Ian Jack (We remembered the battle of Jutland, but we are losing our awe of the sea, 4 June) forgot one great poem about the Battle of Jutland – My Boy Jack by Rudyard Kipling. This is understandable because the poem has been wrongly identified and adopted as an elegy to Kipling’s son John, who lost his life at Loos on the western front in September 1915. However, John Kipling was never called “Jack”. Rather the poem mourned the loss of John (known as Jack) Cornwell, who won, as Ian Jack notes, a posthumous VC at Jutland.
Kipling’s poem originally appeared with an article written in October 1916 called Destroyers at Jutland. It becomes a lament for all those who died at sea – particularly those at Jutland – and is made more universal by the connotation between “Jack” and “Jack Tar”, the common term for sailor. Kipling wrote widely about the sea – its physical dangers, its excitements and its contribution to Britain’s island history and sense of identity. Look at his poem The Harp Song of the Dane Women for a heart-rending cry about the cruelty of the sea, which robbed families of loved ones.
The sea hasn’t much entered the Brexit debate. And that may be because, as Jack suggests, it is now so little part of the national consciousness.
Andrew Lycett
London
• The commemorations of Jack Cornwell (Report, 27 May) beg many questions. Historians and heritage professionals vie to upgrade his grave, refurbish the cartoon of the Frank Salisbury painting and retell what no one can possibly know – what actually happened to a scared-witless, injured boy behind a shattered gun. What is happening in 2016 is nothing compared to the aftermath in 1916. After much debate as to the merits of the incident, Salisbury was requested to paint it by Lords Balfour and Bethell. The painting was unveiled by the lord mayor at the Mansion House and the first sea lord accepted it on behalf of the Admiralty. Messages were read from Lord Jellicoe and Admiral Sir David Beatty. It had the place of honour in the Royal Academy exhibition. That was only the beginning as 12,000 colour reproductions were distributed to schools and hundreds of sepia prints to “the youth of the nation”. Cornwell’s death was transformed by a publicity machine that puts 21st-century spin doctors in the shade. For what purpose? Could more boys be needed to fight new Jutlands on sea and land? Cornwell’s mother (a widow) received nothing from the Cornwell memorial fund despite walking from East Ham to the Admiralty to beg for money. She died in poverty. Her children emigrated to Canada in despair. Was the Cornwell story that of a brave young hero dying in utterly dreadful circumstances? Or was there some exploitation from forces hierarchies then and heritage buffs now?
Nigel McMurray
Author of Frank O Salisbury, ‘Painter Laureate’
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