BF books.

Discussion in 'Battlefield (Public)' started by Shanksi, May 8, 2017.

  1. Shanksi

    Shanksi Getting Started

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    When Shanksi was playing COD and COD UO many years ago, people would ask in chat whether that what we were participating in was trivialising war. I found this an interesting question. Were we, when trying to outwit the opposing players, denigrating the actions of those that had the unfortunate luck of being born just over 100 years before us. I don't think so. It is a reminder. Shanksi believes that experience, be it in books, films and now gaming, can aid us in understanding what our ancestors experienced. I have been playing BF1 a lot recently and it guided my next read (which I recommend V. highly):

    24 HRS AT THE SOMME 1 JULY 1916

    First hand accounts from both sides create a picture of impending slaughter. No other war has seen so much death.

    Let us not forget.

    Please suggest others...
     
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  2. Tulgar

    Tulgar Battlefield Leader Staff Member Moderator

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    nice thread!

    I sometimes listen to Conversations with Richard Fidler (pronounced Faidler; I never realised how funny his name is until I just wrote it). Anyway, there was a good chat with a historian the other day about the battle of Passchendaele. Historian Paul Ham and the bloody futility of WWI's Battle of Passchendaele - Conversations - ABC Radio

    A quick check on the website shows there are a couple more with him too that I haven't yet listened too, but surely will. Guests - Conversations - ABC Radio





     
  3. IvanIronass

    IvanIronass Well-Known Member

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    Not a book, but the WW1 poets Seigfried Sassoon and Wilfrid Owen summed up the misery of life in the trenches.
    Here is the stand out poem from Wilfred Owen describing a gas attack. It chilled me at school and does so today:

    Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
    Till on the haunting flares we turned out backs,
    And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
    Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
    But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
    Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
    Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

    Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling
    Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
    But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
    And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.-
    Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
    As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

    In all my dreams before my helpless sight
    He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

    If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
    Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
    And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
    His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
    If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
    Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
    Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
    Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,-
    My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
    To children ardent for some desperate glory,
    The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
    Pro patria mori.
     

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