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قراءة كتاب Letters from Mesopotamia in 1915 and January, 1916 From Robert Palmer, who was killed in the Battle of Um El Hannah, June 21, 1916, aged 27 years
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
Letters from Mesopotamia in 1915 and January, 1916 From Robert Palmer, who was killed in the Battle of Um El Hannah, June 21, 1916, aged 27 years
Transcribers Note:
The two illustrations at the end of the printed book are inserted with the relevant letters in the html version.
LETTERS FROM MESOPOTAMIA
IN 1915 AND JANUARY, 1916,
FROM ROBERT PALMER, WHO
WAS KILLED IN THE BATTLE OF
UM EL HANNAH, JUNE 21, 1916
AGED 27 YEARS
PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION ONLY
to reinforce the 4th Hants. The 6th Hants
had been in India since November, 1914.
Passions unloosed in licence, which in man
Are the most evil, a false witness to
The faith of Christ. For when by settled plan,
To gratify the lustings of the few,
The peoples march to battle, then, the law
Their brothers in a hateless strife, nor know
The cause wherefor they fight, except that they
Whom they as rulers own, do bid them so.
And thus his heart was heavy on the day
That war burst forth. He felt that men could ill
That they had mounted, toiling, stage by stage—
—A year he was to India's plains assigned
Nor heard the spite of rifles, nor the rage
Of guns; yet pondered oft on what the mind
Experiences in war; what are the fears,
In stress of fight. He saw how great a test
Of manhood is a stubborn war, which draws
Out all that's worst in men or all that's best:
Their fiercest brutal passions from all laws
Set free, men burn and plunder, rape and steal;
Against such suffering. And so he came
In time to wish that he might thus be tried,
Partly to know himself, partly from shame
That others with less faith had gladly died,
While he in peace and ease had cast a doubt,
So great a trial. Soon it was his fate
To test himself; and with the facts of war
So clear before him he could feel no hate,
No passion was aroused by what he saw,
But only pity. And he put all fear
Of an unruly mind. Like some strong man
Whom pygmies in his sleep have bound with threads
Of twisted cobweb, and he to their plan
Is captive while he sleeps, but quickly shreds
His bonds when he awakes and sees the thing
Purged all evil passions from his mind,
And left there one great overmastering love
For all his fellows. War taught him to find
That peace, for which at other times he strove
In vain, and new-found friendship did fulfil
That he perfected, ready for the call
Of his dear Master (should it to him come),
Scornful of death's terrors, yet withal
Loath to leave this life, while still was some
Part of the work he dreamed undone, his goal
A different work among those given,
Who've crossed the border of eternity
In youthful heedlessness,—as unshriven
Naked souls joined the great fraternity
O' the dead, while yet their life was just begun ...
For all our life is as it were a mask
That lifteth at our death, and death is birth
To higher things than are upon this earth.
L. P.
Flashman's Hotel,
Rawal Pindi.
April 25th, 1915.
To his Mother.
They are calling for volunteers from Territorial battalions to fill gaps in the Persian Gulf—one subaltern, one sergeant, and thirty men from each battalion. So far they have asked the Devons, Cornwalls, Dorsets, Somersets and East Surreys, but not the Hampshires. So I suppose they are going to reserve us for feeding the 4th Hants in case they want casualties replaced later on. Even if they come to us, I don't think they are likely to take me or Luly, because in every case they are taking the senior subaltern: and that is a position which I am skipping by being promoted along with the three others: and Luly is a long way down the list. But of course I shall volunteer, as there is no adequate reason not to; so I thought you would like to know, only you mustn't worry, as the chance of my going is exceedingly remote: but I like to tell you everything that happens.
Four months after he wrote this, in August, 1915, Robert was on leave at Naini Tal, with Purefoy Causton, a brother officer.
Métropole Hotel,
Naini Tal.
August 3rd, 1915.
To his Mother.
It has been extremely wet since I last wrote. On Saturday we could do nothing except laze indoors and play billiards and Friday was the same, with a dull dinner-party at the end of it. It was very nice and cool though, and I enjoyed those two days as much as any.
On Sunday we left Government House in order to be with Guy Coles during his three days' leave.
It rained all the morning: we went to Church at a spikey little chapel just outside Government House gate. It cleared about noon and we walked down to the Brewery, about three miles to meet Guy. When he arrived we had