This cycle of six linked sonnets (embedded in the larger 55-sonnet sequence, This Man's Army), covers a period of about twelve hours, from the late afternoon of August 8 to the dawn of August 9, 1918, the day before the Battle of Amiens. About 15 miles east of Amiens, the Somme River makes a series of pronounced oxbow bends and it is along the north bank of this stretch of the Somme (after first having driven some 25 kilometers from Molliens-au-Bois), following these winding bends, from Corbie to Vaux-sur-Somme to Sailly-le-Sec to Sailly-Laurette, with forays into the surrounding countryside, that Wyeth and his companion, Lt Thomas J. Cochrane, pursue their course, first in an open staff car, and then on foot, throughout the dangerous, chaotic night of August 8-9. Wyeth never identifies the purpose of their nightlong journey into darkness, but as they will first report to Regimental Headquarters, and then to the headquarters of 1st and 2nd Battalions, they appear to be conveying orders, or crucial information of some kind, from Division Headquarters.





~~~ The Road to Corbie ~~~

Our staff car flies and trails a long-spun haze
over the looping road and the surge and fall
of the heaving plains ~~ quick dusty tree trunks throw
their flickering bars of shadow in our eyes.
A wood ~~ men leading horses out to graze ~~
a misty bridge, and past the lumbering crawl
of crowded lorries ~~ low hills all aglow
with tufts of trees against the evening skies
and long blond hill slopes catching level rays
along their quilted flanks ~~ and under all,
the deep earth breathing like a thing asleep.
And there, Corbie ~~ her brittle walls brought low ~~
a brick-choked wreck, in which her ruins rise
like gravestones planted in a rubbish heap.

Late afternoon to early evening, August 8. By the time they set out late in the day, Wyeth and Cochrane, speeding along in an open staff car, find the roads choked with "lumbering . . . crowded lorries" (British trucks), and columns of marching, pack-laden troops. There is only one outfit on the road from Molliens-au-Bois to the front on August 8, and this is the 3rd Battalion of the 131st. Both battalion and staff car are bound for the same general destination, the north bank of the Somme, where the rest of the 131st is scheduled to rendezvous. The destination specified in the original orders was the village of Heilly, where headquarters of the 58th British Division is located, but by 10 p.m. the 131st has been ordered to an assembly point on the Bray-Corbie road some three thousand yards to the south of Heilly, in readiness to attack an hour after midnight. Subsequently, however, given the exhausted state of the 1st and 2nd Battalions, and the fact that the terrain is not yet reconnoitered and the troops without supplies, and given that the 3rd Battalion is still in transit, the commanding general of the 58th decides to postpone the attack until evening of the 9th. The 131st is sent onward to the north bank of the Somme east of Corbie, to a "position in readiness" in the valleys between Vaux-sur-Somme and Sailly-le-Sec. Corbie, the ruined village through which Wyeth and Cochrane pass, is located some fifteen kilometers east of Amiens, on the north bank of the Somme, at the confluence of the Somme and the Ancre.






~~~ Corbie to Sailly-le-Sec ~~~

High staggering walls, and plank-spiked piles of brick
and plaster ~~ jagged gables wrenched apart,
and tall dolls' houses cleanly split in two ~~
Rooms gaping wide on every cloven floor,
pictures askew that made your throat go thick,
and humble furniture that tore your heart.
"By God let's get out of here!"
                                                          We motored through
to the poplar marsh along the river's shore.
Sailly-le-Sec ~~ her church one candlestick
on a broken altar, and beyond it, part
of a rounded apse ~~ a dusty village husk
of rubble and tile. Low hills ahead, all blue,
and twinkling with the phosphorescent soar
of rockets leaping in the fringe of dusk.

Dusk, August 8. The distance from Corbie, eastward along the north bank of the Somme, following a large north-curving arc of the river, and passing through Vaux-sur-Somme (where a gunner from the nearby 4th Australian Division brought down von Richthofen the previous April), to the village of Sailly-le-Sec is about five kilometers. At this point they are only a few kilometers from the front, and the skyline before them flashes with the storm of war.






~~~ Regimental Headquarters ~~~

Steep prickly slopes in shadow from the moon
sagging behind us down the strident sky.
Guns blaze and slam. The stars burn fever bright.
A low white ridge ahead, and the crumpled sound
of shelling.
                    "Jerry's out ~~"

                                              A snarling croon
wheels over us ~~ quick glittering tracers fly
down a pale searchlight, and along the ground
bombs blast into smoky yellow shot with light
"Those runners will get you up there pretty soon.
~~ Take them up to the Second Battalion."

                                                              My tongue goes dry
and scrapy, and my lips begin to jerk ~~
~~ "Look out for the gas ~~ they been pumping it in all night."
"Let's go, Tommy."
                                         "O God wait a minute ~~ I've found
something wrong with my mask ~~ the damn thing doesn't work."

After nightfall, August 8. The headquarters of the 131st Regiment is located about a thousand yard northwest of Sailly-le- Sec, in a small wood. Here they are so close to the front that the guns "blaze and slam" and Wyeth can feel vestiges of gas on his lips and throat. As they stand in headquarters, receiving directions, a bomber flies overhead, firing tracers, and soon they hear the explosion of bombs. From here, guided by runners, they will set out on foot to locate 2nd Battalion headquarters. But first, Cochrane must get his gas mask to work.






~~~ Through the Valley ~~~

"All right Tom?"
                                "Yup ~~ I got it fixed ~~ let's start."
A slipping crumbly path through scratching brush'
down to the river road. Along the shore
a clanging leap of fire behind black trees
and a streak of shrillness slit the sky apart.
A sand road ~~ horses, guns in a cloudy rush,
and men, teeth clenched on tubes, who lashed and tore
through silence. Black still slopes ~~ a distant sneeze.
"Hear that? I tell you ~~ my eyes are beginning to smart."
A vague black gulch ahead, and the secret hush
of evil creeping in the dark ~~ We passed
two soldiers, pain-white, and a man they bore
between, blind twisting head and drunken knees,
~~ like Christ.
                             "Come on, Bud ~~ There ~~ You just been gassed."

The night of August 8-9. Gas masks on, and led by runners, Wyeth and Cochrane set out on foot, in search of 2nd Battalion headquarters, situated roughly six hundred yards to the south, close to the river. Everywhere there are ominous signs of "evil creeping in the dark," as the Valley of the sonnet's title evokes the biblical Valley of Death. With steel helmets for laurel, Virgil and Dante unholster their sidearms and wend their way through the Inferno of the Somme. Horse-drawn artillery crashes by, and columns of rushing soldiers, with both man and beast wearing alien masks in a futuristic nightmare, or a scene out of Bosch. A distant sneeze and their own burning eyes tell them that they are venturing into an area of lethal gas, and then they cross paths with their first gas victim, "... blind twisting head and drunken knees, ~ like Christ." ~~ and with that final image of Golgotha, the apocalyptic scene is complete.





~~~ Second Battalion Headquarters ~~~

"Where's the First Battalion? We haven't got any more
idea than you have ~~ they might be anywhere.
There's no front line. You'll just get caught in a raid."

Cool darkness after the foggy slobbering mask.
The long sky slashed with trundling swift uproar,
rumbling and husky in the whistling air,
and gas shells hustling into the valley made
a wobbling whisper like a hurtling flask.
We turned along the ridge to the river's shore.
"By God what's the matter with all those men?"
                                                                           "Hey there~~
excuse me, sir ~~ you going by any chance
to the dressing station? I got twenty men ~~ I'm afraid
they're gassed pretty bad ~"

                                          "What were you going to ask?"
"For God sake tell 'em to hurry up the ambulance."

The late hours of the night of August 8-9. Wyeth and Cochrane have reached 2nd Battalion headquarters, located some six hundred yards south of Regimental Headquarters, roughly eight hundred yards west of Sailly-le-Sec and a little north, and some six or seven hundred yards north of the river Somme. They immediately inquire after the location of 2nd Battalion headquarters, only to be told that no one knows. And so they strike out again on foot, but this time without guides or directions, once more heading south towards the river. Once again, a scene from the Inferno, this time a line of twenty gas victims in need of a savior, and by this chance meeting in the pathless night, their mission is altered from military to merciful, and they find themselves keeping a shepherd's watch over the victims until the ambulance arrives.






~~~ Regimental Dressing Station ~~~

Squat walls of sandbags ~~ and above, a sky
all thin and cool with dawn and very far.
Black empty stretchers. On the parapet,
light out before the clangor of the gun.
The bliss of strong fatigue ~~ and where I lie
the canvas breathes between me and that star
a bitter steam of blood. The air feels wet,
and the stars go, forgotten one by one.
Time to start back ~~ and watch those towns go by!
"You ready to go? ~~ we got a lift in a car."
"Already?~~"
                           "Yeh, let's start, we got a long way
to go."
                         O God the ruins of Sailly-Laurette!
~~like dying men that wake and find the sun
and shut their eyes against another day.

Dawn, August 9. Exact location unknown, but somewhere in the vicinity of Sailly-Laurette, a kilometer or two to the east of Sailly-le-Sec, also on the Somme. They are now in territory which only the day before had been in German hands. In this makeshift dressing station, built of sandbags, and already full of wounded and dying men, Wyeth and Cochrane find themselves on the very edge of the combat zone, within three or four kilometers of where the Australians are pinned down by German machine-gun and artillery fire from Chipilly Ridge. At last their long, purgatorial night is over and a car is waiting to whisk them away from the front, back to the safety of Division Headquarters, but the dawn, nonetheless, is full of foreboding, and the ruins of Sailly-Laurette, the last thing they see as they drive away, become for Wyeth an image of profound hopelessness, of men who would rather die than face another day. And the men they are leaving behind, American, Australian, British and German, before this day is out, in the assault of Chipilly Ridge, will die by the hundreds.





Note: an abbreviated version of these annotations to Wyeth's Chipilly Ridge sonnets appeared in the University of South Carolina Press edition of This Man's Army (Columbia, SC: 2008, pp xli-xliii). ~~ BJ Omanson

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

SOURCES:

~~~ Documents pertaining to the action at Gressaire Wood and Chipilly Ridge, August 8-10, 1918, in Huidekoper, Frederic Louis, History of the 33rd Division, Volume II, pp 410-24.
~~~ Huidekoper, History of the 33rd Division, Volume I, p 45.
~~~ Map of Operations, 131st Infantry, 33rd Div., AEF, Noon, Thursday, Aug. 8. Huidekoper, History of the 33rd Division, Vol IV (portfolio), map #20.
~~~ Situation Map. 33rd Div., AEF, Noon, Thursday, Aug. 8, 1918 (covering the stretch of the Somme, Amiens to Chipilly). Huidekoper, History of the 33rd Division, Vol IV (portfolio), map #22.
~~ The War Diary of the 33rd Division, in Huidekoper, History of the 33rd Division, Vol II, pp 319-22.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

See also:

Rendering a ravaged landscape:
the steady eye of John Allan Wyeth


Artistry and authenticity in the
war sonnets of John Allan Wyeth







An article from Fairmont State University recounting how John Allan Wyeth's war sonnets were rediscovered, and some interesting facts about Wyeth's bohemian expatriot life in the years just after the war.






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