#˖ ✦ ⋄ . REMEMBER MY FAMILY ❝ 1914 ❞

[blcsscdson]

The revolver on his hand feels heavy. The hat and jacket he's wearing feel even moreso. He'd begun having second thoughts the second after he shot Ross, had he really done the right thing? He told himself that he'd deserved that kind of ending, that he had it coming for what he did to his family. And yet, Jack can't help but feel empty. It'd been said many times, mostly by people close to Jack and the Marston family, that revenge often felt like that. He remembers Dutch saying that 'Revenge was a fool's game'... Is he a fool now? Dooming himself?

@ofsoul ❝ much has been promised to you, has it not? but what has been taken from you? ❞

He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Her words strike true and strike close to home. So much had been promised to him. A better life, away from all the gunslinging and running away but it all got taken away with such ease. He'd lost all his family as well... Uncle Arthur, Uncle Hosea, Dutch, his parents. All gone. Only he remained. The last remnant of the Van Der Linde Gang and the Marstons.

"Miss, y'ain't got a clue how much's been taken from me. I could write a book about it and still not be done." There was an idea though... Write a book, like his Pa suggested once, put the whole story on paper. Maybe get a last, more permanent laugh at Ross and the Bureau.

[yeoldenews]

It’s Dear Santa time again!

Every year since 2010, I have spent the month of December posting children's Dear Santa letters.

Publishing letters to Santa in the newspaper first became widely popular in the late-1890s, though scattered newspapers did so as early as the mid-1880s. I believe this sudden explosion in popularity was at least partially the result of the famed "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause" editorial which was published in The New York Sun in September of 1897.

In large cities Dear Santa letters often acted as a method of getting needed clothing and supplies to impoverished children when parents might be ashamed to ask for charity. Subscribers to the newspaper could choose a child’s letter and provide the items they asked for. The most common requests were shoes and coats.

Sometimes newspapers offered prizes for the best letter (which I suspect often acted as another clandestine form of charity as the winners were often letters asking for basic clothing and school supplies.) Though these prizes could range from the ordinary (a sled or a doll) to the extravagant (a $20 gold piece or a live pony.)

Often local stores would enter children in a drawing if they mentioned the store in their letter - which on occasion would result in children hilariously name-dropping every store in town just in case.

Writing Dear Santa letters was also commonly an activity done at school, often following some rough form letter. These letters are fairly easy to spot as they often hype up what a good student the child was and include effusive praise for their teacher (who would likely see the letter before it was sent.)

So why have I spent hundreds of hours of my life over the last decade reading tens of thousands of these letters?

Children's voices are largely absent from the historical record.

Dear Santa letters offer an extremely rare opportunity to see history unfold through children's eyes - in their own (often creatively spelled) words.

1914′s “Remember the children in Belgium” becomes 1918′s “Please visit my brother in France”.

During the Great Depression the very common phrase “I know you’re poor this year too Santa” gives a glimpse into parents' attempts to explain to their children why they might not be getting as much this year.

1939′s “Be careful flying over Europe” becomes 1945′s “Since the war is over you’re making bb-guns again right?”

Requests for toy flying machines become aeroplanes become fighter jets become space shuttles.

Dolls and wagons become Shirley Temple merchandise and Erector Sets become Barbies and Star Wars action figures.

But through all these changes one thing remains clear throughout 130+ years of letters to Santa, despite the rapidly changing world around them - children have always been children.

I hope you enjoy these letters as much as I do! (All decade+ of posts are tagged “Dear Santa” if you’d like to see more than just this year’s selection.)

I wish you all a wonderful holiday season! I hope you can delight in whatever brings you joy, be that family, friends, food or just curling up with a hot cocoa and a good book.

But whatever you do, please don't forget the true meaning of the season - feeling awful sorry for Patti.

Hapy Holadays and Marry Crimes!

[blcsscdson]

"So... We both agree we'd be dead men, right?" If there was anything that John and Jack as well as Arthur Morgan feared, it was Abigail Marston's wrath. There was a reason why John had made a point to change his ways, it was love of course, but also the fear of Abigail kicking him for the shit he did. Jack remembers when his Pa returned home, Abigail had been furious before he explained things. Good times indeed. Jack had to force himself to return to the present. He was pleased that Arthur's skin had more color on it, it meant he was getting better, and that was enough to brighten Jack's day.

Jack was sure that Arthur would get better faster if they could go down South, maybe to the plains of Chihuahua or the Sonora Desert down in Baja California. But Jack had a duty to care for Beecher's. Sure, he could never bring back his family, but he could at least take care of the ranch, make it a hell of a thing like his Pa wanted, write a book like his Ma suggested and spit on Ross' grave one last time. It was the small things that brightened his day.

"Well, it has been a while, Uncle Arthur. I ain't a young boy no more." His left hand rests on the buckle of John's old gunbelt, now his, and he shrugs. He never really paid much mind to his age, but Arthur knew him as a kid, he knew more. Jack ate up the praise, he squared his shoulders, stood taller even. "I can teach ya Spanish if you'd like, Uncle Arthur. I got a friend down there, Agustin, he taught me Spanish, and he said I speak it real well. For a gringo, I mean."

He didn't mind being called a gringo. The people of Hidalgo rarely used it as an insult with him, they'd come to appreciate the young gunslinger. On others? Oh sure, but not with Jack. Well... Not always. "Oh sure! I got a few more tricks! Mostly involvin' a lasso, so they ain't too useful for horse ridin', but they're fun. They call it 'Floreo de Reata' in Mexico. Trick Roping for us."

❝        your  ma  would’ve  done  worse’n  kill  you  ,      son  ,        ❞        arthur  shoots  back  ,      with  as  much  lightheartedness  in  his  voice  as  jack’s  grin  is  toward  him  .        ❝        and  she  would’ve  killed  me  for  laughin’  ‘bout  it  like  i  am  now  .      but  you  ?      you’re  good  at  that  stuff  .      you  really  grown  ,      jack  .        ❞        he  gestures  ,      skin  of  his  bared  forearm  simmering  warmly  beneath  the  southern  sun  .      his  face  already  sports  redness  from  the  burn  .      it  may  not  be  mexico  here  ,      but  the  midst  of  the  summer  brings  a  heat  to  it  arthur  appreciates  more  than  ever  .      he's  not  cut  out  for  the  cold  ,      in  spite  of  his  upbringing  amongst  the  harsher  northern  climates  of  america  .      down  south  is  where  he's  always  belonged  .

just  not  quite  as  south  in  the  world  as  jack  has  been  .      a  learned  young  man  ,      no  longer  the  little  boy  he'd  known  .      of  course  ,      jack  has  spanned  more  years  between  now  and  the  last  time  he'd  seen  arthur  ,      and  though  it  feels  strange  ,      arthur's  grown  accustomed  to  most  things  about  him  .      still    …

❝        you  really  grown  ,        ❞        he  repeats  ,      squinting  against  the  sun  .      a  moment  later  ,      he  tilts  his  head  down  ,      letting  the  brim  of  his  hat  hide  the  vision-stunting  shine  .        ❝        i  learn  somethin'  new  aboutchu  every  day  .      all  these  words  i  ain't  never  heard  in  my  life  .      you  sound  like  a  real    …        ❞        he  clicks  his  tongue  ,      chewing  at  the  inside  of  his  cheek  .        ❝        you  got  any  more  tricks  up  your  sleeve  ?        ❞

@blcsscdson . / continued .

[storywriter007]

Life or Death - Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

summary: in which y/n realizes thomas shelby hasn't been good to her

warnings: character death, cursing, poverty, catcalling, mentions of sex,

genre: heartbreak

word count: 2.9k

-> peaky blinders masterlist

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Birmingham, 1900

"i'm starving." a young thomas shelby said aloud.

"have you not had anything to eat today?" a young y/n asked.

"money's been tight, i've had to skip meals." tommy explained.

the two ten year olds sat in silence for a moment.

y/n knew what it was like for money to be tight. her family's income had been tight, after the passing of her father. her mom went to teach children at a local school while making dresses on the side to keep the two of them afloat.

"it's almost suppertime, why don't you come to my house?" y/n invited.

"really?" he asked.

"of course." she nodded. "you're my best friend, why would i want to see you hungry?"

that evening, y/n and tommy walked home together and were given a warm welcome by y/n's mother.

"tommy! welcome!" she exclaimed. "come on in you two."

they sat down at the table and began eating supper. stew and dumplings. it was warm and delicious.

to tommy, y/n's house often felt more like home than his own. it was quite small, but it had home-like decorations everywhere. it was nice and toasty since it didn't take much fire to heat the place, and moreover y/n was there.

"you children cannot stay out in the cold during this time of year." y/n's mother scolded, putting her hand on tommy's cheek and seeing how cold it was.

"but we were playing a game-" y/n argued.

"play games inside. i don't want to see you to freeze to death." she continued.

"yes mom." y/n laughed, looking at tommy, knowing they were going to go outside the next day anyways.

it was getting dark out and tommy was full.

"i should probably get going. bye y/n, by ms. y/l/n!" tommy said, getting up.

"wait!" y/n said, running to the kitchen.

she came back with tupperware.

"here, take some home." she insisted.

"no, no, i couldn't-" he argued.

"take it! tell john, arthur, and ada i say hello!" y/n said, shoving the tupperware into his arms.

that night, tommy's siblings had a warm meal.

"this is delicious tommy! where'd you get this from?" arthur remarked.

"y/n. she insisted." he responded.

"you better marry her for this one." arthur laughed.

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Birmingham, 1904

"look at the body on that one." a classmate remarked as y/n walked by.

she just rolled her eyes and continued walking. this wasn't unusual.

"you'd make a ton of money at the whore house!" the boy yelled out again as laughter followed.

so would your mother, y/n thought of saying, but decided that it was best for her to not. this boy was twice her size.

"so would your mother." another boy's voice called out.

y/n turned around to see tommy and the other boy standing chest to chest, about to fight.

"what'd you say shelby?" the boy asked.

"so would your mother." he repeated, not an ounce of fear in his voice.

a teacher came and pulled the two apart.

"both of you seperate. if i see this again, i'll make sure to tell your mothers!" she scolded.

both the boys backed away from one another. tommy caught up with y/n.

"thanks tommy." she said.

"it's nothing, i've wanted to say that to him for a while now." tommy laughed.

"my mum's sending me to get groceries today? would you like to join me." y/n asked.

"of course." tommy agreed. "can't wait to eat apples out of the farmer's cart."

"don't do that! you got us chased down last time!" y/n scolded, remembering a set of angry farmers running after them.

they settled down after they were paid, at least. otherwise, who knows what could've happened.

"it was fun!" he argued.

"it was." she agreed.

as she watched tommy walk away, y/n realized that she had a crush on him. but it was just a crush, it wasn't that serious.

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Birmingham, 1914

"glad to see you dr." tommy smiled, opening the door to the pub.

"happier to see you mr." she returned the joke.

y/n had always wanted to save people's lives, so she entered the medical field. after gaining main patients, it became more difficult to see tommy as often as she used to. even tommy was on the rise in the business world. it was hard to hangout with one-another, but they always made time.

over the years, y/n's crush on tommy had turned into love, but she didn't know how to tell him. no time ever seemed right.

"there might be a war." tommy said, drinking whiskey at the pub.

"you think you'll get drafted?" y/n asked, wanting him to say no, but knowing what the answer was.

"yes." he answered. "unfortunately."

"it'll just be me and ada." y/n chuckled. "she's better company than you."

"oh really? go drink with her." tommy laughed. "you'll miss me when i go off."

"you know i will." y/n smiled.

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y/n realized her worst nightmare had come true as tommy stood at her front door.

"i have to go to france." he said.

she felt water fill up her eyes, but she stayed calm.

"i'll miss you." she smiled.

"i'll miss you too." he smiled back.

he turned around to leave.

"tommy, wait." she said, trying not to cry.

he turned around.

"i didn't know when to tell you this because no time ever seemed right and we were always so busy." she rambled. "but since you're going to france, and i might not see you again, i just want you to know i love you. it's no use for me to say i don't, because it's true. i've loved you ever since i've known you."

the tears started falling. he stared at her for a minute. did she ruin their friendship? did he not feel the same way? would he never talk to her again? did she have to do this before he left?

lost in her thoughts, y/n didn't realize tommy had leaned down and kissed her.

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Birmingham, 1918

y/n got down on her knees, that had already been bruised from how much she'd kneeled.

"dear god, please keep tommy, john, and arthur safe." she pleaded. "please keep tommy safe."

she'd done this every morning and every night since the boys were drafted.

"please make it end soon." she continued.

she looked at the couple of photographs her and tommy had together from years before. they used to love taking together, and writing the story on the back.

she got to their last picture. taken four years ago. it was hear and tommy making silly faces. on the back, it said, "tommy's going to france."

she felt a tear run down her cheek. what if he never came back? what if that was their last photo together?

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Birmingham, 1919

y/n was overjoyed when all three brothers returned, alive. she hugged tommy so tightly, glad he was alright.

but something had changed. tommy wasn't as happy as he used to be anymore. he didn't smiled as much, but he still did when they were together, and that was all that mattered to y/n.

y/n knew all about the shelby business, having grown very close to ada and polly, she was informed about everything. even when tommy was doing gang work before, he was never as gloomy as he was now. he was much more serious.

she tried desperately to comfort him, and it did work. he did talk about the war with her, and y/n understood he was traumatized. she didn't try to change him or tell him lighten up, she understood the mental toll it had taken on him.

countless nights would tommy tell her about the memories of war and they would end up falling asleep on the floor, in a mix of papers and books.

they were never officially together, they had never gotten then chance. but when tommy was ready, y/n hoped they could make it offical.

one night, they walked into the garrison. y/n had just finished with a long day of patients.

"dr!" arthur greeted y/n with a hug.

"arthur!" she laughed back.

however, there was a new face at the pub. she was pretty, with blonde hair and blue eyes. y/n came up to her.

"i haven't seen you around! are you new?" she smiled, asking.

"yes, i am new." the barmaid responded, quite curtly, y/n noticed.

"i'm y/n! what's your name?" she asked.

"grace. my name is grace." she said, briefly.

"well, grace, i just wanted to say, i think you're absolutely gorgeous." y/n smiled.

grace gave a brief smile back and went back to bartending.

odd, y/n thought, but assumed it was because of how busy the pub was, her mind was probably on working.

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"there's this new copper who's been on my ass." tommy said.

"that sucks. has he been sniffing around?" y/n asked.

"yes." he responded, taking a long drag out of his cigarette.

y/n noticed grace very clearly listening to their conversation.

"he's been asking me about, well, y'know." he continued. "they're taken care of, but still. he's onto me."

of course she knew. the guns. tommy had told her everything. his plan and why.

"that's enough about that." he ended. "how's your business, doctor?"

"it's going well." y/n chuckled. "i'm seeing entire lineages now."

"whiskey?" grace asked, coming over.

"no thank you." y/n smiled. "i should get home now."

tommy smiled and said goodbye. y/n thought that was odd, since usually tommy would've walked her out.

"thank you grace." she said, before leaving.

grace ignored her.

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y/n was sitting with the shelby's at the garrison. she noticed something about tommy, something odd. he straightened up whenever grace entered the room and he always smiled.

this wasn't the first odd thing tommy had done. since she came, he was at the pub more. he also took her to a horserace. not to mention, his eyes foretold a story between them. it had been a while since tommy looked at her that way.

but there was something odd about grace. she was always listening in and trying to get closer to tommy.

y/n asked to see tommy privately, and that's when she made her point.

"the barmaid, she seems suspicious. do you notice how she's always listening in and trying to get close to you? and how that copper start bothering you the same time she came here?" y/n said.

"her name's grace." tommy responded.

"yes, grace, seems odd." y/n corrected.

"what is it y/n? you can't stand there's another friend of mine?" he said, clearly aggravated.

"no, i don't care about that. i just don't want you to get hurt-"

"hurt? hurt is when i was in france." he interrupted.

"tommy, will you just try to listen?"

"to your bullshit? no." he said.

that hurt.

"you're free to leave." he said simply, taking a drag out of his cigarette.

y/n chuckled, and left.

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can y/n say it came as a shock when tommy told her grace had betrayed him and fled the country? not really.

"i told you so." y/n said, plainly. "it was obvious."

tommy seemed pissed at that comment.

"that doesn't mean you can talk down on her." tommy stated.

"well tommy, you can't really control what i say and what i think." she responded back, beginning to get aggravated at his blindness. "and what i think is that grace is a traitor."

"what i think is that you should leave." he said.

"always running from the truth, now-a-days, aren't you?" she smiled, leaving.

y/n would be lying if she said she didn't go home that night and cry, because she did. why was tommy so wrapped around grace? had he fallen in love with her? no, no. it was probably just attraction. it had to be. right?

the next day, tommy apologized for being so harsh to her, and everything was back to normal. no more grace, no more deception, and no more stupidity.

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y/n was still waiting for tommy to make it official, but he still hadn't. the war had been over for two years now. she had thought about tommy everyday for the past seven years.

she missed him, she missed what they used to have. it was almost midnight, and she decided she wanted to go see him. she couldn't keep waiting.

she called his number three times, but he didn't pick up, so she drove to his home, and knocked on the door. no answer. she was starting to get worried. she opened the door and walked in on something that made her stomach drop.

it was tommy with grace. and they were having sex on the sofa, and he whispered how much he loved her and how he thought of her everyday. it seemed they had finished, because now they were getting dressed. when tommy turned his head and saw y/n, his eyes grew wide.

y/n felt tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat.

he dragged her into his office.

"what the hell y/n! you can't just fucking barge into my house!" he yelled.

"i called you three times. i knocked on your door and waited outside for five minutes. with the life you live tommy, i got worried." she said, wiping her nose.

"y/n, you have to leave." he said. "i've got something here, and i can't lose it again."

again. y/n felt her stomach drop and her heart break into a thousand pieces.

"again?" she asked. "again! tommy, i have waited for you! i waited for seven fucking years, waiting for you to say you want to try something with me!" she yelled.

"do you not remember! do you not remember the night you got drafted, because i sure as hell do!" she screamed.

"y/n, calm down, you're going to scare grace-"

oh that sent her.

"grace! you think i give two fucks about grace! the one who deceived you, lied to you, manipulated you, and now comes running back!" she screamed even louder.

"i love her!" he yelled.

"you love her! you love her! than what about me!" y/n yelled, tears starting to flow. "what about every day and night i prayed for you during the war! what about every time i invited you to my house for supper! i have waited and waited for you to say that you love me and you just don't!"

tommy was silent.

"i have loved you throughout everything. i was always kind to you. i was good." she continued.

"i'm a bad man, y/n, we know this." he said.

"and i love you even though you're a bad man! you believed every one of her lies of all of my truths. and i still loved you! you kicked me out everytime i brought it up! and guess what? i still loved you."

tommy looked at her.

"who was there by your side when you were scared and alone? who was there every night when you got back from the war and had terrible nightmares? who was there taking care of finn while you were off at war, because i don't think it was fucking grace!"

"i'm sorry." he said.

"no you're not because if you were, you wouldn't have done this in the first place!" she screamed through tears.

"who was there thomas!" that was the first time she had said his full name. "i'm done. don't fucking call me, don't show up to my office, don't come near me. i'm done playing your dark and twisted games just for you to switch the rules so someone else wins. i'm done dealing with a different you every fucking night. i'm done."

thomas looked at her.

"who's it going to be?" y/n asked.

"so well." he responded.

y/n smiled and turned around to leave, but before she left, she said he final words to thomas.

"i'm never going to aid you again. whether it be in life or death."

that was the last conversation between y/n and thomas.

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Birmingham, 1924

"just have some soup and rest up, and you'll feel a lot better." y/n advised her last patient of the day.

work had become more of a thing for y/n after word of her spread all across birmingham, she was getting patients from everywhere. and for right reasons, she was a damn good doctor.

she walked them outside before sitting in the waiting room with her receptionist.

"thank you edward, you're free to leave." she said, smiling.

"see you tomorrow doctor." edward smiled as he exited.

y/n was left to close her office. she began putting files away and cleaning equiptment. the doors and windows were locked. the stationary was put away.

suddenly, she heard a loud knock on her door. she turned around to see a face she thought she'd never see again. she stared into his bright blue eyes for a moment, before realizing he was actually here, and that it was just a figment of her imagination.

y/n opened the small window on the door. she looked down to see him carrying grace. she had been very clearly shot.

"she might have a chance, please y/n."

"you chose her over me." y/n said, looking into his piercing blue eyes.

he froze.

"and i told you that very night, i would never aid you again, whether it be life or death." she reminded, shutting the window door.

he banged on the door, pleading. she shot him one last look before shutting the blinds, turning the lights off, and leaving out the back.

[girlactionfigure]

The Holocaust Whistle-Blower: Jan Karski

He tried to save the Jews of Europe.

Jan Karski was a Polish resistance fighter and diplomat who warned world leaders about the Nazi extermination of European Jews. Tragically, none of the leaders of Allied countries did anything to stop the atrocity – including U.S. President Franklin Roosevelt.

Jan was born in 1914 in Lodz, Poland to a devout Catholic family. His father died when he was a small child, and his mother struggled to provide for her eight children. They lived in a neighborhood of overcrowded tenements where most of the residents were Jewish. Jan attended military school where he trained to be a mounted artillery officer and graduated first in his class.

He then trained to be a diplomat, and between 1935 and 1938 he worked at Polish consulates in Romania, Germany, Switzerland and the UK.  At the beginning of 1939 Jan returned to Poland to work at the Polish Ministry of Foreign Affairs. In the fall of that year, World War II started when Germany invaded Poland. Jan – Officer Karski – was called up to lead a unit of the Krakow Cavalry Brigade. On September 10 the Krakow Army was defeated by the Germans in the Battle of Tomaszow Lubelski and Jan was captured as a prisoner of war. He managed to escape and went to Warsaw, where he joined the SZP, the first resistance movement in occupied Europe.

At that time, the Polish Government in Exile, overthrown by the Germans, was based in Paris. Jan organized secret courier missions to transport important information to the exiled Polish leaders. He traveled frequently between France, Great Britain and Poland, at great risk to himself. In July 1940 his luck ran out and he was arrested by the Gestapo while traveling through Czechoslovakia on his way to France. He was imprisoned and tortured so badly that he was transferred to a hospital. Fortunately Polish resistance leaders found out where he was and managed to smuggle him out of the hospital.

Returning to Warsaw, Jan served in the information bureau of the Polish Home Army, the main resistance movement in Poland. He and other Polish resistance leaders were horrified by the Nazi persecution of Polish Jews, and increasingly aware that the Germans planned to exterminate millions of them. Desperate to alert the rest of the world about the destruction of Polish Jewry, they chose Jan to gather evidence and then travel to Paris to report to prime minister Wladyslaw Sikorski, leader of the Polish government in exile.

Jan worked with Jewish resistance leader Leon Feiner, who smuggled him into the Warsaw Ghetto to observe conditions there. Jan later described the experience: “My job was just to walk. And observe. And remember. The odour. The children. Dirty. I saw a man standing with blank eyes. I asked the guide, what is he doing? The guide whispered, ‘He’s just dying.’ I remember degradation, starvation and dead bodies lying on the street. We were walking the streets and my guide kept repeating, ‘Look at it, remember, remember.’ And I did remember. The dirty streets. The stench. Everywhere. Suffocating. Nervousness.”

Jan also visited a transit camp for Jews on their way to death camps. He took photographs of what he saw there and in the ghetto, and carried them out of the country on microfilm. His testimony and pictures formed the first accurate account of the genocide of European Jews. Polish Foreign Minister Edward Raczynski published Jan’s reports in a pamphlet which was widely distributed. Jan traveled to several countries and met with high-level government officials including British Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden, but they either didn’t believe him, or they feared the political consequences of helping Jewish refugees.

In July 1943 Jan traveled to the United States, where he personally met with President Franklin D. Roosevelt in the Oval Office. Jan vividly described the Warsaw Ghetto and the concentration camps where Jews were being murdered en masse. After telling his grim tale, Jan expected Roosevelt to be emotionally affected and want to learn more. Instead, Roosevelt displayed no reaction and didn’t ask a single question. The president heard first-hand about the murder of millions of Jews – and saw the evidence – but he refused to help in any way and showed Jan the door. Ironically, the majority of American Jews voted for Roosevelt, and many Jews still revere him.

While in the States, Jan met with other important personages including Jewish Supreme Court Justice Felix Frankfurter. Jan told his story, answered a few questions, and then the great jurist said, “I am unable to believe what you have told me.” Like Roosevelt, he chose to ignore the inconvenient truth of what was happening to the Jews of Europe. A Polish diplomat later confronted Justice Frankfurter and asked if he thought Karski was lying. “I did not say that this young man was lying. I said that I was unable to believe what he told me. There is a difference.” The difference was likely not clear to the millions of European Jews being tortured and murdered while a Jewish Supreme Court justice chose ignorance over a difficult reality.

Jan Karski’s identity was discovered by the Nazi occupiers in Poland, and he was unable to return home. He stayed in Washington DC, and earned his PhD at Georgetown University. After graduating, he began teaching at the Georgetown School of Foreign Service. Jan remained at Georgetown for forty years, teaching generations of American political leaders about East European and international affairs and comparative government. Jan’s students included Bill Clinton and Madeleine Albright. Jan wrote several books about the Holocaust, and gave lectures around the world about the horrors he witnessed, and the tragic inaction of world leaders. He was determined to make sure the Jews of Poland were not forgotten.

Jan said that he had two missions in life. The first was to bear witness to the genocide of the Jews of Europe. The second was to reveal the tragic indifference of Allied leaders.

In 1965, Jan married Pola Nirenska, a Polish Jew who was an acclaimed dancer and choreographer. He adored her, but Pola was scarred by losing 75 (!) members of her extended family in the Holocaust, and suffered from mental health issues. Pola tragically killed herself in 1992.

Jan Karski was honored as Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem. He was made an honorary citizen of Israel and received many other awards and honors in Poland, the United States, and Israel. He was nominated for a Nobel Prize. In 2000, Jan Karski was formally recognized as a human rights hero by the UN General Assembly. Soon after, Jan died in Georgetown at age 86. Jan continued to be honored posthumously, and in 2012 President Obama awarded him the country’s highest civilian honor, the Presidential Medal of Freedom. He has been the subject of multiple books, plays and movies. There is a statue of Jan sitting on a bench on Madison Avenue in New York City.

For bearing witness to genocide and speaking truth to power, we honor Jan Karski as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[reddorkredemption]

i'm planning on writing 1914! jack (as in roleplay writing, not fanfiction writing) and i was wondering if u could maybe describe his personality / his things because i struggle at doing that . . . *sits in chair* of course if u don't wanna do it that's fine !

Thank you so much, I'm glad you like my fic! I love writing for Jackie. <3

But oh man, that's a big question haha. First off, 1914 Jack is a very open-ended character, so there are a lot of ways you could write him. (I mean, low-honor Jack and high-honor Jack are practically two different people personality-wise lol.) I'll describe his personality and stuff the way I write him (high honor), but just remember that this is just my interpretation.

The way I write him is based on a mixture of his 12/16 year old personalities, the way he acts/his dialogue in the rdr1 epilogue, and some of my own personal experiences and knowledge about how trauma can affect people. So here's a little bullet point list of some of the details and things I keep in mind when writing him:

He hates the government/law enforcement/military (for obvious reasons).

He's a lot softer and more sensitive than John was, and he hates that. He wishes he was more like John.

I know no one likes to hear this buuuut, Jack doesn't remember much about life in the gang or the old gang members. He was only four when the gang fell apart, so he only has vague memories of them. I think his experiences while on the run with John and Abigail shaped him a lot more than the gang did.

He's not very socially adept. He stumbles over his words a lot, he says the wrong things, he's awkward, etc. Partially because he's a 19-year-old boy. And partially because of how isolated he was growing up. He was constantly on the run and never really had the chance to socialize and make friends. There's probably a bit of neurodivergence contributing to this as well.

But even though he isn't great at socializing, he is still hyper-aware of the way people around him are feeling. When you spend your life surrounded by emotional turmoil like he did, you get good at recognizing the subtle signs that people around you are upset.

Jack definitely has a temper. He can lash out a lot. But one thing I noticed in the games is that he almost always seems to feel guilty for it afterwards. Like he'll yell at John and then seconds later apologize for being moody lol. He knows it's not okay, but he can't help it.

He still cares a lot about what his parents would think of him. He knows when he's done something that would disappoint them, and he feels awful for it. He wants to make them proud.

And because he holds his family in such high regard, he gets very angry if anybody insults them.

Jack is very traumatized by everything he went through (especially by John's death), and this trauma shows up in a lot of different ways. It makes him more irritable/anxious/depressed and causes him to lash out at people even more.

And since he lost everyone he loves, he's terrified of losing anyone else he happens to get close to in the future. This results in him either isolating himself or being a bit overprotective of the people in his life.

He tries his best to avoid thinking about the past and avoids any reminders of it because it's too painful.

Deep down, he still loves all of the things that he used to. He still loves reading and writing. He still has a desire to help people. Depression just has an annoying way of overshadowing all those things.

Honestly, I could go on forever about the little details haha. But in short, 1914 Jack is very hurt and sad and can be a bit abrasive because of it. But under all that, he's still a dork who loves to read and write and spend time in nature. He's kind-hearted and likes to help people (who deserve it lol). And the more he heals from everything he's been through, the more you'll see of that softer side of him. <3

I hope that helps some! If there's anything else/anything more specific you wanna ask, don't be afraid to shoot me another message! <3 I love to talk about my boy lol.

[blcsscdson]

Going to Blackwater for some supplies and stuff for the house had become a sort of routine for Jack. Every once in a while, he'd ride to town and buy what he couldn't grow or get from the ranch. It usually meant whiskey, bread and enough canned goods to last him a while and today was no different. His saddlebags were full of supplies, so he had to ride a mite slower than he usually did, slow enough to let the other rider he'd come across on the road get a good look at him.

Jack being mistaken for his deceased Pa wasn't new to him. The hair length was similar enough, Jack had let it grow to that length on purpose, and his Ma had said he always did look like John when he was younger. Running into people was common, it was a well-travelled road, no, what was new was the voice. He knew that voice, he remembered that voice. That voice belonged to the man who taught him how to read, the man who took care of him when he was sick fifteen years ago, the man who both Uncle Arthur and John missed so much.

"Uncle Hosea?! Hosea Matthews, that you?!" He needed to know. He had to be sure he wasn't going crazy. Either way, Jack kept his right hand hovering close enough to John's old silver-plated Schofield Revolver, just in case. He refused to use that Hi-Power pistol, regardless of how good he was with it.

"If you are Hosea Matthews, tell me somethin', what was the thing you and Arthur Morgan went out to hunt back in '99?!" Of course, Jack knew the answer. It had been a bear, Uncle Arthur later came back wearing a coat made from it.

Starter for- @blcsscdson

Hosea's return from Mexico has been... unsteady. A physically and mentally taxing journey. Its been years since he last travelled in solitude, too old and sick, he feared he wouldn't survive the journey. But the old gunslinger felt it necessary.  He could no longer stomach the thought of running from his past,  he has to face up to the guilt he's been harbouring. And he'll do that here. A journey to visit the graves of those he and Dutch have let down... in hopes to make peace. He knows a few of the locations, Lenny's,Sean's, Grimshaw's, Molly... Dutch...Bessie. But the ones he owes the most, John and Arthur... their graves, well, he's still searching.

That's what brings him here, riding up another God forsaken trail with no means to an end... West Elizabeth is not the easiest place to navigate. As he rides on a little further, Hosea notices another rider.  He slows his horse to  make way for them, but as they approach his heart plummets into his stomach. They look just like- 'John?'....but that was impossible, the papers had declared John dead many years before. Wait. No. This is not John! Its-

[thathoudinisimp]

Time Squad Houdini is a great portrayal

Somewhere while watching this… I kind of remember this show but I also don’t either. But I love it!

The way they portray him isn’t accurate but it’s inventive and interesting. I actually ENJOYED it.

Also THEY GAVE HIM AN ACCENT!

FINALLY!! The rest I’ve seen, he has an American accent.

guys! Harry was an immigrant, his parents never learned English. German was the language of the Weiss family.

the writer’s and casting crew had done their homework! They actually sat down and listened to the 1914 wax cylinder recordings

let’s goooooooo!

anyway I think I found my new favorite cartoon. I also like the characters as well they are funny and entertaining.

what I also love is that the background characters are actually in vaguely turn of the century clothing. *chef kiss*

also as a personal preference, out of all the eras of cartoons, I do prefer the styles of the early 2000s. There’s just something about them that makes it charming.

this version of Houdini’s design is okay too it’s not that bad. Slap a tuxedo on him and walla.

UPDATE: Found a YouTube version of the episode thanks to @cherrytastiq

THANK YOU!!

UPDATE UPDATE! As I’ve been aware the episode has been down on YouTube for a bit, but here’s another one with the full episode with Houdini Whodunnit and Feud For Thought (that pun is killing me! 😂)

[codthefishgod]

Haven't thrown an essay to the other Faroff fanatics recently and the new episode had a LOT of writing material SO I'M BACK TO BE THE FANDOM RANTER ✊

I apologise for my recent absence, I'll try to get back to doing my long ass Faroff posts more frequently again LMAO

(Split below for spoilers on episode 75 of Faroff)

I see you have opted in.

AHEM.

First off, MORE SONAN GOVERNMENT LORE!? Apparently things haven't always been this way... I sort of got that implication already from how Tobias talked about the Supreme Lord, particularly the way he said that he'd been making stupid rules "since he got chosen", but this confirms that the same thing applies to Sona as well. It was recent enough that Oskar remembers it, but still long enough ago that Fenn doesn't... Which is especially not good considering that many of the soldiers are likely around Fenn's age, so most of them also probably grew up in this time of being brainwashed to the absolute max, not knowing there was any other option. Awfully convenient for the king to have all those brainwashed soldiers though-

The fact that there used to be better, more just leaders on both sides also leads me to believe that maybe this war started after the current Sonan king and current Supreme Lord took power. They're both pieces of shit, must be made for each other, yes?

Anywho, touching on another detail during this flashback... THE PASSPORTS. THE MILLIONS OF PASSPORTS BEHIND OSKAR... I believe I smell rebel action, don't you? Not that surprising for Oskar, honestly. My friend ( @sunlikesdrawing ) suggested to me this theory, and I back it up in its entirety: Oskar may be using those passports to help people escape from Sona. Frankly, if I lived in Sona, I'd want the hell out of there too.

But this leads into another theory (again, credits to @sunlikesdrawing , I would not of thought of this on my own-), what if this is somehow connected to Fenn's eventual falling out with Oskar? What if, maybe, Oskar got caught? What if he's in prison right now? Of course Fenn would think him a traitor for defying the king...I also wonder if this happening made him even more extreme in his beliefs than he was. Time will tell, I suppose.

Alright, I believe that is all I have to point out about the flashback! Moving on to the rest of the episode.

There is one thing in particular that stood out to me. If you've been following my blog awhile and possess a strong memory, you might remember that I've done the math with all the dates + visual clues we've been provided thus far and came to the conclusion that it must be currently March of 1914. However, when the song ends, the radio states, "...their music first rising to fame after performing at a ball hosted by the Olvindar pillar family in 1914." Typically, when saying something like this, if it was still the same year, you'd say "earlier this year" or something else to that effect. Saying it happened "in 1914" implies that the year 1914 has already passed. Perhaps I need to recheck my math.

Alright, done with the serious stuff now. I love that Oskar is a constant reminder to Fenn that what he's doing with/for Tobias IS the right thing to do, no matter what the king says. It's very lovely. And the fact that Fenn remembered him saying "sometimes you need to do things that are good for your happiness" and immediately thought of Tobias... I wonder if this sentiment will at all help sway Fenn in pursuing Tobias in.... Forbidden relationships... He is good for Fenn's happiness, after all. We'll see. 👀

P.S. Fenn has the most appalling dance moves, I had to turn my phone off for a moment to process my second hand embarrassment when he started trying to dance- Tobias being super hyped to keep dancing with Fenn was ADORABLE, these fuckers are literally holding hands and dancing and it's WONDERFUL- also the sneak peeks for the next episodes!?!? I'M SO EXCITED FOR NEXT FAROFF MONDAY HOLY SHIT

[blcsscdson]

Having Arthur back and living in Beecher's Hope was certainly not what Jack expected when he rode back to the ranch a few months ago but hey, he wasn't complaining. God knows he could use the companionship, and having someone who knew him and his family from before certainly helped. Arthur, much like Charles had been for his Pa, proved to be an unshakable pillar of strength and both of them were, slowly but surely, rebuilding their home.

Still, Jack had noticed that Uncle Arthur was missing a few things. He'd already given back his hat, pulled it straight out of his Pa's old chest that he'd kept in their room and handed it back with almost reverence. But there was something else missing. Something that Jack wore every day since he turned nineteen. He'd taken good care of that waxed canvas jacket, he'd sewn it back together when it tore, cleaned it to the point it almost shined and in return, that jacket had sheltered him from the elements. Almost like a guardian angel.

Jack cleared his throat to announce the fact that he was standing behind Arthur and, after a few seconds had passed, he spoke.

"Uncle Arthur? I been meanin' to ask, you want your jacket back? I've kept it in good shape these past few years. I figured you'd want it back, seein' how you're back an' all that..." He let that statement hang in the air. He was still a bit unsure on how to speak to the older man.

@redemn asked for a STARTER

[blcsscdson]

"Ma..." Jack couldn't help but look down at the ground. How was he supposed to not bear all that weight? With John and Uncle gone, he had to step up and provide for what's left of his family. "Ya know ya can't work that hard, Ma. Jus' let me worry about the ranch and farm. You jus' take it easy, alright?"

He couldn't bring back John, or Uncle, or Arthur. But he could at least lightened the load on her shoulders.

@blcsscdson liked for a dialogue starter ( abigail to jack ) ! ♡

" it doesn't always have to be you, you know ? your shoulders aren't the only ones that can bear the weight of the world. "

[verdemoun]

Gonna ask about more Jack and John content pls sir. I dont remember if I said this before but I was in shock when you told that Isaac have dark hair, always imagine him a blondie like Arthur, but I fine with that. Also I think that Arthur can see that John is trying to get along with Jack, so when Jack ask if he can go with them to their father-son activits, Arthur have to unhappily say no, because it was suppost to Jack do that with John, and not use that as an escused to avoid John ( sorry about my bad inglesh, but I just relearned my art skills so I wanted to draw something of your AU) ❤

thank you! i thought it would be fun having a different isaac, considering eliza's reconstructed model had black hair very similar to mary it would be fun having a black haired isaac. also i always would've had isaac dye his hair black because he's emo and because physically i imagine he is really similar build to canon era arthur so they needed some obvious differences. just born ready to carry boundies over his shoulder.

Arthur can see John trying but he can also see how a lot of the time that trying backfires. Maybe John just has more daddy issues than Arthur but as much as John tried to change post 1907 for his family, the new John still wasn't quite the person Jack needed.

Because of this, there's a lot of things Jack would actually refuse to do with John but with Arthur he would happily go. Also spite. For example, if Isaac bullies Arthur into letting Jack come camping with them, Jack will just sit by the campfire reading while Isaac, Charles and Arthur go off for their usual father-son symbolic hunting of deer. He might join in campfire stories later or have a few swigs of beer but he actually hates hunting and fishing - which is what John associates with camping.

Maybe it's because Jack is just a gay little bookworm. Surely anyone who's ever spoken to him knows it, because Jack would never willingly admit it, but he's just - soft. He wasn't meant to be a gunslinger in every way. John knows that better than most!! He loves his son. John absolutely loves his son. All those times he sat there and listened to Jack ramble about books, completely overjoyed to see his son happy? But he never knew how to tell Jack it was because he loved seeing his son being himself, and happy! He knows his son is too soft and sensitive for his own good which is why he really believed Jack was safe FROM becoming an outlaw - yet he did.

Jack needs people so much. He's been isolated his whole life. He lost most of his family, the gang, in 1899. He got that diet child of divorce experience in 1907, lost his sister, the only other non-adult in his life, in 1910, his dad and Uncle in 1911, and mother in 1914. No one has ever just been there for Jack. He needs someone to be there for him, to understand how difficult it was for him, little gay bookworm Marston, to become an outlaw, how much he tried to be an outlaw because that's the only way he knew how to 'be a man' thanks to John.

John just. Can't be a boy dad. At least not Jack's dad. He has too many of his own issues, 90% of them are daddy issues. He doesn't know how to bond with a gay little bookworm. The days where he gets it wrong far outweigh the days he gets it right. He's fucked up too many times. Even when he tries to show interest in Jack's writing, Jack will snipe back with 'I thought they were just silly stories' because he remembers something John said in anger not even directed at him but about him in 1907. John knows how to bond with an outlaw, a bastard as rough as him - and it shows because he gets along with Isaac great. He doesn't know how to be friendly with his own son, and especially after timewarp Jack isn't willing to give him any more chances.

It's an everyone sucks. Jack knows he shouldn't have become an outlaw. He's ashamed of himself, deep down, for 'throwing away' the life so many people died to give him a change to. And John's ashamed of him for the exact same reason and it's really hard for John Marston to not wear his emotions. He might not be emotional but he's honest. If he's mad, you know he's mad.

Like god damnit Jack wants someone to be proud of him and say it's okay. That even if he thinks (or knows) it was a mistake, he did his best. He did what he thought was the right, what he was raised to think was right, because he saw John fall into the cycle of revenge and redemption over and over again so what else was he meant to do? But John - even if he said it, knowing how much Jack wants to hear it, it wouldn't be true and Jack would know.

Jack is a lot more sensitive than even modern era boys would let themselves be, let alone a 19th century outlaw, and John's judged him or let him down too many times, angsty teenage bullshit or not, for Jack to readily give him another chance. I say sensitive but I really mean Jack Marston is serving petty ass punk bitch.

Arthur would try very hard to help John out, try to give him tips on how to talk to Jack or offer to go on out father-son group things because Jack and Arthur? Great relationship! Arthur might be as emotionally intelligent as a lump of rubber, but he gets being creative and at least will give Jack the space to read and write without judging him. Sometimes it's nice, the strange days there's an activity they'll all enjoy (usually involving fire). Most of the time though, if Jack and John are talking without screaming it's because one or both of them are drunk.

[fairyhagmother]

13 Books

Thank you @gellavonhamster ! This was really fun :)

The last book I read: Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn. A decade late to the party and my verdict is that I preferred the film. Sorry don’t kill me. 

A book I recommend: We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson. I always reflexively call this my favourite book and I re-read it recently and it was as brilliant and as chilling as I remember. Merricat truly is a masterclass in writing unreliable narrators. 

A book I couldn’t put down: Anyone who follows me on my main blog knows I am deep in my hunger games era. I read the prequel over a week-end when I was in Berlin with work and now the whole trip is sort of a surreal blur. Highly recommend reading a book about violence and commemoration while walking around the haunted city that is Berlin.

A book I’ve read twice (or more): Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. I read it every Christmas! 

A book on my TBR: Pedagogy of the Oppressed by Paulo Freire.

A book I’ve put down: Intercepts by T.J. Payne. It’s about an underground government lab that experiments with sensory deprivation. I love horror actually! but I get really upset when anything bad happens to pets and as soon as I sense that something may happen to a beloved animal I check out. 

A book on my wishlist: I recently read Scorched by Wajdi Mouawad, and it was incredible! So I would like to find the time to read the rest of his ‘inheritance’ cycle of plays.

A favourite book from childhood: La Douane Volante by François Place, which is the story of a young boy from 1914 Brittany who finds himself in a sort of parallel universe based on a fantasy Belgium / the Netherlands and trains to become a physician. 

A book you would give to a friend: Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier.

A book of poetry you own: Hm. Does my anthology of Middle-English lyrics count?

A non-fiction book you own: Chernobyl by Serhii Plokhy.

What are you currently reading: Betty by Tiffany McDaniel, a family chronicle about a young girl growing up in rural Appalachia. 

13. What are you planning on reading next: The new Julia Armfield novel, Private Rites! I love Armfield so I am so excited.

I tag : @persephoneprice @coryo @the-tenth-arcanum @readingloveswounds @hrimceald @laminacore

xoxox

[thehutpoint]

Today I want you to show an evolution of one portrait depicting Titus. l find something deeply symbolic in it, ya know?

But we should start it from the beginning. This pic was made in Egypt, in 1907. Atch obtained it in 1913 and was sending copies to all expedition members that were left with big, Titus-shaped hole in the heart. One of the copies got sent by Atch to Terra Nova's ship carpenter, Francis Davies (Titus was onboard carpenter's mate, if you remember), with these two letters:

22nd December 1913 Dear Chippie, I am having some enlargements done of a portrait I have got of Capt Oates and if you would like that I will send you one and you must accept it for Xmas and the New Year. Mind you let us know when you are coming up to town. I am likely going to China Japan, Formosa and Korea in February on a medical expedition for the Navy. Yous ever E.L. Atkinson.

And...

3rd Feb 1914 Dear Chippie, I am sending you today an enlarged photo of Captain Oates and I think you will be pleased with it. Thank you very much for the piece of the Terra Nova you have sent up. Mind you write from time to time and if we are ever at the same depôt we must get together. Do you remember your opinion of the blubber stoves. Yours ever E.L. Atkinson

Of course this portrait is retouched a tad. There are no scars on Titus's face (no pockmarks to retouch yet, he got those later, in India), his hair are immaculate, as they never were in reality (twas an unruly thatch with tendence to rise up and point in different directions). But it is still Titus, with kind eyes and bump on the bridge of his nose (did he broke it once?Hmmm).

And then someone made this one:

That's not this a bit polished Oates from previous pic, that's already the heroic Oates. Nose as straight as they make them, lips in more manly shape, chin corrected to be more jutting, face broader, eyes with more daring expression. That's Oates - the legend, Oates - the epitome of English gentleman that served during the First World War as an example of how a true Englishman should die.

And then the portrait morphed further. In a village named Selborne, in Hampshire, UK there is an old house turned museum, The Wakes. It is devoted to former inhabitant, reverend Gilbert White, but one floor is taken by an exposition devoted to Titus. It was the condition of the Oates family who helped to found the museum. There you can find this portrait:

It's undoubtedly based on the very same photogravure from Egypt, but oh boy, these changes! Little dainty nose, almost no widow's peak, so characteristic for Titus, and, well, he got kind of whitewashed. Titus inherited from his father, William, very dark hair, dark brown eyes and pretty dark, easily tanning complexion. None of that is visible on this portrait, this dude has medium brown hair, grayish eyes and lovely, pale pink skin. That ain't my man!

By the way it's a second instance of, um, lightening Laurie's features, first one was Bernacchi who decided to give Titus in his bio blue-gray eyes and I am asking WTF, people? The man is already as English as goddamn plum pudding, family in the Domesday Book and all that jazz, no matter his colours, you do not need to turn him porcine pink for fucks sake!

Ah yes, I am paasionate about Lawrence Oates, there is no way to hide that. Why do I find the evolution of his portraits symbolic? Because, well, the way his image has been shaped through that century since he went out (and it have been some time) makes him less and less human, reduces him more and more to that heroical death and badass final oneliner. There is less and less in that narration of that lovely, quirky, silent man with wonderfully dry wit and surprising amount of sensitivity, hidden carefully behind the mask of manly stoicism, I catch the glimpses of in different sources and I actually got to love.

Will that sound very weird if I say I miss a man who was gone long before I was born...?

[aralezinspace]

~Read It Here~

Based on asks sent to @gabessquishytum, now with more angst! This is definitely one of the fics I’ve written that’s dearest to my heart. CW rest of author’s note, mentions of genocide

My dad’s family is Armenian, and according to my grandfather, his father, and his father before him were all jewelers. Back in 1914, they fled the Armenian genocide, selling their pieces to make ends meet as they journeyed from Armenia to Istanbul to end up settling in a small town outside Paris, where my grandfather met my grandmother. They then married and immigrated to the states. It always warps my mind how easily I could have not existed, had my ancestors not had the means, courage, and luck to survive the genocide. If they hadn’t been jewelers, and hadn’t had those pieces to sell, would they have survived? Gives me chills every time I think about it. So you could say jewelry making is in my blood, it runs in the family- my grandparents had a jewelry store at one point, and when it closed they kept the tools. I remember sitting on my grandfather’s lap as a kid and him showing me how to use them. I’ve made a few crystal/wire pieces, and even though they’re not very good the act of making them helped me feel closer to them. According to family legend, the famous bulgari emerald necklace worn by Elizabeth Taylor was made by my great grandfather. This story will contain some elements of that history. And now for something completely different: Dream and Hob and their mutual love of Shiny Things. Enjoy! 6 chapters is a rough guess, may be more or less depending how wordy I get.

[scotianostra]

Charles Hamilton Sorley was born in Aberdeen on May 19th 1895, he became a soldier and lay dead in a field in France in his 20th year.

The son of a William Ritchie Sorley, a professor of moral philosophy, Charles was a precocious and academically gifted child. The family moved to Cambridge when he was five, and Sorley attended King’s College choir school and Marlborough College, with some study in Germany. He began publishing poetry in the school journal and won a scholarship to University College, Oxford. Sorley was in Germany in 1914 when World War I broke out, and he was interned for one night in prison at Trier.

Making his way back home, he enlisted in the Army and served in the trenches in France. Sorley was killed in action near Hulloch during the Battle of Loos, on 13th October 1915, shot in the head by a sniper. His last poem, When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead, was found in his kitbag, it is a heart-breaking piece of prose, and I admit the first time I read it in 2012 it brought a tear to my eye.

A collection of Sorley’s poetry was published posthumously as Marlborough and other Poems and went through six editions in the first year. Because of his time in Germany, Sorley’s attitude toward the war was deeply conflicted from its start. His small body of poetry is ambivalent, ironic, and profound. Sorley has been described as “one of the three poets of importance killed during the war,” the others being Wilfred Owen and Isaac Rosenberg. His other works include The Collected Poems of Charles Hamilton Sorley.

Millions of the Mouthless Dead.

  When you see millions of the mouthless dead Across your dreams in pale battalions go, Say not soft things as other men have said, That you’ll remember. For you need not so. Give them not praise. For, deaf, how should they know It is not curses heaped on each gashed head? Nor tears. Their blind eyes see not your tears flow. Nor honour. It is easy to be dead. Say only this, “They are dead.” Then add thereto, “Yet many a better one has died before.” Then, scanning all the o'ercrowded mass, should you Perceive one face that you loved heretofore, It is a spook. None wears the face you knew. Great death has made all his for evermore.