The Life of Thomas Albert Crawford

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The Life of Thomas Albert Crawford
Thomas Albert Crawford was a soldier in the fifteenth Durham Light Infantry. He joined the army when he was eighteen years old. He fought in and survived some of the worst battles, such as the battle at Loos. On the first of July 1916, he was in the middle of the Battle of the Somme, when a bullet hit his rifle, and gave him a serious injury. He was discharged due to his physical condition. He then returned to North East England, where he had grown up. Whilst working night shifts at a Scottish Power Station, he wrote his memoir, a story about the daily life in the trenches. His wife died of cancer, and both his sons died before turning thirty-five. He re-married, and had two sons. Their names were Colin and Brian. Colin died when he was twenty-five. Tommy died shortly thereafter. Brian published his dad’s memoir in 2006, and called it “Tommy”.
Sources
http://www.poetrybyheart.org.uk/poems/the-stretcher-bearer/ http://www.oucs.ox.ac.uk/ww1lit/gwa/item/5717 THE STRETCHER BEARER by Thomas Albert Crawford
My stretcher is one scarlet stain,
And as I tries to scrape it clean,
I tell you what – I’m sick of pain,
For all I’ve heard, for all I’ve seen;
Around me is the hellish night,
And as the war’s red rim I trace,
I wonder if in Heaven’s height
Our God don’t turn away his face.
I don’t care whose the crime may be,
I hold no brief for kin or clan;
I feel no hate, I only see
As man destroys his brother man;
I wave no flag, I only know
As here beside the dead I wait,
A million hearts are weighed with woe,
A million homes are desolate.
In dripping darkness far and near,
All night I’ve sought those woeful ones.
Dawn suddens up and still I hear
The crimson chorus of the guns.
Look, like a b...

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...om, but all that he can see is how men are murdering their fellow men.
As he is watching thousands upon thousands of men die, he isn’t rebelling or protesting. Instead, he bears all the suffering men’s “woe” on his shoulders/conscience. He portrays this as his stretcher. The poet says that there are now “a million homes (that) are desolate”, because so many innocent lives have been wasted.
The poet describes the darkness in which he sees all these young men and boys as “dripping darkness”. He watches and searches for all these poor souls until it is daytime. He describes the sun as a “ball of blood” that is constantly and mercilessly present over “the scene of wrath and wrong”.
Someone shouts “Quick! Stretcher-bearers on the run!”, and the poet wonders out loud how long must this suffering and devastation continue before God decides to intervene, and end it all.

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