Robert Ernest Vernede - Novelist/Poet

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A friend, writing of him, said:

"Two things endure with me. One is that many of his high qualities have been - his writing, his physical grace, his tender heart, his good taste, his good humour, and so forth - what was so distinctive was the congruity of the whole. Eveything fitted in so beautifully that it was a delight to be with him in any mood or any surroundings.

The other thing is that silent as he appeared to many, he had the true gift of conversation as so few have.. He would tackle a subject, and keeping the other person with him in a manner so different from the mere sayer of bright things and in a manner so much ore tender than the Socratic one, he would stick to it until one had reached down to the essence of the problem and felt on surer ground than oine had ever done before."

I will end this short introduction by quoting the note which appeared after his death in the Pauline magazine of his old school, and which was contributed by his old friend, Mr. G. K. Chesterton:

"The death of Robert Ernest Vernede, who fell fighting as a Lieutenant of The Rifle Brigade in the great advance on the Western Front, while so heavy a loss for those of us who loved him, may well be felt by the many more who admired him as something like a gain; an addition or completion to that new and shining company of poets whose patriotism turned them into soldiers, and gave them a life more worthy of a legend; those poets who have become poems.

He had indeed other strings to his lyre, or labours for his pen; his books of travel and criticism had already revealed his appetitie for adventure both material and mental; his novels had embodied romances other than his own. Tragedy itself cannot eclipse the gaiety of that farce in the grand style, The Pursuit of Mr Faviel, the reading of which was like a holiday, not to say a honey-moon, It was perhaps the one work of our generation which was genuinely full of the April foolery of the Wrong Box. But his poetry will necessarily be the note that vibrates longest in the memory, especially for those most affected by his end. In the first days of the war we read that address of England to the Sea, lines of which really had what a good critic has called, in another good poet, the gesture of magnificence: Say, thou, who has watched through ages that are lengthless,

Whom I have feared, and when did I forget?

Andy

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This alertness, even in a literary sense, was typical of his conduct throughout; he was in this also early in the field - as he was in the battlefield. He went to the war of his own will, when past military age; he went to it a second time when he had been wounded and might easily have been excused. On the second venture he was killed. I write of such things in words weak and unworthy; but it is at least natural for me to be writing them in Pauline, for, though I am proud to think our friendship was never broken, it is as a Pauline that I still picture him most vividly. Many personal accidents accentuatethe feeling; not least the fact that he always remained, even in the face and figure, almoststartingly young. There went with this paradox of a considerable maturity of mind, even in boyhood; a maturity so tranquil and, as it were,so solitary as to be the very opposite of priggishness. He had a curious intellectual independence; I remember him maintaining, in our little debating club, that Shakespeare was overated; not in the least impudently or with any foreshadowing of a shavian pose, but rather like a conscientious student with a piece of Greek of which he could not make sense. He was too good a man of letters not to have learnt better afterwards; but the thing had a touch of intangible isolation that suprised the gregarious mind of boyhood. He had in everything, even in his very appearance, something that can only be called distinction; something that might be called, in the finer sense, race. This was perhaps the only thing about him, except his name and his critical temper, that suggested something French. I remember this passing a polished and Meredithian epigram to me in class: it was, I regret to say, an unfriendly reflection on the French Master, and even on the French nation in his person; but I remember thinking, even at the time, that it was rather a French thing to do.

There was a certain noble contradiction in his life and death that there was also in his very bearing and bodily habit. No man could look more lazy and no man more active, even physically active. He would mave as swiftly as a leopard from something like sleep to something too unexpected to be called gymnastics. It was so that he passed from the English country life he loved so much, with its gardening and dreaming, to an ambush and a German gun. In the lines called "Before the Assault", perhaps the finest of his poems, he showed how clear a vision he carried with him of the meaning of all this agony and the mystery of his own death. Noprinted controversy or political eloquence could put more logically, let alone more poetically, the higher pacifism which is now resolute to dry up at the fountainhead the bitter waters of the dynastic wars, than the four lines that run:

Then to our Children there shall be no handing

Of fates so vain, of passions so Abhoor'd.......

But Peace...... the peace which passeth understanding....

Not in our time... but in their time, O Lord.

The last phrase, which has the force of an epigram, has also the dignity of an epitaph; and its truth will remain.

C.H. VERNEDE.

[marina]

Quie a woman was Caroline. And no mean writer herself; also the friend who writes of Robert. I like the bit about passing from the garden and dreaming, into war. Lovely piece.

Marina

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Today I had the experience of visiting Roberts house in Hertfordshire and made arrangements with the current occupants to revisit and photograph the house.

I must say the house is very much like the pictures I have of the house in the 1930's including the old water mill on the river.

Whilst in the village I visited the church to see the memorial with Roberts name on it and walked around for a while generally viewing the village itself. I must admit that it was a humbling experience seeing Robert's name on the memorial, having read so much of his work and knowing so much of his life and experiences.

Andy

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Roberts name on the memorial in St. Marys Church

[marina]

I must admit that it was a humbling experience seeing Robert's name on the memorial, having read so much of his work and knowing so much of his life and experiences.

Andy

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It must have been, Andy. I think it would be hisd garden which would affect me most, knowing how much he loved it.

Marina

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Marina,

Have to agree, seeing the house, the garden and the name on the war memorial was, without being to cliche, a very moving experience indeed. It felt as though, through his work and his letters home amongst other things, as if you knew the man himself and expected him to come out of his front door. I have never experienced this before to such an extent or so strongly.

Andy

[marina]

Marina,

Have to agree, seeing the house, the garden and the name on the war memorial was, without being to cliche, a very moving experience indeed. It felt as though, through his work and his letters home amongst other things, as if you knew the man himself and expected him to come out of his front door. I have never experienced this before to such an extent or so strongly.

Andy

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I think this is because he shows up as a strong and thoughtful personality in his letters, which clearly reveal a brave, observant and caring man, as well as a humorous one - a man of all the old fashioned virtues if you see what I mean. To get slushy about it, he's a man to love and respect.

His letters demonstrate that he was a loss both to his friends and family but also to literature. Even I, a strarnger born long after his death, felt the void after that last letter - I know there was a great void for someone after all the men's deaths in that War, but his feels special in some way, probably because of the originality of his thoughts and the clarity which with he expresses himself. I'll never forget the dinner at the front, or the servant Ginger, or the last gallop he had before he was killed. I don't know why the last gallop is so affecting, but it is.

You've done a great job in reviving Robert for a new genration, Andy.

Marina

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Thanks Marina,

The War Memorial in the church

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Robert

[marina]

A gentle face. Doesn't he look thoughtful, even here?

Marina

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Roberts effects

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Roberts Headstone

[liverpool annie]

Roberts Headstone

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Marina and Andy

I have been reading your thread for about a month or so - with a great deal of interest and emotion and also a great deal of envy!

My Dad used to tell stories - about how the kids had to read Granddads letters from France in WW1 - and reply back because Grandma couldn't read or write -

I wonder what he really wrote about knowing that the children were going to be reading them ! - I've always thought how awful it must have been for her - not to be able to hear how he felt - not to able to say how she really felt - and then she died - of the Spanish flu and Granddad came from the trenches to bury her and to sort out the children!

What a treasure you have Andy! even though Robert isn't your "family" - he really is - because of the bond that ties you to him .......!

Thank you both for your obvious love of the letters - It's been great to "listen in "!!

Annie

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Hi Anne,

It must have been awful for your grandparents not being able to communicate and having to go through third parties. Not exactly the best way to relate your thoughts, feelings and emotions.

I have several memorial books to Rifle Brigade officers written by the families which include all the letters home from the trenches which are all treasures but none as precious to me as Robert's. I do feel as though I know Robert and Caroline personally after all the reading and research I have done on him. When I visited his house it was an eerie feeling and very humbling, but having said that there was a feeling of inner warmth there too, if that makes sense.

It felt as though Robert was there waving at you, inviting you to come in and join his debating circle, probably the imagination running riot knowing so much about them, but a eerie sensation and one I have never felt before, so maybe you are right in their is a bond there of some sorts.

Andy

[marina]

Anne - it has been a real pleasure to read all these letters, and the supporting info and photos Andy has. I actually feel quite bereft knowing there are no more letters. And the inventory of his possessions - such pitiful bits and pieces - was another lump in the throat one!

The story of your Grandmother is a sad one. Bet she had the children reading those letters to her over and over. I expect she was able to dictate some words for the children to write to their Dad. I hope so anyway.

Marina

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OK, OK, OK,

I have been requested by several people to post the missing section of Robert's letters, i.e. from Nov 1915 to when I initially started the postings, from 14th May 1916. I think this is a retrograde step as Robert has now died with the build up that entailed going back could be an anti climax, with everyone that read the postings knowing what happened.

However, who am I to argue, so:-

Folkestone, 18th November 1915.

Somewhere at Folkestone, in the dark, the train having stopped for about an hour and a half. It is now 5.30pm. H. and I have eaten a tea of tongue sandwiches and brandy and water. F. and A. are asleep. It is much warmer and drizzling. 8 o@clock - just starting for pier.

H. in letter is 2nd Lieut. R.E.T. Huddart, The Rifle Brigade, killed in action, 30th June 1916.

F.is 2nd Lieut. F.G. Salter, The Rifle Brigade.

A. is 2nd Lieut G.H.G. Anderson, M.C., The Rifle Brigade.

Andy

[marina]

Welcome home, Andy and Robert!

Marina

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Somewhere, Friday, 19th November, 1915.

This is written at 10.30am in a small cafe where the subaltern draft is drinking coffee and writing after an extremely prolonged crossing. We got across by 10pm Hideous wind blowing - crowded boat - and lingered on the quay till 1.15am when we got a train as far as this, which is a base camp among the sand dunes, which we reached about 2.30(today), finally getting to bed on the ground in tents with some dished-out Army blankets at 4.30. It really was very amusing though, and more characteristic than anything I have struck. Jolly cold and freezing all round. We aren't a bit settled for writing, but I think we are here for a few days anyway, and have, in fact, arranged a mess together at a restaurant at Five francs a day. These youths are very pleasant, and if F. and I can get in the same Battalion (with H. and A. perhaps) it will be very well.

Address doubtful, and will probably change before you reply to this.

Andy

[marina]

How good it is to have him back again, even for a misraerable first night in France.

Marina

[marina]

How good it is to have him back again, even for a miserable first night in France.

Marina

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Hi Marina,

Its good to have Robert back, as you say, he certainly did not seem to like the cold, as Caroline says in her Introduction.

Andy

[marina]

I was looking back at your first post about Robert today, just to check the dates and where we were exactly with the new letters. It's a very brief post about the comparisons between service and regular battalions - bet you never expected QUITE the interest you got when you first began this thread! I certainly never expected the treasure we got!

Marina

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Saturday, 20th November, 1915.

Written on Hotel paper headed - Grande Palace A Etaples, Pas De Calais.

Still at base camp, not knowing when we move on. We mess together, the nine of us, in the Railway Buffet, not at all bad, and share two tents, jolly cauld. It freezes at night and thaws slightly by day, but in my valise last night I was pretty warm and F. never slept better. We are near the sea, among the sand dunes and pines, very nice winter country because it's not wet or muddy. This cafe pen makes me write like F. I hope you will be able to read it.

This morning we marched out a couple of miles and threw a bomb or two and marched back again, lecture this afternoon.

This altogether is rather a halfway house sort of place and one feels rather strayed on the passage; and not knowing at what moment one will move on is rather annoying, but it's not without humour. I told you, didn't I, that we had the pleasure of carrying our own valises several times for some distance. We left them under cover eventually at the station on a seat, but when they were brought up by the transport they had been dragged through pools of water. I should have liked to give the transport fifty days C.B.

Till we get to the trenches I can't give you a proper address - and it's no good trying to settle down to write a proper letter because I can't in this slack sort of hustle.

Andy

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Hi Marina,

I certainly did not expect the level of interest this thread seems to have generated but nevertheless am pleased that it has produced such interest. Re the difference between the regular and service battalions, I am interested in his initial comparisons as several books that I have have noted this difference. A good comparison was made by John Nettleton in his book "The Anger of The Guns" also Villiers-Stuart (CO of the 9th RB's) with the entirely different attitude and mentality.

Andy