July 1st 2016, and more specifically 7:30am, marks the start of one of the biggest battles of World War I, and the bloodiest in history, the Battle of the Somme in an area around the Belgian town of Ypres a century ago.

On the first day alone almost 20,000 Allied soldiers were killed. By the time the battle ended in November of 1916 more than 1.3 million men from both sides were killed, wounded or missing.


Not strictly connected with this particular battle, this poem by Canadian soldier and poet Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae from Guelp, Ontario, tells of the sacrifices of the soldiers on the front line. It was written the year before after the funeral of a friend who died in battle in the same area where the Battle of the Somme was to take place.

Poignantly the closing minutes of British comedy series Blackadder Goes Fourth depicts the young soldiers, many of them still teenagers, going over the top to face a barrage of machine gun fire.

Just to keep a musical theme, here’s the final track from Motörhead’s 1991 album 1916. The lyrics are well worth a read.

16 years old when I went to the war,

To fight for a land fit for heroes,

God on my side, and a gun in my hand,

Chasing my days down to zero,

And I marched and I fought and I bled

And I died & I never did get any older,

But I knew at the time, That a year in the line,

Was a long enough life for a soldier,

We all volunteered,

And we wrote down our names,

And we added two years to our ages,

Eager for life and ahead of the game,

Ready for history’s pages,

And we brawled and we fought

And we whored ’til we stood,

Ten thousand shoulder to shoulder,

A thirst for the Hun,

We were food for the gun, and that’s

What you are when you’re soldiers,

I heard my friend cry,

And he sank to his knees, coughing blood

As he screamed for his mother

And I fell by his side,

And that’s how we died,

Clinging like kids to each other,

And I lay in the mud

And the guts and the blood,

And I wept as his body grew colder,

And I called for my mother

And she never came,

Though it wasn’t my fault

And I wasn’t to blame,

The day not half over

And ten thousand slain, and now

There’s nobody remembers our names

And that’s how it is for a soldier.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s