Dreamers by Siegfried Sassoon

Dreamers

by Siegfried Sassoon

Soldiers are citizens of death's grey land,

Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows.   

In the great hour of destiny they stand,

Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.   

Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win   

Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives.

Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin

They think of firelit homes, clean beds and wives.

I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats,

And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain,   

Dreaming of things they did with balls and bats,

And mocked by hopeless longing to regain   

Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats,

And going to the office in the train.

The London and North Western Railway War Memorial at Euston railway station in London, England; photo by Leonid Andronov

This is the 1st paragraph of the Sassoon page at The Poetry Foundation's website: "Siegfried Sassoon is best remembered for his angry and compassionate poems about World War I, which brought him public and critical acclaim. Avoiding the sentimentality and jingoism of many war poets, Sassoon wrote of the horror and brutality of trench warfare and contemptuously satirized generals, politicians, and churchmen for their incompetence and blind support of the war. He was also well known as a novelist and political commentator. In 1957 he was awarded the Queen’s Medal for Poetry."

Today's blog poem is certainly a great example of his avoidance of nationalism and pretending that war is glorious and good.

The title seems optimistic, joyful even. The first line squashes that feeling with "death's grey land." These regular men, these soldiers noe exist in an in-between place. They dream of home and the everyday tasks and people of that place. But they are in another landscape where they must win when the gunfire begins.

Sassoon is not done with his grim descriptions of what he saw as a soldier.

I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats,

And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain,  

If you know anything about the trench warfare of WWI, you know they were horrible places. Sassoon is not exaggerating here. Besides rats, there was lice. The dampness caused rampant trenchfoot, which could lead to amputation and death. Other infectious diseases, such as typhoid caused by lice and a variety of diseases that cause diarrhea easily spread in trenches. The mud was inescapable, as was the fear and anxiety. The trenches were where everything the troops did stayed--the ill, wounded, dying, and dead, human waste, the trash, rotting food--everything.

Sassoon has these men dreaming, surrounded by death and decay, of holidays, movies, arguments, and taking the train to work. By comparison to their reality, these hum-drum activities are the stuff of dreams. But Sassoon makes their dreams even sadder by referring to their desire for these commonplace things as "hopeless."

Although about 71% of British soldiers who served on the front lines did return home, many returned disabled for the rest of their lives or traumatized by what we now call PTSD. Trench warfare was horrifying, as were many other aspects of WWI, and, of course, war in general. Sassoon was just one of a group of WWI poets who wrote about their experiences and did so honestly. Wars may no longer be fought in trenches, but the stakes are the same, as are the dreams of those fighting, those soldiers who "must win."