To mark Remembrance Day, I have chosen “Naming of Parts” by Henry Reed.
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Henry Reed (1914—1986)
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For to-day we have naming of parts.
Poem 346. Lessons of the War (To Alan Michell); 1. Naming of Parts
To-day we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day,
To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighbouring gardens,
And to-day we have naming of parts.
This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.
This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.
And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.
They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For to-day we have naming of parts.
This poem sounds like a part of a script for the old BBC series “Dad’s Army.” We have the voice of the punctilious sergeant-instructor droning through the tedious itemised list of parts of a rifle, and the inner voice of the narrator, half listening as they gaze distractedly at the gardens outside. At the end of each stanza, the thoughts of the narrator resonate with the words of their instructor, each using the same words but with a radically different meaning.
The poem opens with the voice of the instructor introducing the subject of the day and we immediately get a feeling of ennui—the list of topics sounds quite tedious and trifling, and we know that this instructor is going to explain everything in minute detail and will enjoy doing so, regardless of his audience. The narrator is already gazing out of the window at the bright colours of the japonica in the nearby gardens, and only tangentially notes the subject to be covered.
The instructor gets into his stride and expands on the various types of swivels associated with the rifle and once again, we are struck by the petty focus on these minutiae. In the meantime, the narrator is looking at the motionless branches of the trees, frozen as if interrupted in some movement but the trainees don’t have silence or eloquence—they have the voice of their instructor.
The instructor moves on to operating the safety-catch and rather officiously dictates the way it should be operated but the narrator’s attention is focused on the flowers in the garden, considering their transient nature and how their beauty is effortless—“never letting anyone see/Any of them using their finger.”
The fourth stanza has the instructor moving the bolt of the rifle rapidly back and forth to work the spring of the gun and make it easier to operate–“easing the spring”; the narrator is now watching the bees visiting the flowers, “assaulting and fumbling” them—graphic words perhaps more associated with conflict than cross-pollination, but the narrator takes the instructor’s phrase and applies it to the work of these insects, giving “easing the Spring” another, more innocent meaning.
The narrator takes over for the final stanza—we can imagine that he has almost completely tuned out the instructor and is lost in his ruminations on the flowers, shrubs and insects, although snatches of terminology occasionally break through and are also incorporated into our narrator’s thoughts: “the point of balance,/Which in our case we have not got” seems like a comment on the war itself—the world situation is itself unbalanced and affects everyone.
I have always liked this poem without really knowing why. I enjoy the contrast between the military man explaining the workings of a rifle and the apathetic dreamer looking out of the window and wishing they could enjoy the spring. Returning to the “Dad’s Army” motif, I can imagine John Le Mesurier gazing out of the window as Arthur Lowe endeavours to instruct him in the parts of a Lee-Enfield. Whenever I find that something is missing, the thought “In our case we have not got” always runs through my mind.
I was delighted to find a website focusing on Reed’s poetry which has the man himself as the narrator and Frank Duncan as the sergeant-instructor performing “The Complete Lessons of the War” including “Naming of Parts” on the BBC’s Third Programme (14 February 1966). There is also a video on YouTube of Harold Liberty who does an excellent reading of the poem. Mr. Liberty is a volunteer at Bletchley Park and this is quite appropriate since Reed worked at Bletchley Park during the Second World War, breaking Italian and Japanese codes and ciphers.