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Headstone of an unknown soldier of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers, Delville Wood Cemetery. Union of South Africa troops began the assault at Delville Wood on July 15, 1916. It was finally taken in September. On the headstone is superimposed the poem 'To My Daughter Betty, the Gift of God' by Lieutenant Tom Kettle of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers, killed in action on September 9, 1916 at Guillemont, France, in the Battle of the Somme. He has no known grave.
Text:
To My Daughter Betty, the Gift of God
In wiser days, my darling rosebud, blown
To beauty proud as was your mother's prime,
In that desired, delayed, incredible time,
You'll ask why I abandoned you, my own,
And the dear heart that was your baby throne,
To dice with death. And oh! they'll give you rhyme
And reason: some will call the thing sublime,
And some decry it in a knowing tone.

So here, while the mad guns curse overhead,
And tired men sigh with mud and couch and floor,
Know that we fools, now with the foolish dead,
Died not for flag, nor King, nor Emperor,
But for a dream, born in a herdsman's shed,
And for the secret Scripture of the poor.

— Tom Kettle
In the field, before Guillemont, Somme, 4 September 1916

Headstone of an unknown soldier of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers, Delville Wood Cemetery. Union of South Africa troops began the assault at Delville Wood on July 15, 1916. It was finally taken in September. On the headstone is superimposed the poem 'To My Daughter Betty, the Gift of God' by Lieutenant Tom Kettle of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers, killed in action on September 9, 1916 at Guillemont, France, in the Battle of the Somme. He has no known grave. © 2013 John M. Shea

Image text

To My Daughter Betty, the Gift of God

In wiser days, my darling rosebud, blown

To beauty proud as was your mother's prime,

In that desired, delayed, incredible time,

You'll ask why I abandoned you, my own,

And the dear heart that was your baby throne,

To dice with death. And oh! they'll give you rhyme

And reason: some will call the thing sublime,

And some decry it in a knowing tone.



So here, while the mad guns curse overhead,

And tired men sigh with mud and couch and floor,

Know that we fools, now with the foolish dead,

Died not for flag, nor King, nor Emperor,

But for a dream, born in a herdsman's shed,

And for the secret Scripture of the poor.



— Tom Kettle

In the field, before Guillemont, Somme, 4 September 1916

Other views: Front

Thursday, April 27, 1916

"From the roof of the College of Surgeons, the Countess Markievicz watched Dublin burning. 'Think of it,' she said to Chriss Caffrey. 'That's not Rome burning—but Dublin!'

A short distance away Professor O'Briain sat awestruck, and then commented, 'Lord, we are destroying the city.'

From Killeney Hill, nine miles away, people could pick out Nelson atop his pillar.

In a cellar near the docks where he and several other 'suspects' had been incarcerated by the military, Sean O'Casey laid down his volume of Keats and gazed at the scarlet stain spreading across the sky. One of the men playing cards followed his gaze for a moment and then said, 'Christ help them now!'"

Quotation Context

Source

The Easter Rebellion by Max Caulfield, pp. 299, 300, copyright © 1963 by Max Caulfield, publisher: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, publication date: 1963

Tags

1916-04-27, 1916, April, Dublin, Easter Rising