Evaluate the Impact of WWI on Europe: DBQ Assignment

Patient went to France Aug 1914 with the original Expeditionary Force- attached to R.F.A. – [Royal Field Artillery]-a large howitzer. During the retreat from Mons, at Cambrai, on Aug. 27th they were nearly captured- German infantry surrounded them & were only 300 yards away. They retreated stealthily, travelled sometimes all day & night. It is evident that the mental strain was considerable. At Ypres on April 1915 the explosion of a high-explosive shell lifted him from his feet & dashed him against the wheel of the howitzer. He was dazed & semi-conscious for a short time- on attempting to exhort his comrades to seek shelter (they were lying in the ditch) he found he could not speak. Weakness of the limbs supervened later & he was sent from hospital to hospital until 3 months later he reached Le Touquet near Boulogne. There ether was administered & as he regained consciousness he spoke & has retained speech ever since. He was sent to Leicester, England May 24/15 and on the crossing he developed tremor & that has with variations grown worse. Since then up to 2 months ago, when he improved to such an extent that he could shave. He has lost weight, his legs are wasted & he cannot now stand. He has difficulty in eating and drinking-the terror varies, on the days when it is bad he has difficulty in passing urine, so that he will remain unrelieved for as long as 24 hours. At these times his tongue becomes dry and thickly coated. His pupils react normally to light & accommodation, he could only walk with the aid of a head- there is blurring of the type. His memory & intelligence are good. His organs are sound.

I took the place of a man with a ghastly wound in his back. I never expected to come out of the inferno, and resigned myself to the inevitable. A bullet passed over my back and hit one of the boys behind me, but I heard later he was brought in safely.

We were futilely wrath at being unable to take our revenge. Presently an Australian officer appeared out of somewhere and ordered us back to the ridge, and passing on the order, [we] followed him.

He fell with a sigh and lay still. We lined the crest, somewhat protected from the hail of lead, and waited grimly with our bayonets. The incredulous amazement of it all was past now, our blood was up, and we had a few scores to settle…..

The night was an inferno. We were cramped up, and wet and cold. We could eat nothing. In fact, although we had food with us, we had eaten nothing since leaving the boat.

Behind rose the cries of the wounded, plaintive, yet unbeaten cries of brave men in mortal agony. The promised reinforcements went away to our flank, yet we clung savagely to our position. At last came the grey dawn. Time after time we repulsed their attacks.

Then “Lizzie” spoke, and the whirr of her shells over our heads harped the blood out of our hearts. Then their machine-gun got chugging like a motorbike on our flank.

Several fell dead, including a friend on my left — poor chap — and in a flash the major told us to get down the hill and come up again where we could command the gun. Getting down, my knee gave way — one I injured 18 months ago — and while I was laboriously climbing up again, with the help of my rifle, the reinforcements came.

The situation was saved, and we were free to sleep the sleep of exhausted, jaded and overwrought soldiers. Looking back I cannot imagine a more desperate (sic) defence against overwhelming odds by a handful of men unprotected on their flanks…..

The news of casualties in the rest of the company came as a heavy blow.

You who are in New Zealand cannot read a list of wounded and killed without emotion. Can you then imagine our feelings, as overwrought and with strained nerves, we learned of the death of our comrades — for we are all comrades and brothers here.

But later, the death of these brave men who had given the last full measure of sacrifice in their country’s cause, came as a noble inspiration to us, to carry on the work they had so fearlessly advanced.

It gave us, too, a score to settle, and our next action will be fought with a personal animosity, which the first one lacked.

CORPORAL FRED HALL-JONES.

"The real purpose of the deportation was robbery and destruction; it really represented a new method of massacre. When the Turkish authorities gave the orders for these deportations, they were merely giving the death warrant to a whole race; they understood this well, and, in their conversations with me, they made no particular attempt to conceal the fact."

"I am confident that the whole history of the human race contains no such horrible episode as this. The great massacres and persecutions of the past seem almost insignificant when compared to the sufferings of the Armenian race in 1915."

"They have drawn from the fields the male population and thereby destroyed their agricultural communities. They have annihilated or displaced at least two thirds of the Armenian population and thereby deprived themselves of a very intelligent and useful race."

Henry Morgenthau Sr, US Ambassador to the Ottoman Empire

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; But someone still was yelling out and stumbling, And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . . Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori.

8 October 1917 - March, 1918

Note: Written by Wilfred Owen: British officer.

Dulce et Decorum est pro patria mori is Latin for “It is sweet and noble to die for your country.”

Patient went to France Aug 1914 with the original Expeditionary Force- attached to R.F.A. – [Royal Field Artillery]-a large howitzer. During the retreat from Mons, at Cambrai, on Aug. 27th they were nearly captured- German infantry surrounded them & were only 300 yards away. They retreated stealthily, travelled sometimes all day & night. It is evident that the mental strain was considerable. At Ypres on April 1915 the explosion of a high-explosive shell lifted him from his feet & dashed him against the wheel of the howitzer. He was dazed & semi-conscious for a short time- on attempting to exhort his comrades to seek shelter (they were lying in the ditch) he found he could not speak. Weakness of the limbs supervened later & he was sent from hospital to hospital until 3 months later he reached Le Touquet near Boulogne. There ether was administered & as he regained consciousness he spoke & has retained speech ever since. He was sent to Leicester, England May 24/15 and on the crossing he developed tremor & that has with variations grown worse. Since then up to 2 months ago, when he improved to such an extent that he could shave. He has lost weight, his legs are wasted & he cannot now stand. He has difficulty in eating and drinking-the terror varies, on the days when it is bad he has difficulty in passing urine, so that he will remain unrelieved for as long as 24 hours. At these times his tongue becomes dry and thickly coated. His pupils react normally to light & accommodation, he could only walk with the aid of a head- there is blurring of the type. His memory & intelligence are good. His organs are sound.

I took the place of a man with a ghastly wound in his back. I never expected to come out of the inferno, and resigned myself to the inevitable. A bullet passed over my back and hit one of the boys behind me, but I heard later he was brought in safely.

We were futilely wrath at being unable to take our revenge. Presently an Australian officer appeared out of somewhere and ordered us back to the ridge, and passing on the order, [we] followed him.

He fell with a sigh and lay still. We lined the crest, somewhat protected from the hail of lead, and waited grimly with our bayonets. The incredulous amazement of it all was past now, our blood was up, and we had a few scores to settle…..

The night was an inferno. We were cramped up, and wet and cold. We could eat nothing. In fact, although we had food with us, we had eaten nothing since leaving the boat.

Behind rose the cries of the wounded, plaintive, yet unbeaten cries of brave men in mortal agony. The promised reinforcements went away to our flank, yet we clung savagely to our position. At last came the grey dawn. Time after time we repulsed their attacks.

Then “Lizzie” spoke, and the whirr of her shells over our heads harped the blood out of our hearts. Then their machine-gun got chugging like a motorbike on our flank.

Several fell dead, including a friend on my left — poor chap — and in a flash the major told us to get down the hill and come up again where we could command the gun. Getting down, my knee gave way — one I injured 18 months ago — and while I was laboriously climbing up again, with the help of my rifle, the reinforcements came.

The situation was saved, and we were free to sleep the sleep of exhausted, jaded and overwrought soldiers. Looking back I cannot imagine a more desperate (sic) defence against overwhelming odds by a handful of men unprotected on their flanks…..

The news of casualties in the rest of the company came as a heavy blow.

You who are in New Zealand cannot read a list of wounded and killed without emotion. Can you then imagine our feelings, as overwrought and with strained nerves, we learned of the death of our comrades — for we are all comrades and brothers here.

But later, the death of these brave men who had given the last full measure of sacrifice in their country’s cause, came as a noble inspiration to us, to carry on the work they had so fearlessly advanced.

It gave us, too, a score to settle, and our next action will be fought with a personal animosity, which the first one lacked.

CORPORAL FRED HALL-JONES.

"The real purpose of the deportation was robbery and destruction; it really represented a new method of massacre. When the Turkish authorities gave the orders for these deportations, they were merely giving the death warrant to a whole race; they understood this well, and, in their conversations with me, they made no particular attempt to conceal the fact."

"I am confident that the whole history of the human race contains no such horrible episode as this. The great massacres and persecutions of the past seem almost insignificant when compared to the sufferings of the Armenian race in 1915."

"They have drawn from the fields the male population and thereby destroyed their agricultural communities. They have annihilated or displaced at least two thirds of the Armenian population and thereby deprived themselves of a very intelligent and useful race."

Henry Morgenthau Sr, US Ambassador to the Ottoman Empire

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; But someone still was yelling out and stumbling, And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . . Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori.

8 October 1917 - March, 1918

Note: Written by Wilfred Owen: British officer.

Dulce et Decorum est pro patria mori is Latin for “It is sweet and noble to die for your country.”