the blog quebecois

I'd never given it much thought, but one day I wondered about the role of women poets in WWI. Poetry was considered a "proper" pursuit (as compared to, say, novel writing) for ladies of the time.

There doesn't seem to be a lot of it anthologized; and what I did find of it was often in the heroic (classical tropes of gallantry and sacrifice) mode as championed by such as W.B Yeats (as compared to the gritty naturalism of Siegfried Sassoon, et.al. Given that women were in most cases far from the front lines, it was unconvincing, at best.

But war was not only one of the greatest drivers of technological and scientific ferment; it also signalled great revolutions in human affairs. WWI started the migration from the small towns and rural life to the big cities; WWII further carried on the trend and especially emancipated women. (It is one of the ironies of history that Goebbels and the Nazis were famous for boasting of "total war" but it was the Allies who brought it to the field by completely marshalling their female citizens, freeing their men to deliver the full fury of their nations. As Toland and other historians of the war have pointed out, it was rare for German women to be employed out of the home [and with a full complement of servants for the upper classes]; and the government depended on half-starved, fully-resentful slave labor [who never missed a chance at sabotage] to staff their industry.)

Where women excelled in poetry were in small miniatures that summoned up the changing landscape of life and love. Madeline Ida Bedford (who doesn't even get a page in Wikipedia), captured the new terrain nicely in her evocation of a (Cockney?) factory worker:

Earning high wages?
Yus, Five quid a week.
A woman, too, mind you,
I calls it dim sweet.

Ye'are asking some questions -
But bless yer, here goes:
I spends the whole racket
On good times and clothes.

Me saving? Elijah!
Yer do think I'm mad.
I'm acting the lady,
But - I ain't living bad.

I'm having life's good times.
See 'ere, it's like this:
The 'oof come o' danger,
A touch-and-go bizz.

We're all here today, mate,
Tomorrow - perhaps dead,
If Fate tumbles on us
And blows up our shed.

Afraid! Are yer kidding?
With money to spend!
Years back I wore tatters,
Now - silk stockings, mi friend!

I've bracelets and jewellery,
Rings envied by friends;
A sergeant to swank with,
And something to lend.

I drive out in taxis,
Do theatres in style.
And this is mi verdict -
It is jolly worth while.

Worth while, for tomorrow
If I'm blown to the sky,
I'll have repaid mi wages
In death - and pass by.