Monthly Great War Art Thread - November

[marina]

This month's topic is 'End Game' since November and Armistice Day are upon us.

Good luck, everyone!

Marina

[squirrel]

Sorry to be picky, but could we have the topic titled more in keeping with Remembrance and WW1 than an American sporting phrase?

[Gunboat]

Its also a chess term Squirrel often at a point in the game when there are a few pieces left on the board.

For that reason I think its a very suitable and poignant metaphor

[squirrel]

I stand corrected in the corner.

[RedCoat]

Hi guys,

This is my entry for this month, it is based on a true story....a chap i have been researching for a while ( i have his letter..featured in the story). The last line holds significance as his wife had it inscribed on his CWGC headstone.

The 12th of November 1917 started just as any other had for Mrs Tribe since she found out her husband Arthur had been taken Prisoner Of War a few months previously. Walking towards Mr Langley the Butcher, she smiled sweetly at him concealing the sorrow and heartache that consumed her most days. Mr Langley did not say a word to her as she asked for her normal list of items, which she found strange as usually he was one of the most cheerful men in the village. Ashen faced, hands that fumbled with nerves and a sweaty brow, there was something wrong and she new it. Placing her hand on his he jerked away sharply and let out a cry saying that he was sorry and how the news of Arthur’s death has shocked everyone. Unbelieving yet wild eyed like a startled hare, Mrs Tribe darted out of the shop and ran home knocking into people as she went, tears rolling down her cheeks until she burst through her front door. Ill with distress she saw what any loved one of a soldier feared most, a telegram with a letter attached. As she read it her neighbour arrived:

Dear Mrs Tribe,

I very much regret to have to inform you that your husband, Pte A. Tribe G/15012 1st The Queens.(R.W. Surry) died here, in this hospital on the morning of Nov 11th '17 about 10pm.

He was suffering from Tuberculosis, when he arrived here, to which disease he succumbed.

On behalf of myself and all his comrades here, to all of whom he was a friend in distress, I beg to offer our deepest sympathy, with you and all his relations.

I may say that during his illness here, everything was done for him, that could be done, by his comrades in the ward. He received a full share of the food etc sent to them. Unfortunately he did not receive any packets himself or any correspondence, which, I am sure would have cheered him up a great deal, had he received any.

He passed away peacefully and was interred in the Public Cemetery here in Gottingen on Nov 14th '17 (today).

His funeral was followed by a considerable number of his comrades, who placed a wreath on his grave.

I am forwarding under separate cover his paybook and a wallet containing some photographs Etc, which may be of interest to you.

With deepest Sympathy,

I am, Dear Mrs Tribe,

Yours Sincerely

Arthur O Adams

Hon. Sec.

British Help Committee, Gottingen.

Falling into her neighbour’s arms an endless stream of tears of anguish and fear for the future flowed until shear exhaustion caused her to fall asleep.

Time passed slowly for Mrs Tribe, but a year later there crowds rejoicing in the streets but Mrs Tribe sat in her house not glad that the war is over but mourning her husband, the man everyone else has forgotten in the midst of their celebrations, the man that she loved and always would, the man that loved her and gave himself for her.

Donnie

[marina]

Sorry to be picky, but could we have the topic titled more in keeping with Remembrance and WW1 than an American sporting phrase?

It's a chess term, Squirrel - I rather liked the iodea of the last finishing moves of the war being illustrated.

I have no idea which Americam sport uses that term

Still, if this is going to cause confusion, come up with something else!

Marina

[marina]

I stand corrected in the corner.

Just seen this post, Squirrel - come out of the corner, please, and give us another one of your poems!

Marina

[squirrel]

Don't have a clue - although from what I understand the Allies had a lot more "pieces" left in November 1918 than the Germans and their allies did.

[marina]

MGWAT isn't MGWAT without an entry from you - still, you have a month!

Marina

[Gunboat]

Squirrel

I agree with Marina it wouldn't be the same and remember the title gives a lot of range from the last few days or weeks of the war to more of a remembrance feel

[RedCoat]

Nobody likes my story

Donnie

[Gunboat]

I like your story Donnie. It is very well written and the fact that it it has its basis in fact and we have the accompanying photos makes it almost heart wrenchingly painful to read. Very moving

[squirrel]

Lot of work there Donnie, excellent submission.

I'm having a trawl to see if there is something in my archive that might be suitable.

[Gunboat]

Not properly edited

Endgame

His fingers hovered over the ivory chess piece and his eyes lifted from the board to his opponent who was leaning back against a grassy incline smoking a cigarette casually. He suddenly withdrew his hand and rubbed it against his chin in deep concentration. His opponent’s eyes creased into a gentle smile.

It was an unusual location for a chess match, the board spread over an upturned ammunition box and the players, two captains sat in the lee of a grassy bank. Less than half a mile away was an isolated farmhouse and outbuildings, occupied by the Germans, which had been subjected to some shelling earlier that morning. There had had followed a brief exchange of fire, but now, in this immediate sector at least, all was quiet. However, in the near distance the sporadic rattle of small arms and the occasional crump of artillery shells could still be heard.

The opponent pulled a watch from inside his tunic and raised an eyebrow. Still white’s move and again the hand reached out hovered momentarily and was pulled back to be drawn across a furrowed brow.

The roar of an approaching shell, which up until this day both men would have ignored, prompted the players to raise their eyes from the board and listen intently. The shell exploded with a thump some distance behind them upending one or two of the chess pieces. They paused. There was no shout for stretcher bearers so they placed the pieces back on the board without comment.

It was still white’s move and he was clearly perplexed. Black looked at his watch again and cleared his throat. White smiled, he wasn’t going to be rushed, he took a cigarette case from his breast pocket and tapped a cigarette on the side. He offered one to his opponent who declined by showing the cigarette he still had in his hand and turning it between his fingers. Instead he nodded almost imperceptibly toward the board.

White looked at the board, looked again to his opponent who was picking a stray piece of tobacco from his tongue, looked at his own wristwatch and smiled. He reached over to the white king and knocked it over surrendering the game with a shrug of his shoulders. No amount of vacillation was going to alter the outcome, black had him beaten in three moves and he knew it.

“A most gratifying game” black said by way of consolation “and somewhat ironical”

“How so?” questioned his bemused opponent.

“War is very much a game of chess” black replied, carefully laying the pieces in neat rows back in their box, “two factions facing each other over contested ground, locked for the most part in a stalemate, each trying new stratagems to win, willing to sacrifice so many pawns to gain a few more squares …and to what end? The victor and vanquished laid to rest in a wooden box like these pieces. But the difference is each time we play a new game these chessmen are reborn, whole and undamaged” He held the black king up and stared at it pensively “this war had a different endgame…I won this match… yet it is my king who is deposed”. He placed the piece in the box, closed the lid, folded the chess board and looked again at his watch. He stood up.

“It is 10.45, with your leave I should go back to my men and be with them at the end”

He called his sergeant who had been laughing with a group of NCO’s a short distance away, the sergeant stiffened to attention

Captain Thomas studied the figure before him, tall ram-rod straight with strong aquiline features and an aristocratic bearing. He thought back to earlier that morning when this strange apparition had emerged from mists that hung near the farmhouse under the protection of a white flag borne by his sergeant. He was an improbable sight as he presented himself to his British counterpart standing stiffly to attention with a board held under his arm.

He introduced himself, with barely a trace of an accent, as Captain Erik Fuerst who had lived and studied in England for many years and loved the country,"but not as much as I love Germany", he had said as if to justify why he stood before them as an adversary. He had come, he explained, because the war would be over at 11.00 am. Three of his men had been killed by the shells that had fell that morning and he had no desire to write to any more letters to explain why a husband, son or sweetheart would not be home despite the war being all but over. He suggested a cease fire and would guarantee this by staying in the British lines under his and his sergeant’s parole until the end of hostilities. If that hadn’t shaken Thomas enough, his next action completely quieted the British officer…

Fuerst produced his chess set

“I have played every man in my regiment at least twice over,” he said with a smile “I would very much desire to play with someone new”

That was how the two men had come to be sat on a grassy bank on a chilly autumnal morning smoking and playing a game of chess.

“It has been a very great honour to meet you sir” Captain Thomas said saluting the German officer. Fuerst returned the salute and with great dignity bowed his head. He held out his hand and Thomas took it shaking it warmly.

Fuerst’s Sergeant and a small knot of british NCO’s also exchanged handshakes and the two men started to climb the small embankment. One of British sergeants shouting “best of luck Ernst” and the German sergeant waved cheerily.

Fuerst stopped and turned back to Captain Thomas.

“I would very much like you to take this Captain Thomas” he said holding out the board and the box of chessmen.

“No its too much” Thomas protested

“Not at all Captain Thomas, it is little in way of reparation between two soldiers such as we; I suspect my country will pay a much greater price” he smiled

Thomas took the set with great reverence and his word of thanks was barely audible he was clearly very touched by the gesture.

“One last thing Captain if you please” Fuerst said tapping a finger against his forehead in a moment of afterthought

“we must never allow anyone to forget what has happened in this war…ever! It cannot be allowed to happen again” he tapped his head again this time in a casual salute,turned and climbed the embankment.

Thomas looked at the chess set in his hands and then allowed his gaze to follow the two figures walking slowly to the farmhouse. Fuerst’s parting words still echoing in his mind.

“Amen” he said

[marina]

Two cracking ood stopries to start us off!

Next please...

Marina

[squirrel]

Nice story Gunboat.

Wrote this one over 3 years ago - will it do?

The Old Man Next Door

He was only an ordinary soldier.

Private, infantry, one of the line.

He'd served seven years when they sent him to France

Via Le Havre and Mauberge, just in time.

To Mons with its pits and it's slag heaps,

The canal with its bridges across.

There he stood and he stopped the bold Germans,

Shouldered arms, turned about, ordered off.

The retreat it was hard on the soldier

With rearguards and actions to fight.

But he marched and he fought and slept little;

Never questioned the Generals were right.

At the Marne he turned and saw action

Chased the Germans right up to the Aisne.

There he fought and retired to rest billets

And then, started marching again.

Up to Ypres with its spires and its towers,

Which the Germans were keen to destroy.

But he fought them and held the position

With the remains of the Old Army deployed.

He marched and he fought at Neuves-Chapelle,

Cuinchy, Festubert, Aubers and Loos.

And he stuck with the mud and the hardship

For it wasn't his option to choose.

Back to Ypres and then, the great battle,

Farther south on the river, the Somme.

Through the woods, lives and villages shattered,

Never questioning when things went wrong,

In the line or at rest, or in training,

Working parties, fatigues and patrol;

Armentieres, Arras and Amiens,

Wherever, he did what was told.

Back to the towns in the salient,

To Passchendaele, Poelderhoek, Hooge,

Hellfire Corner, Menin and Langemark,

And in Pop for a night on the booze.

Ordered south in '18 he retreated

Back across the old Somme battlefield.

And he still never questioned his orders,

Never thought the Old Army would yield.

Then in August he started advancing

And to Mons he eventually came back.

And they told him the war it was over.

"Stand easy; no further attack."

And he looked at the men all around him

And saw none who'd been with him before

When they'd stopped the German advance there.

He's the last of the original Corps.

His mates lie in France and in Flanders

And the list of their names is so long.

But he still sees their faces and hears them;

On the marches, in billets, in song..........

And he'll never forget his four years there,

What he saw, what he felt, what he did.

And he'll never discuss it with strangers,

Or his family, the wife and the kid.

His medals he keeps in the sideboard

With his papers, his badge and pay book.

"It's done", he says, "No need for talking."

But he lets slip every so often, and today, he let me take a look.

Then we sat and he told me his stories

In his own way with no dressing up.

And I sat there enthralled for some hours

And the char came up, cup after cup.

So I'll never forget the Old Soldier,

Or those like him who died far away.

And I'll make sure that others remember

For our tomorrows, they gave their today.

©Tony Nutkins September 2005

[Michael Johnson]

The General said: [Order of the Day] The Hun is beaten. Keep up the pressure.

The Colonel said: I hesitate to risk my men, when the end's so close, but orders are orders, and I've got my career to consider.

The Captain said: Don't take any unnecessary chances, but don't let your guard down. We're not out of it yet.

The Sergeant said: Keep your eyes open and don't trust no one, and maybe you'll see your home again soon. They can kill you, so you'd better get them first.

To Poll Setter - not my competition piece.

[Gunboat]

Squirrell it will more than do...one of your very best imho

Michael I really like it. Another masterpeice in understated excellence

[squirrel]

Well done Michael- concise and very much to the point.

[marina]

Nice story Gunboat.

Wrote this one over 3 years ago - will it do?

The Old Man Next Door

He was only an ordinary soldier...

And I'll make sure that others remember

For our tomorrows, they gave their today.

Really poignant - one of your best, Squirrel.

Told you I picked a good topic!

Marina

The General said: [Order of the Day] The Hun is beaten. Keep up the pressure.

The Colonel said: I hesitate to risk my men, when the end's so close, but orders are orders, and I've got my career to consider.

The Captain said: Don't take any unnecessary chances, but don't let your guard down. We're not out of it yet.

The Sergeant said: Keep your eyes open and don't trust no one, and maybe you'll see your home again soon. They can kill you, so you'd better get them first.

Terse, michael, and powerful.

Marina

[squirrel]

Thanks Marina - it is based on the ex soldier who lived next door when I was a kid and some of one of my uncle's experiences.

[alex falbo]

Hello lads, I'm a 1/6th modeler and this is my first contribution to the Art thread series on here. I've posted my work in various other places but I thought it most appropriate to post on the GWF too. My Great War Collection involves lots of scratch building as WWI figure products are scarce in the truest sense of the word. I take the figures outside and pose them in order to illustrate on the war based on photos that I've seen. The Collection's focus is on British and German subjects.

This particular photo is meant to remember the men killed within the last week of the war. Remember to wear your poppy next Tuesday...

[marina]

Thanks Marina - it is based on the ex soldier who lived next door when I was a kid and some of one of my uncle's experiences.

I wondered about that - it does have the feel of authenticity. Well done.

Marina

[squirrel]

Well done Alex - excellent modelling. Hope to see more contributions from you.

[Gunboat]

Alex I thought at first it was a photgraph of a real person it is incredible