In Flanders Fields | Page 8

headquarters of the 6th
Canadian Field Ambulance, I wrote to John McCrae, who was then at
Boulogne, accusing him of the authorship, and furnished him with
evidence. From memory -- since at the front one carries one book only
-- I quoted to him another piece of his own verse, entitled "The Night
Cometh":
"Cometh the night. The wind falls low,
The trees swing slowly to and
fro;
Around the church the headstones grey
Cluster, like children
stray'd away,
But found again, and folded so."
It will be observed at once by reference to the text that in form the two

poems are identical. They contain the same number of lines and feet as
surely as all sonnets do. Each travels upon two rhymes
with the
members of a broken couplet in widely separated refrain. To the casual
reader this much is obvious, but there are many subtleties in the verse
which made the authorship inevitable. It was a form upon which he had
worked for years, and made his own. When the moment arrived the
medium was ready. No other medium could have so well conveyed the
thought.
This familiarity with his verse was not a matter of accident. For many
years I was editor of the `University Magazine',
and those who are
curious about such things may discover
that one half of the poems
contained in this little book
were first published upon its pages. This
magazine had its origin in McGill University, Montreal, in the year
1902. Four years later its borders were enlarged to the wider term, and
it strove to express an educated opinion upon questions immediately
concerning Canada, and to treat freely in a literary way all matters
which have to do with politics, industry, philosophy, science, and art.
To this magazine during those years John McCrae contributed all his
verse. It was therefore not unseemly that I should have written to him,
when "In Flanders Fields" appeared in `Punch'. Amongst his papers I
find my poor letter, and many others of which something more might
be made if one were concerned merely with the literary side of his life
rather than with his life itself. Two references will be enough. Early in
1905 he offered "The Pilgrims" for publication.
I notified him of the
place assigned to it in the magazine, and added a few words of
appreciation, and after all these years it has come back to me.
The letter is dated February 9th, 1905, and reads: "I place the poem
next to my own buffoonery. It is the real stuff of poetry. How did you
make it? What have you to do with medicine?
I was charmed with it:
the thought high, the image perfect, the expression complete; not too
reticent, not too full.
Videntes autem stellam gavisi sunt gaudio
magno valde.
In our own tongue, -- `slainte filidh'." To his mother he
wrote, "the Latin is translatable as, `seeing the star they rejoiced with

exceeding gladness'." For the benefit of those whose education has
proceeded no further than the Latin, it may be explained that the two
last words mean, "Hail to the poet".
To the inexperienced there is something portentous about an
appearance in print and something mysterious about the business of an
editor. A legend has already grown up around the publication of "In
Flanders Fields" in `Punch'. The truth is, "that the poem was offered in
the usual way and accepted; that is all." The usual way of offering a
piece to an editor is to put it in an envelope with a postage stamp
outside to carry it there, and a stamp inside to carry it back. Nothing
else helps.
An editor is merely a man who knows his right hand from his left, good
from evil, having the honesty of a kitchen cook
who will not spoil his
confection by favour for a friend.
Fear of a foe is not a temptation,
since editors are too humble and harmless to have any. There are of
course certain slight offices
which an editor can render, especially to
those whose writings he does not intend to print, but John McCrae
required none of these. His work was finished to the last point. He
would bring his piece in his hand and put it on the table. A wise editor
knows when to keep his mouth shut; but now I am free to say that he
never understood the nicety of the semi-colon, and his writing was too
heavily stopped.
He was not of those who might say, -- take it or leave it; but rather, --
look how perfect it is; and it was so. Also he was the first to recognize
that an editor has some rights and prejudices, that certain words make
him sick; that certain other words he reserves for his own use, --
"meticulous" once a year, "adscititious" once in