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In other poems Sassoon directed his attack at the promulgators of the chivalric
idea of war. ‘They’ (1916) seems to have been written in response to the Bishop of
London’s chivalric pamphlets, which are also satirised in the George Sherston
* 7
memoirs, and others who would turn the war into a spiritual quest. Sassoon’s Bishop
says that the soldiers will not return home the same, ‘for they’ll have fought / In a just
cause’ and now possess a ‘New right to breed an honourable race’.58 “‘We’re none of
us the same’” , the troops reply:
‘For George has lost both his legs; and Bill’s stone blind;
Poor Jim’s shot through the lungs and like to die;
And Bert’s gone syphilitic’
The only response the Bishop can make is to say “‘The ways o f God are strange’” .59
In ‘The Glory of Women’ (1917) Sassoon again wrote of the chasm that separated
those who served at the Front and those who chivalrised the experience at home.
Always possessing a strong misogynistic streak, Sassoon heaps scorn on the mothers
who ‘believe / That chivalry redeems the war’s disgrace’.60 As he confronted the
Bishop’s belief in the nobleness of war with wounding, maiming, gas-induced
blinding and sexual disease, so Sassoon confronted the mothers of ‘Glory of Women’
with images of son’s faces ‘trodden deeper the mud’, while their mothers, ‘dreaming
by the fire’, knit socks.*61
* It is worth recalling when considering this poem that many propagandist pieces written at this time
were centred on the role of the mother in war time. One example, quoted extensively in Graves’s
Goodbye to All That (189-90), was written by ‘A Little Mother’ and appeared originally-as a letter in
the Morning Post before being reprinted by the Wartime Propaganda Service: ‘To the man who
pathetically calls himself a ‘common soldier’, may I say that we women, who demand toJbe heard, will
tolerate no such cry as ‘Peace! Peace!’ where there is no peace. [...] We women pass on the human
ammunition o f ‘only sons’ to fill up the gaps. [...] We would sooner our loveable, promising, rollicking
boy stayed at school. We would have much preferred to have gone on in a light-hearted way with out
amusements and out hobbies. But the bugle call came, and we have hung up the tennis racquet, we’ve
fetched our laddie from school, we’ve put his cap away, and we have glanced lovingly over his last
report which said ‘Excellent’ - we’ve wrapped them all in a Union Jack and locked them up, to be
taken out only after the war to be looked at.’ This article sold 75,000 copies in pamphlet form.
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Sassoon’s verse marks the point at which the Muscular Christian Galahad
ceased to be a viable cultural model for those who experienced war at first hand.
Indeed, such was the force o f the rejection of Galahad by Sassoon, Graves and other
non-chivalric war poets that this ‘maiden knight’ was seldom apparent in post-war
Arthurian literature, despite the fact that the Grail narrative became perhaps the most
dominant aspect of the Arthurian story in the interwar period. Yet while the Muscular
Christian Galahad was largely rejected, many writers continued to use medievalist
archetypes to articulate their experiences of war. And one of the narratives writers
began to utilise was the story of Arthur, who had been absent throughout much of the
war, save for a few references to dead soldiers being worthy of a place among the
Knights of the Round Table.62 Yet from around 1917 the tragic form that had kept
Arthur away from the propagandists began to resound with new war-weary artists and
writers. In particular, the commission to illustrate Arthur W. Pollard’s juvenile
retelling of Malory (1917) seems to have enabled Arthur Rackham to articulate his
response to the horrors of modem warfare; and the apocalyptic imagery of
Tennyson’s ‘weird battle in the west’ in ‘The Passing of Arthur’ found new resonance
with Wilfred Owen, while another poet, Benjamin Gilbert Brooks, rejected Tennyson
completely in fashioning his own account of the battle of Camlan.
Pollard’s The Romance o f King Arthur (1917), an abridgement for children in
the manner of Sidney Lanier (1880) and Howard Pyle (1903), typifies the
contradictory uses to which the Arthurian story - and medievalism more generally -
could be employed during the closing years of the war. Pollard’s prose is full of the
Boys-Own heroism that championed Galahad and the cult of Muscular Chivalry
between 1914 and 1918. In his Preface, he wrote that in ‘the days when the Arthurian
romances were coming into existence, violence, cmelty, and luxury was rampant’, but
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that the ‘greatness of these evils called forth some great virtues to counter them’.
Pollard considered the virtues of the Morte Darthur to be fit for the contemporary
world:
[I]t is penetrated to its very core by the special virtues of days in which men
were content to live dangerously [...] carrying their lives in their hands and
willing to lay them down lightly rather than break the rules of the fame or be
faithless to word or friend.6
Concerning Arthur, Pollard was ambivalent. As ‘a typical sportsman’ Arthur is to be
praised, but as a king he is not: ‘he is weak in his own life and weak in suffering the
outrages of his nephews’; he is willing ‘to fight for an unjust cause, and does not
always obey the etiquette of chivalry’.64 Yet if Pollard cannot condone Arthur it is
notable how far the cult of Galahad had declined in that, by 1917, when Pollard
sought to find a hero of ‘much finer stuff he turned, not to the ‘maiden knight’ who
had been ubiquitous in the first three years of the war, but to a newly-resuscitated
Lancelot, ‘the most splendid study of a great gentleman in all our literature’, as
Pollard called him.65
However, Pollard’s cautious Muscular Chivalry is often at variance with the
illustrations which accompany his retelling of Malory, drawn and painted by Arthur
Rackham. Although many of his pictures are traditional in their presentation of
chivalric knights and distressed damsels, some of the illustrations evoke something of
the harrowing futility of Tennyson’s ‘The Passing of Arthur’. Certainly* Rackham
seems to have been little interested in depicting knightly warfare as a noble or
honourable pastime. Considering the lightness of much of his work for books such as
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1907) and The Wind in the Willows (1940), the
illustrations for this adaptation of Malory for children are at times remarkably brutal.
In one drawing (fig. 13) four knights, hung by the neck, swing from a large tree in
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