Mary Webb was one of the poets featured in the first exhibition we produced - Female Poets of the First World War - which was held at The Wilfred Owen Story in Birkenhead, Wirral in November 2012
Mary began writing poetry at an early age. She married Henry Bertram Law Webb in 1912 and during the First World War, Mary lived near Pontesbury. She was deeply affected by the events of the First World War and was very worried about her three brothers. In 1925, Mary was awarded the “Femina Vie Heureuse” Award for her book “Precious Bane”.
Mary suffered ill health and died at St. Leonards-on-Sea, Sussex on 8th October 1927, aged 46. She was buried in Shrewsbury. Her work began to be appreciated after her death – she was referred to as “the neglected genius”. There is now a Mary Webb Society – about which more details can be found on the website at www.marywebbsociety.co.uk and a school in Shrewsbury – The Mary Webb School And Science College - has also been named after her.
“Like a Poppy on a Tower"
Like a poppy on a tower
The present hour!
The wind stirs, the wind awakes,
Beneath its feet the tower shakes.
All down the crannied wall
Torn scarlet petals fall,
Like scattered fire or shivered glass
And drifting with their motion pass
Torn petals of blue shadow
From the grey tower to the green meadow
"The Door"
I heard humanity, through all the years,
Wailing, and beating on a dark, vast door
With urgent hands and eyes blinded by tears.
Will none come forth to them for evermore?
Like children at their father's door, who wait,
Crying 'Let us in!' on some bright birthday morn,
Quite sure of joy, they grow disconsolate,
Left in the cold unanswered and forlorn.
Forgetting even their toys in their alarms,
They only long to climb on father's bed
And cry their terrors out in father's arms.
And maybe, all the while, their father's dead.
"To The World"
You took the rare blue from my cloudy sky;
You shot the one bird in my silent wood;
You crushed my rose--one rose alone had I.
You have not known. You have not understood.
I would have shown you pictures I have seen
Of unimagined mountains, plains and seas;
I would have made you songs of leafy green,
If you had left me some small ecstasies.
Now let the one dear field be only field,
That was a garden for the mighty gods.
Take you its corn. I keep its better yield--
The glory that I found within its clods.
Poems previously published in “Poems and The Spring Of Joy” by Mary Webb (London: Jonathan Cape,1928).
Mary’s WW1 poems were also published in three WW1 poetry anthologies.
English musician Richard Moult has set several of Mary’s poems to music and
these can be found on his 2006 CD “The Secret Joy” released by Cynfeirdd (CYN040).
https://femalewarpoets.blogspot.com/2012/11/audio-accompaniment-to-taster-exhibition.html
