The Postcard
A postcard bearing no publisher's name.
The postcard was posted in Folkestone using a ½d. stamp on Sunday the 18th. February 1917 to:
Mrs. S. Andrews,
3, Winchelsea Cottages,
Dover.
The message on the divided back was as follows:
"22 Ch. Ch. Road,
Folkestone.
My Dear M,
Just a little card to
congratulate you on
your Birthday.
Hope you are well, and
will be spared for many
more.
Please give my kind
regards to Ted and Sid.
Hope to see you soon.
Fondest love to self.
Love Ethel."
Thanatopsis
The 'Go forth' line is taken from the poem 'Thanatopsis' by William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878). Thanatopsis was written around 1813 when Bryant was a young man.
It is his most famous and enduring poem, often cited for its skillful depiction and contemplation of death. The syntax, imagery, and diction all work together to describe death in a clear and relatable way.
Throughout the poem, Bryant explores death as the most important theme, but others include nature, unity, and peace. The title, “Thanatopsis,” means “a consideration of death”. The word is derived from the Greek “thanatos” meaning “death” and “opsis” meaning “view” or “sight”. Here is the complete poem:
'To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature’s teachings, while from all around—
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air—
Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings,
The powerful of the earth—the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,—the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods—rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean’s gray and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings—yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man—
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.'
The Hindenburg Line
So what else happened on the day that Ethel posted the card?
Well, on the 18th. February 1917, German units around Miraumont were forced to retreat to the Hindenburg Line ahead of schedule due to the British advance in Ancre Valley.
However the Germans held Hill 130 after inflicting 2,207 casualties.
The Assault on the Berrima
Also on that day, the British passenger ship Berrima was damaged, either by striking a mine or being torpedoed in the English Channel. Four lives were lost.
Her crew were rescued by the Royal Navy destroyer HMS Forester, and the ship was towed to England where she was repaired and returned to service.
The Kennesaw Mountain National Battlefield Site
Also on the 18th. February 1917, the Kennesaw Mountain National Battlefield Site was established near Kennesaw, Georgia. It was established as a national battlefield park in 1935.
Tuulikki Pietilä
The day also marked the birth in Seattle of the American-Finnish artist Tuulikki Pietilä.
Tuulikki is best known for her graphics artwork, including collaborations with her life partner Tove Jansson on the popular children's books series Moomins. Tuulikki died in 2009.
Oliver F. Atkins
Also born on that day, in Boston, Massachusetts, was the American photographer Oliver F. Atkins.
Oliver was personal photographer to U.S. President Richard Nixon. Oliver died in 1977.
