"Goodbye to All That" (Robert Graves, 1929)

An interesting read, but not one that I will add to my blog list of recommended books.  I first learned about the book while doing my weekly listen to a BBC podcase of In Our Time.  Here's the blurb:

"Melvyn Bragg and guests discuss the author of 'I, Claudius' who was also one of the finest poets of the twentieth century. Robert Graves (1895 -1985) placed his poetry far above his prose. He once declared that from the age of 15 poetry had been his ruling passion and that he lived his life according to poetic principles, writing in prose only to pay the bills and that he bred the pedigree dogs of his prose to feed the cats of his poetry. Yet it’s for his prose that he’s most famous today, including 'I Claudius', his brilliant account of the debauchery of Imperial Rome, and 'Goodbye to All That', the unforgettable memoir of his early life including the time during the First World War when he was so badly wounded at the Somme that The Times listed him as dead."

As a former English major I was chagrined to realize that except for I Claudius, I have read nothing by Graves, so I decided to give the book a try.  Herewith some excerpts, especially the things I didn't know...

I unfortunately didn't copy the citation or page reference, but Graves several times uses the phrase "half left" to indicate a direction of travel.  I found it discussed in Wikipedia as a drill command, meaning to turn 45 degrees to one's left.  I think it's an excellent term, now apparently archaic, useful when compass headings are unavailable or unknown.

"You'd be surprised at the amount of waste that goes on in the trenches.  Ration biscuits are in general use as fuel for boiling up dixies, because kindling is scarce.  Our machine-gun crew boil their hot water by firing off belt after of ammunition at no particular target, just generally spraying the German line.  After several pounds' worth of ammunition has been used, the water in the guns - which are water-cooled - begins to boil..." (109-110)

"Another story: 'Bloke in the Camerons wanted a cushy, bad. Fed up and far from home, he was. He puts his hand over the top and gets his trigger finger taken off, and two more beside. That done the trick. He comes laughing through our lines by the old boutillery. "See, lads,” he says, "I’m off to bonny Scotland. Is it na a beauty?” But on the way down the trench to the dressing- station, he forgets to stoop low where the old sniper’s working. He gets it through the head, too. Finee. We laugh, fit to die ! ’" (110)

"We officers spend a lot of time revolver-shooting. Jenkins brought out a beautiful target from the only undestroyed living-room in our billet-area: a glass case full of artificial fruit and flowers. We put it up on a post at fifty yards’ range. He said: "1’ve always wanted to smash one of these damn objects. My aunt has one. It’s the sort of thing that would survive an intense bombardment.’ I smothered a tender impulse to rescue it. So we had five shots each, in turn. Everyone missed. Then we went up to within twenty yards and fired a volley. Someone hit the post and knocked the case off into the grass. Jenkins said: "Damn the thing, it must be bewitched. Let’s take it back.’ The glass was unbroken, but some of the fruit had come loose. Walker said: "No, it’s in pain. We must put it out of its suffering.’ He gave it the coup de grace from close quarters." (116)

"The Red Lamp, the army brothel, was around the corner in the main street. I had seen a queue of a hundred and fifty men waiting outside the door, each to have his short turn with one of the three women in the house. My servant, who had stood in the queue, told me that the charge was ten francs a man — about eight shillings at that time. Each woman served nearly a battalion of men every week for as long as she lasted. According to the assistant provost-marshal, three weeks was the usual limit: ‘after which she retired on her earnings, pale but proud.’" (122)

"We’ve even got a polo-ground here. There was a polo-match between the First and Second Battalions the other day. The First had all their decent ponies pinched last October when they were massacred at Ypres and the cooks and transport men had to come up into the line to prevent a break-through. So the Second won easily." (125)

"Still, patrolling had its peculiar risks. If a German patrol found a wounded man, they were as likely as not to cut his throat. The bowie-knife was a favourite German patrol weapon because of its silence. (We inclined more to the 'cosh’, a loaded stick.) The most important information that a patrol could bring back was to what regiment and division the troops opposite belonged. So if it were impossible to get a wounded enemy back without danger to one-self, he had to be stripped of his badges. To do that quickly and silently, it might be necessary first to cut his throat or beat in his skull." (131)

"The Germans opposite wanted to be sociable. They sent messages over to us in undetonated rifle-grenades. One of these was evidently addressed to the Irish batt- alion we had relieved: "We all German korporals wish you English korporals a good day and invite you to a good German dinner tonight with beer (ale) and cakes. Your little dog ran over to us and we keep it safe; it became no food with you so it run to us. Answer in the same way, if you please." Another grenade contained a copy of the Neueste Nachrichten, a German Army newspaper..." (137)

"An Australian: ‘Well, the biggest lark I had was at Morlancourt, when we took it the first time. There were a lot of Jerries in a cellar, and I said to ’em: “Come out, you Camarades ! ” So out they came, a dozen of ’em, with their hands up. “Turn out your pockets,” I told ’em. They turned ’em out. Watches and gold and stuff, all dinkum. Then I said: “Now back to your cellar, you sons of bitches ! ” For I couldn’t be bothered with ’em. When they were all safely down I threw half a dozen Mills bombs in after ’em. I’d got the stuff all right, and we weren’t taking prisoners that day.’ (184)

"Executions were frequent in France. I had my first direct experience of official lying when I arrived at Le Havre in May 1915, and read the back-files of army orders at the rest camp. They contained something like twenty reports of men shot for cowardice or desertion; yet a few days later the responsible minister in the House of Commons, answering a question from a pacifist, denied that sentence of death for a military offence had been carried out in France on any member of His Majesty’s Forces." (240) [Graves indicates that families were never told of executions - only that the man had "died a soldier's death."]

I haven't categorized this book as "recommended" because it has way too much information regarding Grave's personal life and wartime activities.  I understand that it is classified as an autobiography, and thus is probably excellent reading for scholars or students studying the author's works and interested in understanding the background from which he writes, but both the contents of his meals and the minute details of his battlefield deployment eventually start to cloy, and I wound up speed-scanning much of the text.  But still, lots of interesting material, as summarized above.  [prob lots of typos above -  I haven't proof-read it yet]