This week’s choice is the lyrics to “Forever Autumn” by Jeff Wayne, a song tangentially connected to autumn which expresses the desperation and desolation of loss.
Through autumn’s golden gown we used to kick our way,
Jeff Wayne (1943—) and H.G. Wells (1866—1946)
You always loved this time of year
Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now
‘Cause you’re not here
‘Cause you’re not here
‘Cause you’re not here
Poem 409. Forever Autumn
For three days I fought my way along roads packed with refugees,
The homeless, burdened with boxes and bundles containing their valuables.
All that was of value to me was in London.
By the time I reached their little red brick house, Carrie and her father were gone.
The summer sun is fading as the year grows old,
And darker days are drawing near,
The winter winds will be much colder,
Now you’re not here.
I watch the birds fly south across the autumn sky
And one by one they disappear,
I wish that I was flying with them
Now you’re not here.
Like the sun through the trees you came to love me,
Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away…
Through autumn’s golden gown we used to kick our way,
You always loved this time of year
Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now
’Cause you’re not here
’Cause you’re not here
’Cause you’re not here
Fire suddenly leapt from house to house.
The population panicked and ran, and I was swept along with them, aimless and lost without Carrie. Finally, I headed eastward for the ocean and my only hope of survival: a boat out of England.
Like the sun through the trees you came to love me,
Like a leaf on the breeze you blew away…
A gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes
As if to hide a lonely tear
My life will be forever autumn,
’Cause you’re not here
’Cause you’re not here
’Cause you’re not here
As I hastened through Covent Garden, Blackfriars and Billingsgate,
More and more people joined the painful exodus.
Sad, weary women, their children stumbling in the street with tears,
Their men bitter and angry, the rich rubbing shoulders with beggars and outcasts.
Dogs snarled and whined, the horse’s bits were covered with foam,
And here and there were wounded soldiers, as helpless as the rest.
We saw tripods wading up the Thames,
Cutting through bridges as though they were paper.
Waterloo bridge, Westminster bridge, one appeared above Big Ben.
Ulla!
Never before in the history of the world,
Had such a mass of human beings moved and suffered together.
This was no disciplined march, it was a stampede,
Without order and without a goal, six million people unarmed and unprovisioned driving headlong.
It was the beginning of the rout of civilization, of the massacre of mankind.
A vast crowd buffeted me towards the already packed steamer.
I looked up enviously at those safely on board… straight into the eyes of my beloved Carrie.
At sight of me she began to fight her way along the packed deck to the gangplank.
At that very moment, it was raised,
And I caught a last glimpse of her despairing face as the crowd swept me away from her.
Like the sun through the trees you came to love me,
Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away…
Through autumn’s golden gown we used to kick our way
You always loved this time of year
Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now
’Cause you’re not here
’Cause you’re not here
’Cause you’re not here
This is necessarily a mix of Wells’s prose and Jeff Wayne’s lyrics—Forever Autumn plays as the Journalist describes the dissolution of society and the exodus of refugees from London: we see the people of London driven from their city contrasted with the personal agonies of the Journalist as he fights through the crowds, first to get home to his wife Carrie and then to attempt to get away on a steamer only to find his wife is on the last departing ship.
Interspersed with the text (lifted from chapter 27 of the book) are the haunting lyrics of the song, expressing the desolate and lonely feelings of the Journalist which reflect the autumnal depression we sometimes feel—the darker nights and the colder days bear down on our spirits at times even as the coruscating greens, golds and russets of the leaves lift them up.
The introduction tells of the Journalist’s return to his London home, struggling against the tide of refugees, striving to reach his wife Carrie only to find the house derelict and her already gone to seek safety.
The first verse of the song evokes the falling temperatures and sinking daylight which will be even colder and darker without Carrie; this is strengthened by the next verse which reminds us of the migrating birds that also signal the closing of the year—the Journalist wishes he could fly south with them to a better place now that there’s nothing to tie him to his home. Carrie’s arrival in his life is like a sunbeam shining through the trees; her loss is like leaves blowing away in the wind.
The third verse pictures the couple making their way through drifts of leaves, and wistfully recalls how much Carrie enjoyed the autumn sights and sounds, and that those same drifts lie untouched now because she’s not there.
We get an interjection from the text here as the factual side of the Journalist reports the destruction of London and the panicked rout of the crowd which sweeps him along towards the east coast as he hopes to get passage on a ship out of the country.
The song returns with a repeat of the Journalist’s wistful memories of Carrie, and expresses his desolation and loneliness, thankfully concealed by the rain (this reminds me of the Everly Brothers hit “Crying in the Rain”). Without Carrie, he is nothing, and his life is declining like the fall of the year.
The Journalist’s reporter instincts return and he shows us terrified people straggling through London, struggling against their fellow men and women; dogs and horses catch the panic in the air, and wounded soldiers compounding the sense of futility and despair. The Martians are seen at the height of their power, breaking bridges, exerting their control over the city and its population: one of their fighting machines is pictured against the Houses of Parliament to emphasise that they have subjugated the political class as well as the ordinary people. “Ulla!” the Martians cry in their own language, and we can only interpret it as a howl of triumph.
The next paragraph is taken wholesale from the novel and it is an incredible expression of the desperation and sorrow of a people driven from their homes for motives that seem unfathomable to the victims. Wells was writing in 1898 but his vision of refugees driven from their homes by war echoes down the last 127 years and we have seen it in the Russian pogroms of the early 20th Century, the slaughter of the First World War, the genocide committed by the Nazis in the Second World War, the wars in Korea and Vietnam, the more recent and considerably more technological wars in Syria, Iraq, and the destruction currently being wreaked in eastern Europe and in Gaza. Each of these conflicts has forced increasingly vast numbers of people from their homes: they have been forced to vacate their comforts at a moment’s notice in the interest of survival, just as the people in The War of the Worlds panic and run for safety as the invading Martians destroy their houses and the lives they once knew: “Without order and without a goal, six million people unarmed and unprovisioned driving headlong”.
It is difficult for people who have never suffered the privations caused by war to imagine why refugees flee as far as possible from their troubles but The War of the Worlds reminds us that although the premise is science fiction, the outcomes are entirely human. An unforeseen cataclysmic event might yet bring us to the same fate—would we not expect to be helped and housed in our desperation.
We return to the personal as the Journalist arrives at the quayside, too late to board the last ship but just in time to discover that Carrie is aboard. The crowd bears him away from the departing ship but he is at least assured that his wife is safe.
The song plays out, repeating the wistful memories of their times together, but it seems as if the sorrow is blended with hope: the Journalist may be separated from Carrie but he knows that she lives and is as safe as possible aboard a steamer heading away from the chaos that the Martians have brought.
This song reminds me of the love Nicola and I shared, and the feelings of loss and loneliness that I have experienced since she died. Despite that, I find it uplifting and enjoyable with Richard Burton’s distinctive tones bringing a sense of the gravity of the disaster, reminiscent of the authoritative reporting of many respected journalists.
This part of Jeff Wayne’s opus, starring Richard Burton as the Journalist and Justin Hayward singing the lyrics is on YouTube. There’s another video where Justin Hayward tells the story behind the song. I’d encourage anyone who hasn’t heard the whole album to do so. The book is available on Project Gutenberg. Some day I hope to enjoy the live version.