McCrae's "In Flanders Fields"
remains to this day one of the most memorable war poems ever written. It
is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the
spring of 1915. Here is the story of the making of that poem:
Although he had been a doctor for years
and had served in the South African War, it was impossible to get used
to the suffering, the screams, and the blood here, and Major John McCrae
had seen and heard enough in his dressing station to last him a lifetime.
As a surgeon attached to the 1st Field
Artillery Brigade, Major McCrae, who had joined the McGill faculty in 1900
after graduating from the University of Toronto, had spent seventeen days
treating injured men -- Canadians, British, Indians, French, and Germans
-- in the Ypres salient.
It had been an ordeal that he had hardly
thought possible. McCrae later wrote of it:
"I wish I could embody on paper some
of the varied sensations of that seventeen days... Seventeen days of Hades!
At the end of the first day if anyone had told us we had to spend seventeen
days there, we would have folded our hands and said it could not have been
One death particularly affected McCrae.
A young friend and former student, Lieut. Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, had
been killed by a shell burst on 2 May 1915. Lieutenant Helmer was buried
later that day in the little cemetery outside McCrae's dressing station,
and McCrae had performed the funeral ceremony in the absence of the chaplain.
The next day, sitting on the back of
an ambulance parked near the dressing station beside the Canal de l'Yser,
just a few hundred yards north of Ypres, McCrae vented his anguish by composing
a poem. The major was no stranger to writing, having authored several medical
texts besides dabbling in poetry.
In the nearby cemetery, McCrae could
see the wild poppies that sprang up in the ditches in that part of Europe,
and he spent twenty minutes of precious rest time scribbling fifteen lines
of verse in a notebook.
A young soldier watched him write it.
Cyril Allinson, a twenty-two year old sergeant-major, was delivering mail
that day when he spotted McCrae. The major looked up as Allinson approached,
then went on writing while the sergeant-major stood there quietly. "His
face was very tired but calm as we wrote," Allinson recalled. "He looked
around from time to time, his eyes straying to Helmer's grave."
When McCrae finished five minutes later,
he took his mail from Allinson and, without saying a word, handed his pad
to the young NCO. Allinson was moved by what he read:
"The poem was exactly an exact
description of the scene in front of us both. He used the word blow in
that line because the poppies actually were being blown that morning by
a gentle east wind. It never occurred to me at that time that it would
ever be published. It seemed to me just an exact description of the scene."
In fact, it was very nearly not published.
Dissatisfied with it, McCrae tossed the poem away, but a fellow officer
retrieved it and sent it to newspapers in England. The Spectator, in London,
rejected it, but Punch published it on 8 December 1915.