J F Hendry

           
        J. F. Hendry   London Before Invasion: 1940

                     

                                           Picture Graham Sutherland 'Wrecked Public House ' 
                                           Thank you to Tate Images for its use-reference N5735

                                 
                                       London Before Invasion


                                       " Walls and buildings stand here still, like shells.
                                       Hold them to the ear. There are no echoes even
                                       Of the seas that once were. That tide is out
                                       Beyond the valleys and hills.

                                      Days dawn and die while the city assumes a distance of stars.
                                      It is the absence of the heart
                                      In the ebbing seas of heaven,
                                     An ebbing beyond laughter and too tense for tears.

                                     Now, imagination floats, a weed, on water's vacancy.
                                     Fates of women, lit with conscience of stone features.
                                     Flowers have a girl's irrelevance, and mind is no
                                     prescience.

                                    Flood-tides returning may bring with them blood and fire,
                                    Blenching with wet panic spirit that must be rock
                                    May being a future tossed and torn, as slippery as wrack,
                                    All time adrift in torrents of blind war. "


Glasgow born  J.F. (James Findlay) Hendry ( 1912- 1986),  served in the Royal Artillery and Amy Intelligence. Most known in World War 2 poetry circles for his involvement in the 'New Apocalypse' movement' , following the anthology of the same name that Hendry edited with Henry Treece, that was published in 1939. Two more such  anthologies 'The White Horseman' ( 1941) and ' Crown and Sickle'( 1944) were published. G.S Fraser, Norman McCaig, Vernon Watkins, were briefly associated them.

 Opposed to the 1930's  'Auden Generation' , the ' New Apocalyptics' were short lived as a movement and its harder to find another  group of poets who have attracted such unkind comments since the Georgians of the early 20th century. Andrew Sinclair sniped at Hendry and Treece for being 'leaders without a movement' , and denounced the poetry included in 'The White Horseman'  for  being " obscure, self conscious and adolescent'. Vernon Scannell accused them of promoting a " kind of zany automatic writing, most of which read like a drunken parody of Dylan Thomas" . George Orwell scoffed at them.


The New Apocalyptics  were uninterested  in  the use of social realism within poetry.  Mythological images prevailed in their work,  with inspirations taken from nature, pre-industrial ages, the theories of Freud, 1930's surrealism,  and Anarchism of the individualist variety. The movement itself  was short lived, though their influence lasted for another decade with the growth of the Romanticism in the 1940's.  By the 1950's, with the rise of The Movement poets and the Angry Young Men ( in both the theatre and in novels) , the work of the New Apocalypse seemed escapist and archaic. Henry Treece became better known in post war years for writing historical novels, particularly for young readers, and some quite delightful poetry such as 'The Magic Wood'.

J.F. Hendry had two poetry collections  published during World War 2, 'The Bombed Happiness'  (1942)  'The Orchestral Mountain' , neither attracted much attention.  But Keidrich Rhys included several of J.F.Hendry's poems in his seminal anthologies.  'Poems from the Forces' (1941)   and 'More Poems from the Forces' (1943)   But J.F. Hendry carried on writing. J.F. Hendry's post war work included 'Fernie Brae' ( 1947),  and  'Life of Rilke' (1982).



            Recently found a collection of poetry titled ' Poems of Today -Fourth Series' published in 1957, and looking at the 'best'  poetry from 1938-1957. This volume included just one J.F.Hendry poem 'The Churchillian Ode'.  Reminds one initially  of 17th century odes to Cromwell written by Andrew Marvell and John Dryden until they both embraced the Restoration . Or John Milton's sonnets dedicated to  Sir Henry Vane the Younger and General Fairfax . Quoting from the first few lines.

                              A Churchillian Ode

                              "The years grew tares for we did not tend them
                              Time was eaten by moths in an age of gold
                              And the sun eclipsed in a cloud of ignorance.
                              The hours sprang holes as we stared, until now, the
                              last,
                              We clasp in our hands a sheaf of bluebells in place
                              Of the rifle, and all our moment of laughter are
                                 frozen
                              Amid flaming towns, their echoes chill as the shade of
                              soul's vengeance.............."

There is a sort of awkward dreaminess with a bit of surrealism thrown in. 'London Before Invasion 1940' was written in 1940, published in his collection 'The Bombed Happiness' . This title was challenged by Andrew Sinclair as having implied "that there might be a liberation and joy in destruction."  This issue appears within 'London Before Invasion 1940 " - that somehow the course of history was entering a phase where human emotion simply didn't matter:   "An ebbing beyond laughter and too tense for tears"- whilst there is a terrible wait for the next tide to come rushing in again, bringing new horrors.

In wider contact, I doubt  that a New Apocalyptic such as J F Hendry was justifying destruction or finding something aesthetically pleasing about an air raid. He was a poet caught up in war,  trying to find a space for the individual, in a world where impersonal historical forces were ranging.



                                                                                                                            

Quotes by Andrew Sinclair were taken from ' War Like A Wasp -The Lost Decade of the Forties'
  ( 1989)

Quote by Vernon Scannell taken from 'Not Without Glory Poets of the Second World War' (1976)


Please take a look at the companion blog to this one A Burnt Ship , dealing with poetry & prose relating to 17th century warfare.
 
There is also the  Bleak Chesney Wold  blog about 19th century 'dark' history. 

Coventry 14th November 1940

           "The raiders first fired the medieval centre, crowned by its beautiful cathedral, which was gutted. They then poured hundreds of tones of bombs into the city, in an attack which lasted ten hours. Approaching one-third of the ctiy's houses were made uninhabitable, .....A hundred acres of the city centre were destroyed. Five hundred and fifty-four people were killed, eight hundred and sixty-five seriously wounded."
'The People's War Britain 1939- 1945' -Angus Calder

Painting of bombed Coventry Cathedral, November 1940 ~ by John Piper, 1940 

THAT NIGHT OF DEATH

by John J.Rattigan, November 1940

Who can forget that night of death,
Wrought by the sky devil's fiery breath,
Who can forget that night of pain,
Dealt out by a madman's twisted brain.

We shall not forget as our homes we rebuild,
On bomb-scarred ground where innocent were killed,
We shall not forget as we look at the land,
Where once stood a building so stately and grand.

Even God's house is not safe from this Hun,
Who bombs and destroys at the setting of the sun.
So let him send over his cowardly hordes,
Who shatter the homes of paupers and Lords.

That night was severe, there is no doubt,
We had a hard blow, but they can't knock us out.
For our men are of steel, our women won't kneel,
Nor children for mercy plea.
A new hope will arise, when the world is free,
From the rubble and ashes of Coventry

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( Not sure who owns the copyright to this work but quoted with kind permission from http://www.familyresearcher.co.uk )

Particularly appreciate the defiance of the poem, the use of the term 'Hun' seems archaic.So much war poetry emphasises evokes the helplessness and hopelessness that war can generate, whilst this poem confronts the horror war but suggests rejuvenation. Along with the reminder of how air attack ensured that civilians could have direct experience of warfare.  The notion of a war poet being  on some mission to depict the 'pity of war' to pampered civilians was over, and bombs don't differentiate between the homes of rich and poor.

As we are now approaching Remembrance season, been thinking over the work of Alun Lewis, ( 1.July 1915- 5.March 1944). Serving as an Intelligence Officer  with the Royal Engineers, he died near Arakan , Burma in what his regimental history described as (being) "accidentally wounded by a pistol. " Lewis left only one collection published in his life time 'Raiders Dawn' (1942)

Vernon Scannell noted in his work 'Not Without Glory' (1976)
"He did not directly experience the terror, exultation, weariness and despair of battle and hammer out records of what he endured. He was a soldier-poet of a different kind; the reluctant unhappy warrior, suffering boredom, exasperation, loneliness, exile, frustration and anxiety, the civilian in uniform, fighting not the enemy in arms  but the debilitating longing for the lost peace, for comfort and love. He was in some ways the representative  poet of the Second World War."

This poem 'Peace'  is taken from 'Selected Poems of Alun Lewis' selected  by Jenny Hooker and Gweno Lewis with a foreword by Robert Graves. Graves's own son Ltn. (John) David Nicholson Graves, who like his father served with the Royal Welch Fusiliers, was killed in action near Arakan, on 18th March 1943.

Peace

"The wind blows
Through her eyes,
Snow is blanker
In her whiter thighs,
The birds are frantic with
Her last distress,
And flutter and chatter over
Her nakedness

And her blind
Eyes are prayers
Where she lives
By the boulders
The strong shoulders
Of the Earth
Who is kind
And harvest
Her prayers
And abideth
His time.

Destroyed is the well
Of her magic,
But where she lies silent
And tragic the earth
Pallid in reverie
Stirs with the birth
Of the flowers, the white
and the red that she gives,
The tendrils and swarming of all
That still lives, oh still lives ! 

And she comes from the dead,
Smiling without mystery,
Homeward slowly turning
Century by century,
And all the heart's deep yearnings
In her Being is burning, burning. "

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Beatrice Gibbs/ Alexandra Etheldreda Grantham

                                 Current Research Projects
                                 Beatrice Gibbs/ Alexandra Etheldreda Grantham 

                                                 

Graham Sutherland : 'Devastation,1941,East End, Burnt Paper Warehouse' . In the public domain Courtesy of Wikipedia/ Tate Britain. 

Thought that it was time to expand about the purposes of this blog. As well as trying to highlight the  whole range of World War 2 poetry that is in danger of being overshadowed and forgotten, it's also important to encourage further research, trying to discover more about the lives of those who were writing poetry during World War 2.  Looking at two female poets , Beatrice Gibbs and Alexandra Etheldreda Grantham. 

The Bomber

"White moon setting and red sun waking.
White as a searchlight, red as a flame
Through the dawn wind her hard way making.
Rhythmless,riddled, the bomber came.

Men who had thought their last flight over,
All hoping, gone, came limping back.
Marvelling, looked on on bomb-scarred Dover.
Buttercup fields and white Down track.

Cottage and ploughland, green lanes weaving,
Working-folk stopping to stare overhead-
Lovely, most lovely, past all believing
To eyes of men new-raised from the dead. "

-Beatrice R. Gibbs.

( featured in  'Shadows of War- British Women's Poetry of the Second World War' edited and introduced by Anne Powell. 1999 ).

A poem that attracted me for its simplicity but also intrigued by the theme of a  bomber crew who are out causing havoc to the enemy , and facing colossal odds weighed against their own survival, find solace on reaching the Kent Downs upon their return. The last two lines are almost parodying a hymn with the repetition of 'lovely' and the reference to 'believing' and 'new raised from the dead' .

Beatrice R. Gibb was born in 1894, and is listed as a poet, writer of children's books, in the index of 'Shadows of War'.
So far have found little else about her but still searching.

Alexandra Etheldreda Grantham 

Have been liaising with Lucy London, who runs the excellent Female Poets of the First World War blog concerning   Alexandra Etheldreda Marie Sylvia Von Herder born  in Germany in 1870, : A specialist in Chinese history and art, with several books to her name . The biographical details in the  'Shadows of War' anthology .mention a marriage to Captain Frederick William Grantham. and for having the tragic distinction  of having two sons killed whilst serving, one in each World War.

From what I can establish her son  Ltn. Hugo Frederick Grantham,Third Battalion Essex Regiment, died at Gallipoli, on 28th June 1915, and is  buried at Twelve Tree Copse Cemetery. In 1915 Alexandra Grantham's collection 'Mater Dolorosa ' was published in 1915 and dedicated to his memory.

The second son  was Godfrey Harry Grantham, who was a pilot instructor in the RAF volunteer reserve and was killed  on 21st June 1942 aged 30 , Catherine Reilly, in her 'English Poetry of the Second World War a Bibliography' , suggested that perhaps  Godfrey was Alexandra Grantham's grandson, but the records available on Commonwealth War Graves Commission show that he was indeed her son.

Crashed

"An hour ago or less this piteous tangled heap
Made up-of metal bits whose scattered fragments
    show
Black trace of flames attacking it with dead leap
An hour ago.

Soared in the blue, triumphant like a star, sheer
 glow
Of silver on great wings spread in spirals
  steep
To rise and climb o'er midnight clouds of ice and
   snow.

And he who swept it upwards- slain, never to
   reap
The harvest of his dreams, nor wondrous joys to
    know
Of coming home, nor wake again. He laughed
   at sleep.
An hour ago."

( From the aforementioned anthology 'Shadows of War' , first appeared in  Alexandra Grantham's collection 'Godfrey Grantham' , published 1942 )

Again  I find the simplicity of the poem appealing. No attempt to write some epic, or to tell some daring truth about the War. A bleak but effective tribute to a son's memory written by a grieving mother.

Godfrey was buried at St. Wythan's churchyard . Repton, Derbyshire. The Repton Village World War 2 history group advise :

"Pilot Officer GODFREY HARRY GRANTHAM, 118749. Godfrey was the son of Capt. Frederick William Grantham (formerly of the Royal Munster Fusiliers) and Alexandra E. Grantham, of Abingdon, Berkshire. P/O Grantham died in Magister L8227 in a forced landing at Dalbury Lees/Trusley. His pupil Cpl G.P. Ward of the AAC was seriously injured. Godfrey was born 24 July 1911 and died 21 June 1942. His grave is a tombstone, embossed with the RAF crest and a carved portrait." 

Repton Village entry

Both Hugo Grantham and Godfrey Grantham are commemorated on the Barcombe, Sussex, Roll of Honour.  Not quite sure of their Sussex connection .

Barcombe Roll of Honour

Hoping to consult Alexandra Grantham's two collections ' Godfrey Grantham' (1942) and ' River Roundels' (1943) in the near future. Also to see if Godfrey Grantham's paintings are available .

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World War 2 Poetry blog supports the Second World War Experience Centre  Please consider looking at their website and the SWWEC Youtube Channel