back home yet
The planes they still fly,
The bombs they still fall,
and the danger's still nigh.
You'll have to be patient.
One day you'll come home.
When the war it is over
And we're all free to roam.
They say I am safer here
Than where I've left behind
And the people looking after me
Are warm, good and kind.
But home is where the heart is,
and home is with you.
Is it time for me to come back now
And be back home with you?
I used to play with my brother,
We had such good fun,
But he went to Ilkley
and I'm here all alone.
Last night we had an air-raid.
I was frightend and alone.
When will it all end mum?
When can I come home?
Yes you can come home,
Yes you can come home.
You can come home now son.
You can come home now.
Reply 4
nooo can doo
Reply 6
lol i seem to be stalking u to help u
Reply 7
I'm not 100% sure about all the commas and stuff cos i had to copy it out from my notes which iv annotated all over 
i think theyre pretty much ok....i hope :P
The Evacuee
by R.S. Thomas
She woke up under a loose quilt
Of leaf patterns, woven by light
At the small window, busy with the boughs
Of a young cherry; but wearily she lay,
Waiting for the siren, slow to trust
Nature’s deceptive peace, then afraid
Of the long silence, she would have crept
Uneasily from the bedroom with its frieze
Of fresh sunlight, had not a cock crowed,
Shatterin the surface of that limpid pool
Of stillness, and before the ripples died
One by one in the field’s shadows,
The farm woke with uninhibited dim.
And now the noise not the silence drew her
Down the bare stairs at great speed.
The sound and voices were a rough sheet
Waiting to catch her, as though she leaped
From a scorched story of the charred past.
And there the table and the gallery
Of faces trying to be kind
Beckoned her nearer, she sat down,
Under an awning of salt hams.
And so she grew, a small bird in the nest
Of welcome that was built around her,
Home now after so long away
In the flowerless streets of a drab town.
The men watched her busy with the hens,
The soft flesh ripening as corn
On the sticks of limbs, the grey eyes clear,
Rinsed with dew of their long dread
The men watched her, and, nodding, smiled
With earth’s charity, patient and strong.
Route March Rest
by Vernon Scannell
They marched in staggered columns though the lanes
Drowsy with dust and summer, rifles slung.
All other-ranks wore helmets and the sun
Dummed on bobbing metal plates and purred
Inside their skulls; the thumping tramp of boots
On gravel crunched. B Company had become
A long machine that clanked and throbbed . The reek
Of leather, sweat and rifle-oil was thick
And khaki on the body of the day.
All dainty fragrances were shouldered out
Though thrush and blackbird song could not be stilled
And teased some favoured regions of the air.
They reached a village and the order came
To halt and fall out for a rest. The men
Unslung their rifles, lit up ciggerettes,
And sprawled or squatted on the village green.
Opposite the green, next to the church,
The schools, whose open windows with wild flowers
IN glass jars on the stills framed pools of dark,
Was silent, cool; but from the playground sprayed
The calls of children, bright as buttercups,
Until a handbell called them from play
And then B Company was ordered back
To fall in on the road in their platoons
And start the march again.
They passed a marble plinth and saw the roll
Of names, too many surely for this small
Community, and as the files trudged on,
Faintly from the school, like breath of flowers
But half-remembered, children’s voices rose:
“All things bright and beautiful,” they sang,
Frail sound, already fading, soon to die.
i think theyre pretty much ok....i hope :PThe Evacuee
by R.S. Thomas
She woke up under a loose quilt
Of leaf patterns, woven by light
At the small window, busy with the boughs
Of a young cherry; but wearily she lay,
Waiting for the siren, slow to trust
Nature’s deceptive peace, then afraid
Of the long silence, she would have crept
Uneasily from the bedroom with its frieze
Of fresh sunlight, had not a cock crowed,
Shatterin the surface of that limpid pool
Of stillness, and before the ripples died
One by one in the field’s shadows,
The farm woke with uninhibited dim.
And now the noise not the silence drew her
Down the bare stairs at great speed.
The sound and voices were a rough sheet
Waiting to catch her, as though she leaped
From a scorched story of the charred past.
And there the table and the gallery
Of faces trying to be kind
Beckoned her nearer, she sat down,
Under an awning of salt hams.
And so she grew, a small bird in the nest
Of welcome that was built around her,
Home now after so long away
In the flowerless streets of a drab town.
The men watched her busy with the hens,
The soft flesh ripening as corn
On the sticks of limbs, the grey eyes clear,
Rinsed with dew of their long dread
The men watched her, and, nodding, smiled
With earth’s charity, patient and strong.
Route March Rest
by Vernon Scannell
They marched in staggered columns though the lanes
Drowsy with dust and summer, rifles slung.
All other-ranks wore helmets and the sun
Dummed on bobbing metal plates and purred
Inside their skulls; the thumping tramp of boots
On gravel crunched. B Company had become
A long machine that clanked and throbbed . The reek
Of leather, sweat and rifle-oil was thick
And khaki on the body of the day.
All dainty fragrances were shouldered out
Though thrush and blackbird song could not be stilled
And teased some favoured regions of the air.
They reached a village and the order came
To halt and fall out for a rest. The men
Unslung their rifles, lit up ciggerettes,
And sprawled or squatted on the village green.
Opposite the green, next to the church,
The schools, whose open windows with wild flowers
IN glass jars on the stills framed pools of dark,
Was silent, cool; but from the playground sprayed
The calls of children, bright as buttercups,
Until a handbell called them from play
And then B Company was ordered back
To fall in on the road in their platoons
And start the march again.
They passed a marble plinth and saw the roll
Of names, too many surely for this small
Community, and as the files trudged on,
Faintly from the school, like breath of flowers
But half-remembered, children’s voices rose:
“All things bright and beautiful,” they sang,
Frail sound, already fading, soon to die.
Reply 8
"she would have crept
Uneasily from the bedroom with its frieze
Of fresh sunlight, had not a cock crowed,
Shatterin the surface of that limpid pool
Of stillness, and before the ripples died
One by one in the field’s shadows,
The farm woke with uninhibited dim."
whats that part mean? can you tell me? :] x
Uneasily from the bedroom with its frieze
Of fresh sunlight, had not a cock crowed,
Shatterin the surface of that limpid pool
Of stillness, and before the ripples died
One by one in the field’s shadows,
The farm woke with uninhibited dim."
whats that part mean? can you tell me? :] x
Reply 9
"she would have crept
Uneasily from the bedroom with its frieze
Of fresh sunlight, had not a cock crowed,
Shatterin the surface of that limpid pool
Of stillness, and before the ripples died
One by one in the field’s shadows,
The farm woke with uninhibited dim."
whats that part mean? can you tell me? :] x"
Thomas is creating an idyllic setting as most people imagine a big country house, with a farmyard attached etc. Thomas then uses an extended metaphor to describe the noises that are echoing around her, "shattering the surface of that limpid pool, Of stillness, and before the ripples died" This helps to strengthen the imagery used.
A collage of sounds is then created, "the farm woke with uninhibited din" This shows that in contrast to the insecurities of the little girl, the farm is confident and not afraid of noise, and this also helps with the imagery associated with a typical country farm.
Uneasily from the bedroom with its frieze
Of fresh sunlight, had not a cock crowed,
Shatterin the surface of that limpid pool
Of stillness, and before the ripples died
One by one in the field’s shadows,
The farm woke with uninhibited dim."
whats that part mean? can you tell me? :] x"
Thomas is creating an idyllic setting as most people imagine a big country house, with a farmyard attached etc. Thomas then uses an extended metaphor to describe the noises that are echoing around her, "shattering the surface of that limpid pool, Of stillness, and before the ripples died" This helps to strengthen the imagery used.
A collage of sounds is then created, "the farm woke with uninhibited din" This shows that in contrast to the insecurities of the little girl, the farm is confident and not afraid of noise, and this also helps with the imagery associated with a typical country farm.
UshMush
"she would have crept
Uneasily from the bedroom with its frieze
Of fresh sunlight, had not a cock crowed,
Shatterin the surface of that limpid pool
Of stillness, and before the ripples died
One by one in the field’s shadows,
The farm woke with uninhibited dim."
whats that part mean? can you tell me? :] x"
Thomas is creating an idyllic setting as most people imagine a big country house, with a farmyard attached etc. Thomas then uses an extended metaphor to describe the noises that are echoing around her, "shattering the surface of that limpid pool, Of stillness, and before the ripples died" This helps to strengthen the imagery used.
A collage of sounds is then created, "the farm woke with uninhibited din" This shows that in contrast to the insecurities of the little girl, the farm is confident and not afraid of noise, and this also helps with the imagery associated with a typical country farm.
Uneasily from the bedroom with its frieze
Of fresh sunlight, had not a cock crowed,
Shatterin the surface of that limpid pool
Of stillness, and before the ripples died
One by one in the field’s shadows,
The farm woke with uninhibited dim."
whats that part mean? can you tell me? :] x"
Thomas is creating an idyllic setting as most people imagine a big country house, with a farmyard attached etc. Thomas then uses an extended metaphor to describe the noises that are echoing around her, "shattering the surface of that limpid pool, Of stillness, and before the ripples died" This helps to strengthen the imagery used.
A collage of sounds is then created, "the farm woke with uninhibited din" This shows that in contrast to the insecurities of the little girl, the farm is confident and not afraid of noise, and this also helps with the imagery associated with a typical country farm.
Could u help me please? Could u tell me wot the whole poem means. Thank you
Reply 11
does anyone know what the metephor 'A loose quilt of quilt patterns' means?
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