Last evening, from the heavy tome entitled ‘Weller’s War’, a compilation of war correspondence from 1941 - 45, I read the following:
The Japs had been raiding (Java) at nine in the morning and five in the afternoon for the last two weeks. They had just left, Australian ground crewmen said.
One of them said, “We stayed in a grass hut and took turns through the night standing guard with the brilliant moon overhead, silhouetting the swaying palm trees and ferns. The lizards croaking in nearby bushes, and the night birds uttering their hoarse shrieks, made it unforgettable. At last dawn came and we took off as soon as the runway was visible.”
Less than three weeks later, Japanese parachutists were to descend on Koepang (on the island of Timor, east of Java), breaking the golden thread to the Indies. (pg. 268)
Amidst even war, scenes of beauty in nature have a unique impact and are long remembered, especially when some description is recorded.
Here is another description, made halfway around the world at about the same time:
The earth encourages man’s belief that it will treasure the traces of his existence for all time. The sea offers no such illusion: before our very eyes it wipes away our footprints.
When the moon breaks momentarily through the headlong rush of clouds, wispy braids of silver ripple across the dark waters. As the moonlight flickers, the waves are transformed from jagged silhouettes into silver-veined slopes of astonishing plasticity, strewn with moon currents, moon glitter, furrows of moon shadow. This gleaming, streaming, and rippling of silver is quite incomparable. It is not of this world. (U-BOAT WAR, Lothar-Gunther Buchheim, author of ‘The Boat’)
Though Buchheim was aboard a German sub to record its history in words and photographs, the voice and appearance of nature provided inspiration for some of his most gripping memories.
Many sailors from other countries, e.g., Canada, and aboard vessels trying to stay out of the crosshairs of U-Boat periscopes, looked upon the same oceans and waves and were affected by what they saw and heard.
The brief descriptions that follow come from my father’s naval memoirs. The crack of cannons no doubt were upon his mind, but nature’s solace appeared in a few forms.
Far off Gibraltar, the British bastion, we passed through the inky blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea as they joined the battle with the green waters of the Atlantic Ocean, which ruled in the end. (pg. 59, “Dad, well done”: The Naval Memoirs of LS Doug Harrison)
Tropical Night Romance - We encountered moonlit nights in which the silhouettes of our sister ships could be seen travelling across the shiny moonbeams on the ocean’s surface. It was peaceful, beautiful, a strangely quiet but dangerous sight. The only sounds were the wash from the propellor and the sound of steam from the small stack (sounding) like a man trying to conceal a bad cough. (pg. 62)
[SS Silver Walnut, merchant ship with LS Harrison aboard, circa 1943]
The Flying Fishes Play - One day as we lined the rail the sea appeared to boil and flying fish by the hundreds broke the surface of the ocean. Many flew into the ship, some onto the ship, and others flew over the ship. Those that didn’t appear hurt we tossed into the sea again after first having a good look at them. Up until this time I thought that flying fish were only a myth and appeared only “On the Road to Mandalay.” The Silver Walnut was compensating us for her breakdowns; she was showing us the sights of the sea. (pg. 63)
I suggest, that if nature’s calming voice was heard even in war time, it can still be heard today as we fight smaller battles on many fronts.
What say you?
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