Slaughter of the Newfoundland Regiment*

Their sky was also blasted
By bleak winds, whipping
From the ocean to the sparse land,
Its solitary trees, its unfeatured
Tracts of dripping bog.

From the boats they heard it,
The imperial Siren,
And left their snowy wives,
Their wrestled fields, and the
Timbered neatness of St Johns,

To stand in awe of London and
The mechanical efficiency of war,
Like salmon drawn inexorably
To a distant river and its ancient
Ecstasies of life and death.

Against the mud’s suck
They marched all night
Toward the thundering horizon,
Took position in birdless dawn,
Eyes bright as confetti.

In only half an hour, the blood of
Newfoundland was seeping
Softly to the soil, its youth
Staring quizzically from death
Like seals culled on the floes.

And in their anxious sleep,
Did the lovers of Newfoundland
Hear the fizz of bullets, the shell’s burst,
Or shudder from dreams of Caribou,
Flailing uselessly beside them in the bed?

* at 8.45am on 1st July 1916, 780 officers and men of the
First Newfoundland Regiment went over the top in one of
the first assaults of the Battle of the Somme at Beaumont
Hamel. The following morning only 68 were able to attend
roll-call. Most were dead.