“Afterthought/And Is It So?” by Constance Davies Woodrow

Woodrow, Constance Davies. “And Is It So?” Montreal Poetry Year Book (1927-28): 10.
Edited to become
Woodrow, Constance Davies.”Afterthought.” Montreal Poetry Year Book (1927-28): 10. Dedicated “Dec 12th 1928 / To Dr. W. B. Creighton.”

This copy of the Montreal Poetry Year Book was almost certainly a gift from Constance Davies Woodrow (1899-1937) to William Black Creighton (1864-1946), the father of author and historian Donald Grant Creighton (1902-1979), who was the husband of author Luella Bruce Creighton (1901-1996). William Creighton was the editor of the Christian Guardian (“Donald Creighton,” Dictionary of Canadian Biography), self-proclaimed as “Canada’s National Religious Weekly,” with a readership comparable to that of the more secular Saturday Night (R. Kenneth Carty and W. Peter Vard, eds., National Politics and Community in Canada (Vancouver, BC: U of British Columbia P, 1986) 52). William Creighton used the publication as “a vehicle for discussion of the character of the Canadian community” (Carty and Vard, 52), strongly supporting the recognition of a distinct Canadian national culture.

Our research has found no other connection between Constance Davies Woodrow and the Creighton family (although she was of an age with Donald Creighton). Such a connection would not be entirely surprising, though, given the closeness of the Canadian literary community in the 1920s and 30s.

 

“Man of the House,” by Beatrice Rowley (“R. H. Grenville”)

Charles Rowley, the step-son of Beatrice Rowley (“R. H. Grenville”), has shared with us a number of letters and cards containing poetry written for the family by his step-mother. The author, at his request, has kindly given us permission to publish any of her poems that Charles has provided for us.

The undated poem below, “Man of the House,” is dedicated to F.E.R.: Frank Ernest Rowley. Here is a photo of Beatrice Rowley and her husband Frank, taken exactly 35 years ago, on 18 May (or was it Mar?) 1979.

“Coronation Day,” by Mona Gould

This undated poem by Mona Gould is found in her archived papers at the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Room at the University of Toronto.

King George VI was crowned on 12 May 1937, as the world stood on the brink of another Great War. Mona Gould’s poem on the subject reminds me strongly of Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway: so few of us can understand the reality of war, they tell us; its horrors should not be glorified.

Coronation Day

It was Coronation Day.
Long live the King!
Flags flying… bands playing
And the City Fathers in their morning clothes and tall silk hats
Suitably speaking in the parks.
Ah… it was such a scene!
Purple and gold… scarlet and gold,
And long live the King!
God save the King!
And then the gun salute…
Twenty-one tremendous booms from the mouth of cannons.
Boom!… And somewhere in the cheering crowd
A veteran breaks loose
His face a mask of twisted horror…
Arms flailing…
Mouth a-gape…
His knees buckling beneath him… (It take 3 or 4 men to hold him!)
And meantime
The guns boom on!
God save the King!
And the piteous soldier sinks to the ground
Tormented… shut away from reason
For the time being.
His brother veterans group around him
To shut away the eyes of the curious
A Catholic Father, hovers comfortingly near,
But he neither sees nor hears their presence,
His mind and heart obsessed with a terrible dread.
He is back again on the awful battle ground
Pursued by crashing death and chilling steel.
And there is no escape… no God… nothing but fear
And the terrible voice of the hungry horde of cannon!
Long Live the King!
The guns are quiet now.
The soldier’s face miraculously smooths itself.
He stands erect again
And gropes his way across the grass.
The band starts up
And troops go marching by.
Flags flutter… and a roar of cheering rises.
This is the glory and the paegentry…
Let us forget the soldier and his tortured eyes,
Lest our cheers stick in our throats
And choke us!!

“In Solitude,” by Virna Sheard

Sheard, Virna. “In Solitude.” “Virna Sheard.” By Donald G. French. Canadian Bookman 12 (1930): 4.

This poem, the article tells us, is “a favorite with anthologists,” and “first appeared in Scribners’ Magazine.”

In Solitude

He is not alone whose ship is sailing
Over the mystery of an unknown sea,
From some great Love with faithfulness unfailing
Will light the stars to bear him company.

Out in the silence of the mountain passes,
The heart makes peace and liberty its own—
The wind that blows across the scented grasses
Bringing the balm of sleep—comes not alone.

Beneath the vast illimitable spaces,
Where God has set His jewels in array,
A man may pitch his tent in desert places,
Yet know that heaven is not so far away.

But in the city—in the lighted city—
Where gilded spires point towards the sky,
And fluttering rags and hunger ask for pity,
Grey Loneliness in cloth-of-gold goes by.