Group+4+Reporter

the reporters page.....

music:​

click to hear the music. lyrics to song below link An Irish lad one day, All the streets were paved with gold, So everyone was gay! Singing songs of Piccadilly, Strand, and Leicester Square, 'Til Paddy got excited and He shouted to them there:** It's a long way to go. It's a long way to Tipperary To the sweetest girl I know! Goodbye Piccadilly, Farewell Leicester Square! It's a long long way to Tipperary, But my heart's right there.** To his Irish Molly O', Saying, "Should you not receive it, Write and let me know! If I make mistakes in "spelling", Molly dear", said he, "Remember it's the pen, that's bad, Don't lay the blame on me".** It's a long way to go. It's a long way to Tipperary To the sweetest girl I know! Goodbye Piccadilly, Farewell Leicester Square, It's a long long way to Tipperary, But my heart's right there.** To Irish Paddy O', Saying, "Mike Maloney wants To marry me, and so Leave the Strand and Piccadilly, Or you'll be to blame, For love has fairly drove me silly, Hoping you're the same!"** It's a long way to go. It's a long way to Tipperary To the sweetest girl I know! Goodbye Piccadilly, Farewell Leicester Square, It's a long long way to Tipperary, But my heart's right there.** That's the wrong way to kiss! Don't you know that over here, lad, They like it best like this! Hooray pour le Francais! Farewell, Angleterre! We didn't know the way to tickle Mary, But we learned how, over there!**
 * []**
 * It's a Long Way to Tipperary**
 * Up to mighty London came
 * It's a long way to Tipperary,
 * Paddy wrote a letter
 * It's a long way to Tipperary,
 * Molly wrote a neat reply
 * It's a long way to Tipperary,
 * Extra wartime verse**
 * That's the wrong way to tickle Mary,

[] click to hear music lyrics to song below link We've watched you playing cricket and every kind of game, At football, golf and polo you men have made your name. But now your country calls you to play your part in war. And no matter what befalls you We shall love you all the more. So come and join the forces As your fathers did before. Oh, we don't want to lose you but we think you ought to go. For your King and your country both need you so. We shall want you and miss you But with all our might and main We shall cheer you, thank you, bless you When you come home again.We shall love you all the more. So come and join the forces As your fathers did before.** .
 * Your King and Country Want You

Photos:

machiene gun used mainly during the war... took 4-6 men to control. Also in theory, machiene guns could fire up to 600 rounds in one minute.

soilders during the war would suffer and die... Men during the war would suffer from many diseases like influenza, trench fever, diabetes, and louse infestation.

​ poetry:

The War Sonnets I. Peace Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour, And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping, With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power, To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping, Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary, Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move, And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary, And all the little emptiness of love! Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there, Where there's no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending, Naught broken save this body, lost but breath; Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there But only agony, and that has ending; And the worst friend and enemy is but Death
 * Rupert Brooke**

SONNET On Seeing a Piece of Our Heavy Artillery Brought into Action Be slowly lifted up, thou long black arm, Great Gun towering towards Heaven, about to curse; Sway steep against them, and for years rehearse Huge imprecations like a blasting charm! Reach at that Arrogance which needs thy harm, And beat it down before its sins grow worse. Spend our resentment, cannon, -- yea, disburse Our gold in shapes of flame, our breaths in storm.
 * Wilfred Owen**

Yet, for men's sakes whom thy vast malison Must wither innocent of enmity, Be not withdrawn, dark arm, thy spoilure done, Safe to the bosom of our prosperity. But when thy spell be cast complete and whole, May God curse thee, and cut thee from our soul!

**Wilfred Owen** Futility Move him into the sun-- Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields unsown. Always it woke him, even in France, Until this morning and this snow. If anything might rouse him now The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds,-- Woke, once, the clays of a cold star. Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides, Full-nerved-- still warm,-- too hard to stir? Was it for this the clay grew tall? -- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break earth's sleep at all?

Rain Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me Remembering again that I shall die And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks For washing me cleaner than I have been Since I was born into this solitude. Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon: But here I pray that none whom once I loved Is dying tonight or lying still awake Solitary, listening to the rain, Either in pain or thus in sympathy Helpless among the living and the dead, Like a cold water among broken reeds, Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff, Like me who have no love which this wild rain Has not dissolved except the love of death, If love it be for what is perfect and Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.
 * Edward Thomas**