Siegfried Sassoon M.C.:Green Plaque,54 Tufton Street,London

Siegfried Sassoon M.C.:Green Plaque,54 Tufton Street,London

 

Thank you for posting. What a caracter, what a life.

Siegfried Sassoon - Wikipedia

 

HA96

Indeed he was a character !

Every Friday morning I walk in Trent Park and the turning point for my walk is the Mansion House where he used to hold court and where, in WW2, high ranking German officers were imprisoned and recorded by the "Secret listeners"

More about him here: The host with the most: Philip Sassoon of Trent Park // High Living Barnet

Ron

 

is it not a different Sassoon?

 

CL1

What would I do without you and Owen to point out my frequent short term memory lapses ?

You are quite right, of course !

Same family, but my Sassoon is Philip and he, of Trent Park fame, was equally a character. You can read about him here: Philip Sassoon - Wikipedia

My apologies to you & HA96 for the digression ........

Ron

 

One of the few things my late mother-in-law and I agreed upon was that Siegfried Sassoon was a great writer. Neither of us could remember how many times we had read his prose works. Ideally read in the Faber and Faber edition ( but there are some chaps who swear by their Kindles. )

I am quoting from m-in-l's hardback wartime quality edition, published 1944, bought when she was in anti-aircraft in the ATS living under canvas in Kent and trying to shoot down doodle-bugs and going for motor-bike rides offered by kindly Canadian dispatch riders. This is Sassoon's description of the first day of the battle of the Somme.

' On July the first the weather, after an early morning mist, was of the kind commonly called heavenly. Down in our frowsty cellar we breakfasted at six, unwashed and apprehensive. Our table, appropriately enough, was an empty ammunition box. At six-forty-five the final bombardment began, and there was nothing for us to do except sit round our candle until the tornado ended. For more than forty minutes the air vibrated and the earth rocked and shuddered. Through the sustained uproar the tap and rattle of machine-guns could be identified; but except for a whistle of bullets no retalition came our way until a few 5.9 shells shook the roof of our dug-out. Barton and I sat speechless, deafened and stupefied by the seismic state of affairs, and when he lit a cigarette the match flame staggered crazily. Afterwards I asked him what he had been thinking about. His reply was "Carpet slippers and kettle-holders." My own mind had been working in much the same style, for during that cannonading cataclysm the following refrain was running in my head:

" They come as a boon and a blessing to men,
The something, the Owl, and the Waverley Pen."

For the life of me I couldn't remember what the first one was called. Was it the Shakespeare ? Was it the Dickens ? Anyhow it was an advertisement which I'd often seen in smoky railway stations.'

from " Memoirs of an Infantry Officer" by Siegfried Sassoon

 

Papermache

Would this have helped ?

"The pickwick the owl and the waverley pen"

(Google seems to have the answer)

Ron

 

Thank you, Siegfried Sassoon was nearly right with "Dickens", I suppose. Searching the internet for the correct phrase did not occur to me. It's a fair while since my last re-reading so I'll take it as a cue to start again, so thanks to you, Ron, and CL1 the recorder of current London sights ( or sites ).

John

 

John

If London life is one of your interests and you have a minute to spare I can heartily recommend "Spitalfields Life" at: Spitalfields Life | In the midst of life I woke to find myself living in an old house beside Brick Lane in the East End of London

Ron

 

When I lived in the suburbs of London in 1966 to 1970 being a young man,I loved London, the pubs and bars and now 50 years later, I want to come back to see,what else is there.
Stefan.

 

Ron,

Thank you for the link. I will visit the bookshop because I like books ( 6,500 and counting ) but Mrs. Papiermache will request, for the thousandth time, "No more books !!" ( or bits of old stereo equipment.) ( As an aside, I am delighted with the news this week that the FM radio is not to be switched off. Yes, I do know that Radio 3 is digitally processed before made into 92.3 metre waves but to my worn out ears the hiss is reassuring and I prefer mono anyway. I detest the sound of boiling mud when the DAB radio gets muddled signals. For a wonderful display of huge thermionic valves as used by broadcasting stations visit the Science Museum.)

My researches in family history led me to discover that I inherit my fairly common surname from my great-great-grandfather born in Spitalfields in 1807 who I believe had Dutch calvinist ancestry, which I cannot prove, just a strong hunch. My mother's French Huguenot lot settled in Hertfordshire and Norfolk and were possessed of more cash ( long since converted to nothingness ) , but not in London.

My Spitalfields ancestor was re-settled as a child with his brother to Harpenden, Herts, their father having died at a young age, possibly from having been a soldier in the East India Company, possibly from having been in a very nasty jail for some minor offence involving some sort of lottery. It is a case of very little evidence and no corroboration.

I can recall visiting a sweat shop on the west side of City Road, so not quite Spitalfields, in the early 1980's to meet a hilarious character ( who was straight out of " The Rag Trade" TV programme and could have been the inspiration for the cry of "Everybody Out !! " ) . He addressed his merry gang of sewing-machine ladies over a public address system with injunctions to work harder or something like it. I think they just rolled their eyes and smiled sweetly.

At about the same time I was told that you could pick up an old house in Spitalfields for next to nothing BUT there was a threat of it being made the subject of a compulsory purchase order. As it transpired the CPO never came, buildings were refurbished, fortunes were made...but not by yours truly.

Not clad in Lycra I have been known to tour London slowly on folding bikes, especially on Sundays,

If you have the time, do try and visit St. Bartholomew the Great in Smithfield at evensong on a Sunday. Very high church for a COE joint, sometimes censers ,smoke and an icon, with a cafe attached. Friendly, but definitely not Calvinist.

 

'Good-morning; good-morning!' the General said
When we met him last week on our way to the line.
Now the soldiers he smiled at are most of 'em dead,
And we're cursing his staff for incompetent swine.
'He's a cheery old card,' grunted Harry and Jack
As they slogged up to Arras with rifle and pack.
* * * * *
But he did for them both by his plan of attack.
The General



Siegried Sassoon Mells Somerset poet grave

 

Clive

Thanks for reminding us of "The General", beautifully crafted and so powerful !

i was to write but one poem during the whole of my WW2 service, namely :
Soldier Poets

Ron