It is one of the curiosities of the First World War that amongst the artillery bombardments and deprivations of life in the trenches, time was often found for soldiers to engage in literary pursuits. In an environment where the guarantee of individual life was measured in seconds, the fact that this conflict gave birth to a stunning array of written material cannot help but be interpreted with a degree of both admiration and bewilderment. Within this corpus of literature, personal diaries and letters are amongst the most revealing and have been instrumental in providing historians with excellent primary source material relating to the conduct of battle and the day-to-day life of rank-and-file soldiers. Novels and plays were also produced, which shared further insight into how their authors were able to endure harsh circumstances and make sense of the world they were forced to inhabit.Within this body of literature, historians can discern the influence of works by authors such as Thomas Hardy, Henry Newbolt, and Rabindranath Tagore. The work of these figures was frequently evoked by soldiers as a source of comfort and inspiration, and it was through this influence that soldiers learned to craft their responses to a seemingly incomprehensible war.
One of the most significant texts to impact the war era was the English Puritan and non-conformist John Bunyan’s famous spiritual allegory, The Pilgrim’s Progress. Bunyan’s account of Christian’s journey toward the Celestial Kingdom —and the trials and tribulations experienced along the way— appears to have resonated with soldiers who understood the narrative as describing a world similar to that of their immediate experience. Yet the influence of this text extended beyond its common designation as providing an apt analogy for the indescribable horrors of war. As a source of inspiration, The Pilgrim’s Progress also served as a way of assembling these experiences into a larger story of meaning and redemption- a process that necessitated an active engagement of the literary imagination. In demonstrating this tendency within various wartime authors, this article will further suggest that Bunyan’s cinematic writing style allows the reader to insert themselves into the character of Christian and adapt the trajectory of the pilgrimage in a way that reflects the personal struggles and hopes of the author.
The Pilgrim’s Progress and The Great War: Between Despair and Hope
Christian Creswell Carver (1897-1917) was a Lieutenant in the Royal Artillery who served in France between 1915-17. Carver’s experiences in combat are detailed via the extensive letters he penned to his family, many of which offer a unique insight into the psychological state of a front-line soldier. What immediately captures the reader’s attention is Carver’s steadfastness in the face of the violence and chaos surrounding him. His letters reveal a patient forbearing which attempts to make the best of the brutality that marked his day-to-day existence. At times, Carver even expresses his concern that life in a post-war age would be “hopelessly dull.” Writing to his brother in May 1917, Carver describes his fear of such monotony:
In fact, after the war I feel certain that I could not enjoy a peace existence without occasional little wars, expeditions up the Amazon and to the North Pole and so forth. I only hope they will be forthcoming.
These are not the words of a naïve soldier caught up in innocent conceptions of the glory of war but are instead the reflections of one who had been actively engaged in battle for two years. Whatever his personal feelings as to the broader justification for the conflict, Carver’s participation in battle appeared to be fulfilling some longing for adventure which had not been diminished through witnessing the death and destruction around him. In Carver’s mind, it was through engagement in the valorous acts of war that otherwise ordinary men were transformed into heroes:
The soldier cannot help feeling he has plumbed much greater depths, is, in fact, so much more of a man as God means men to be. In a great many things, we have passed out of the old order, while the new is still unborn. Take the men of the new armies, – 3 years ago they belonged to a perfunctory congregationalism, units in the old muddled business of life. Now they have passed into a Heroic age.
Such attitudes towards the Great War can easily confound, especially in light of broader historiography that accentuates its overall futility and senseless carnage. How then are we to make sense of the dichotomy between the horrors of industrialised slaughter and the sense of existential fulfilment the war appeared to provide soldiers like Carver? One answer seems to be that the war offered —in a multitude of forms— an excitement that extended beyond the mundaneness of civilian life.
Certainly, Carver was not alone in his sense that war was fulfilling some deep-seated psychological need for action. In 1916 Winston Churchill is recorded to have said that he enjoyed ‘every second’ of the war. Within Germany, the young lance corporal Adolf Hitler would later describe his experiences in the Great War as “the greatest and most unforgettable time of my earthly existence.” Nevertheless, from the perspective of much contemporary historiography, it remains difficult to conceive of how the well-documented slaughter and deprivations of the war could be experienced in any other way than a deep dread.
A more substantive response to this paradox lies in the way in which Carver conceived of his personal mission within the broader context of war, and it is on this point that the influence of The Pilgrim’s Progress becomes apparent. Irrespective of the depth of Carver’s convictions as to whether the war was justified, his letters reveal a sense that his task was to survive the day-to-day tribulations he faced and emerge into what he later referred to as the ‘kingdom of light.” Carver often framed this in terms of a spiritual quest that was predicated on three underlying principles which guided his actions: a present knowledge of death, instinctive belief in a future redemption, all of which were underlined by a belief in God. The constant reality of death was viewed by Carver through the lens of Christian’s battle with Apollyon, with the winged slayer representing enemies in the external world as well as those of the mind and spirit. What mattered for Carver was that he persisted throughout these afflictions with faith that God would ultimately come to his aid.
This aspect of The Pilgrim’s Progress was also drawn upon by the British General Ian Hamilton, whose diary describes the need for the wandering soldier to be “as punctilios about each footstep as Christian in The Pilgrim’s Progress.”Like Carver, Hamilton’s awareness of the imminence of death sees him cling to the idea of a divine purpose:
Almighty God, watchman of the Milky Way, shepherd of the golden stars, have mercy on us, smallest of the heavenly shiners. Our star burns dim as a corpse light: the huge black chasm of space closes in: if only by blood…? Thy will be done. En avant- at all costs- en avant!
Interestingly, Carver often accentuates the individualistic element of this quest, which closely reflects Part 1 of The Pilgrim’s Progress. Here Christian journey’s is a largely solitary one, in which he must navigate the often-treacherous path toward his final destination. Along the way, Christian is offered all manner of worldly advice which purports to assist him in his quest. In the end, however, Christian must walk alone and follow the dictates of his conscience. Carver appears to be articulating a similar sentiment when he describes that the chaos of war had forced soldiers to reckon with the depths of their motivations. At the end of the day, what ultimately mattered was that one was acting in line with personal values. As Carver wrote shortly before his death, “these times of trial and danger certainly bring out the best in people.”
The Pilgrim’s Progress also offered Carver a descriptive basis upon which he could craft his response to the events in which he was involved. An example of this can be seen in a letter to his brother from March 1917. Describing an experience on the Somme, Carver writes:
To our right and below us is the river stretching across a vista of broken stumps, running water and shell pools, to the skeleton gleaming white of another village on the far bank. If only an artist could paint the grim scene now while the hand of war and death is still hovering over it. In our steel helmets and chain visors we somehow recall Pilgrim’s Progress, armoured figures passing through the valley of the shadow. On– for Apollyon’s talons are ever near.
As Paul Fussell has noted, Carver viewed himself as an ‘actor’ who was enacting a version of The Pilgrim’s Progress in real life. Although Bunyan’s text is not a prophetic foreshadowing of the circumstances of the First World War, it was related enough in narrative and imagery for soldiers to recognize its symbolic power. In the letter above, Carver acknowledges the similarity of his situation to that of Christian’s struggle with Apollyon, but it is described in his own language and through his own visual references. Herein lies one of the most important gifts The Pilgrim’s Progress bestowed upon its First World War readers who were enmeshed in direct combat: it created an imaginative anchor point that could be referred to, but which also required individual appropriation on the part of its readers.
The influence of The Pilgrim’s Progress was also expressed in the realm of poetic verse. Indeed, poetry appeared to be a natural literary genre through which soldiers could give expression to that which defied reason. One such example of this tendency is the authorship of Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), who fought in the Manchester Regiment. Owen’s literary style represents a break with much of the war literature being produced at the time, chiefly due to his repeated emphasis on the horrors of combat. For Owen, participation in the war held no sense of excitement and adventure as it did for Carver, but was instead a deeply despairing experience, as is reflected in his poem Anthem for Doomed Youth.
Owen’s introduction to The Pilgrim’s Progress came in childhood when his mother would undertake nightly readings of the story to Wilfred and his siblings. Captivated by Bunyan’s story, Owen’s future writings would combine references to The Pilgrim’s Progress as well as stark biblical imagery to convey the depth of his response to the war. In attempting to describe the battlefield upon which he was fighting, Owen wrote:
It is like the eternal place of gnashing teeth; the slough of Despond could be contained in one of its crater-holes; the fires of Sodom and Gomorrah could not light a candle to it- to find the way to Babylon the fallen.
Owen’s prose displays an uncanny ability to describe the bloodshed of war with traces of the romantic and aesthetic sensibilities which marked much poetic language throughout the war era. And while Owen’s direct references to The Pilgrim’s Progress are limited, it is clear that it remained an important psychological reference point that stimulated his dark poetic imagination. Writing in a poem titled Exposure, Owen’s reflections on the desolation of war evokes Christian and Hopeful’s isolation and despair whilst trapped in Doubting Castle:
Since we believe not otherwise can kind fires burn;
Nor ever suns smile true on child, or field, or fruit.
For God’s invincible spring our love is made afraid;
Therefore, not loath, we lie out here; therefore were born,
For the love of God seems dying.
For Owen, the harsh conditions of war and its senseless slaughter causes him to wonder if the very love of God was in retreat from the world- a truly terrifying notion. The idea of a cold and distant God was reflected not only in the scene in Doubting Castle but also in the personal writings of Bunyan, who had described in his spiritual autobiography his sense of God as being removed from the world of his experience.
The conceptual backdrop of The Pilgrim’s Progress is also present in the work of several lesser-known texts penned during the war era. One such example is the poetry of Eric Shepherd, of whom relatively little is known in terms of biography. In a 1916 collection of poetry aptly titled ‘Pilgrimage,’ Shepherd displays an affinity for the role of the individual pilgrim who was compelled to make their way in the world against all external threats and enemies:
In sober garments clad, his staff in hand,
The Pilgrim fares; and comes by devious wars
Past ancient land-marks, ‘neath the austere gaze
Of mountains, and through forest-depths unscanned.
By water sometimes, and again by land,
His long quest leads him; often too he strays,
Loathing his path, and so for many days
Wanders ‘mid stones and over wastes of sand.
What is interesting about Shepherd’s poetry is his ability to juxtapose beauty and danger in a way that harkens back to Bunyan’s description of Christian enjoying moments of peaceful respite irrespective of ongoing danger. This dynamic is evident in Christian’s perilous steps through the chained lions, after which he finds rest at the Palace Beautiful. Before departing the Palace, he is shown the Delectable Mountains in the distance as a foretaste of his final resting place in the kingdom of God. For Shepherd, too, the Pilgrim enjoys the beauty and peace of the natural world as moments of restoration along the pilgrim’s path. While acknowledging the presence of ‘hostile powers,’ Shepherd remains fixated on “that last horizon” which shines in ‘clear beams of uncreated light,” thus revealing an essential thematic link with Bunyan’s Celestial City.
Perhaps, too, it was Christian’s eventual salvation that offered an overall context of hope that soldiers could draw on to gain a sense of meaning and purpose. This emphasis can be observed in the work of Henry Williamson, whose retrospective account of the war, The Patriot’s Progress, is replete with imagery and symbolism lifted directly from Bunyan’s tale. Although Williamson’s story does not frame the overarching narrative in the context of a march toward final redemption, it does offer glimpses of hope and purpose. An important representation of this relates to the longing for meaning amongst suffering. Just as Christian understood his pilgrimage as a journey toward salvation, so too did Williamson depict soldiers as participating in a battle with a teleological purpose. In one scene, the Colonel of the fictitious ‘Blankshire Regiment’ addressed his troops prior to battle, reminding them that their fight was a Holy one: “Our cause is righteous, and God will crown our efforts with Victory, of that no-right-thinking man can doubt for a moment.” With the trials and hardships being framed as essential elements in a divine plan, it was easier to reconcile the war as necessary suffering rather than meaningless desolation.
Imagination and Transformation in the Interpretation of The Pilgrim’s Progress
In his overview of the various literary and dramatic adaptions of The Pilgrim’s Progress, Christopher E. Garrett notes several cinematic projects which have utilised Bunyan’s allegory as a source of inspiration. The first of these —a black and white silent film—appeared in 1912, a mere two years before the outbreak of war. These adaptions point to a feature within Bunyan’s literary style that reflects a keen ability to utilise cinematic imagery to engage the imagination of his readers. One of the most significant methods through which this is achieved is via Bunyan’s descriptions of the geographic landscape in which his characters exist. It has been suggested that in crafting his imaginary world, Bunyan was able to draw on his native Bedfordshire as a source of inspiration. Whether this is true or not, it is clear that within the Pilgrim’s Progress, the landscape functions almost as an auxiliary character within the narrative and is in a constant state of flux between good and evil. That territory which is sacred and ordained by God as a place of rest for weary pilgrims bears all the hallmarks one would expect from a peaceful natural environment: lush green trees which produced fruit, fields of flowers and vineyards, and the Delectable mountains. This is contrasted with recurring intrusions of danger, treachery, and desolation: wilderness, deserts, drought, and shadows all make their appearance throughout the text as if to mock the sanctity of creation. It is perhaps for this reason that Bunyan can so successfully cultivate a sense of insecurity throughout the first part of the Pilgrim’s Progress. Here it is the lone Christian who must face what is for him new territory- both in a spiritual and physical sense. Although he may experience periods of respite along the way, the forces of darkness were always ready to wage bloody battle. It is little wonder that soldiers were able to so deeply relate to this sense of trepidation.
A particular skill of Bunyan’s in describing these dual landscapes is his ability to balance detail with an economy of language. Just enough literary flourish is provided to awaken the curiosity of the reader, who must then fill in the gaps using the internal resources of their creative imagination. In effect, this means that each reader of The Pilgrim’s Progress is provided with the opportunity to craft their own world which compliments the unfolding story. This dynamic, which is inherent to Bunyan’s literary style, is reflected in the numerous artworks and illustrations that often accompany printed editions of his works. Within the context of the First World War, it is unsurprising that it was Bunyan’s evocative scenes of destruction, danger, and tribulation which most captivated those soldiers for whom everyday life represented another dance with death.
As in the writing of Wilfred Owens, the visual metaphor of the Slough of Despond and the biblical narrative of Sodom and Gomorrah are enhanced and reframed according to his direct engagement in such conditions. This is a trend also observable in the writing of war correspondent Philip Gibbs, who in 1917 described his experiences at Passchendaele with reference to The Pilgrim’s Progress:
Nothing that I can write will convey remotely the look of such ground and the horror of it. Unless one has seen vast fields of barren earth, blasted for miles by shell-fire, pitted by deep creators so close that they are like holes in a sieve, and so deep that the tallest men can drown in them when they are filled with water, as they are now filled, imagination cannot conceive the picture of this slough of despond into which our modern Christians plunge with packs on their backs and faith in their hearts to face the dragons of fire a thousand times more frightful than those encountered in the Pilgrim’s Progress.
Such prose is another example of how the imagery of The Pilgrim’s Progress functioned as a cinematic reference point which was drawn on to stimulate Gibb’s descriptions of the environment around him. Even so, Gibb’s acknowledges the inadequacy of The Pilgrim’s Progress to fully encapsulate his experience, thus reiterating the essential point that its primary contribution was one of evoking an imaginative response to war.
One of the most evocative and creative authors to draw on The Pilgrim’s Progress as a source of inspiration was the English soldier and poet Siegfried Sassoon. Sassoon’s experiences in the British Army were notable for their displays of valour, and his direct involvement in the brutality of combat had a substantial impact on his writing style. Free from excessive sentimentality that marked other poets of the war era, Sassoon’s poems dealt with the gritty realities of soldiers who, by virtue of their participation in war, become “citizens of death’s gray land.” Sassoon was heavily influenced by The Pilgrim’s Progress– an influence which is obvious in the third volume of his fictionalised autobiography, Sherston’s Progress. Here Sassoon describes his life as representing the character of Faithful who was journeying to the Celestial City. This influence also permeated his poetry, where traces of imagery lifted from The Pilgrim’s Progress are discernible, albeit not explicit. As with Wilfrid Owen, Sassoon reveals an ability to build upon Bunyan’s imagery and transform it into something reflective of his literary style and beliefs about the war. In a poem titled Break of Day, Sassoon describes the hopelessness of his condition, with his despair echoing Christian’s dark night of the soul while captured in Doubting Castle:
Where men are crushed like clods, and crawl to find
Some crater for their wretchedness; who lie
In outcast immolation, doomed to die
Far from clean things or any hope of cheer.
A similar sentiment is expressed in Stand-To: Good Friday Morning, whereby Sassoon pleads with Jesus for an end to his life:
O Jesus, send me a wound to-day,
And I’ll believe in Your bread and wine,
And get my bloody old sins washed white!
What is particularly interesting about Sassoon’s reflection is its almost sarcastic tone. Unlike Christian, who cried out earnestly to God for deliverance, Sassoon accuses God of causing his present condition and faintly mocks the sacramental heart of Christianity. In this way, despair is channelled into anger towards the divine- a dynamic largely absent from The Pilgrim’s Progress. This image displays a significant disparity between the role of Christian as partaking in a predestined pilgrimage and the role of the soldier as one abandoned by God to endure the horrors of war and represents and move beyond the thematic confines of Bunyan’s text.
Conclusion: Beyond Metaphor
It remains a distinct irony that the brutal hardships of the First World War also resulted in such an astounding outpouring of diverse literature. That soldiers engaging in the day-to-day violence of combat could also find the internal reserves to put pen to paper points not only to the resilience of the authors themselves but also to the power of literature to function as a source of coping and transcendence. Within this environment, John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress played an essential role as a source of literary inspiration through which soldiers were able to have their apocalyptic experiences validated. Bunyan’s metaphors- such as the battle with Apollyon or the journey through the Slough of Despond- led many to strongly identify with the central protagonist, who also struggled with feelings of dejection, hopelessness, and sorrow.
However, The Pilgrim’s Progress offered these soldiers more than a collection of metaphors. While it certainly offered this in abundance, its overarching narrative also functioned as a prompt that encouraged its wartime readers to engage with their literary imagination. Bunyan’s skill at evoking creative responses to his work meant that soldiers were at liberty to craft their imaginary world which functioned as a theatre for exploration. This feature is discerned in the writings of authors such as Wilfrid Owens, Christian Creswell Carver, and Eric Shepherd, who in their respective ways utilised The Pilgrim’s Progress as a tool to articulate the otherwise inexpressible. Building upon Bunyan’s imagery and symbolism, these authors sought above all to come to terms with the harsh world in which they existed and to transform this world into something both comprehensible and meaningful. In so doing, they have bequeathed history a legacy that bears witness to the enduring significance of Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress as a source of literary inspiration.
 Erich Maria Remarque’s 1928 novel All Quiet on the Western Front has been especially important in shaping public attitudes towards the First World War. Again in 1928, the English army officer and playwright Robert Cedric Sherriff’s play Journey’s End drew on his experiences in the trenches near Aisne toward the end of the War. Journey’s End captures the monotony and despair of combat, which is often laced with humour and wit. See Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front (New York: Fawcett Crest, 1991); Robert Cedric Sherriff, Journey’s End (London: Penguin, 2018).
 The famous war poet Wilfred Owen quoted from Tagore’s Gitanjali in his final letter to his Mother, writing that “what I have seen is unsurpassable.” See Poets and Poetry, ed. by R.K. Sadler, T.A.S. Hayllar and C.J. Powell (South Yarra: MacMillan, 1992), p. 159.
 Bernard Bergonzi has rightly written that “the literary records of the Great War can be seen as a series of attempts to evolve a response that would have some degree of adequacy to the unparalleled situation in which the writers were involved.” Bernard Bergonzi, Heroes’ Twilight: A Study of the Literature of the Great War (London: Constable, 1965), p. 41. As much as this may be generally true, it does not fully explain why Bunyan’s text should so deeply resonate with soldiers in particular.
 Christian Creswell Carver, Letters and Diaries (Birmingham: Cornish Brothers, 1920), p. 307.
 Ibid, 323. On the idea that participation in war turned ordinary men into heroes, see Louise Maunsell Field, ‘War Makes the Hero’, The North American Review, 235 (1933), 370-75.
 Historian George Robb describes it thus: “the popular view of the First World War as a brutal and senseless slaughter is so deeply held that it appears impervious to historical revisionism.” George Robb, British Culture and the First World War, 2nd edn (London: Palgrave, 2015), p. 228.
 These words were recorded in the personal diary of Violet Asquith, who had met with the Churchills for dinner in February 1915. See Jonathan Rose, The Literary Churchill: Author, Reader, Actor (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014), p. 131.
 Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf, trans Ralph Manheim (London: Pimlico, 2001), p. 150.
 Certainly, Carver at times struggled with feelings of deep hopelessness related to how he viewed the apparent meaninglessness of war. See Michael Davies, ‘The Pilgrim’s Progress (1678): Chasing Apollyon’s Tale’, in The Oxford Handbook on John Bunyan, ed. by Michael Davies and W.R. Owens (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), p. 256. On other occasions Carver appeared to view his participation in combat in more uplifting terms.
 Carver, Letters and Diaries, p. 328.
 Ibid, 324. There are obvious parallels between the Carver’s ‘kingdom of light’ and Bunyan’s Celestial City.
 Davies, The Pilgrim’s Progress, p. 256.
 Sir Ian Hamilton, Gallipoli Diary (London: Edward Arnold, 1920), p. 256.
 Ibid, 125.
 Ibid, 344.
 Ibid, 276.
 Fussell, The Great War, p. 152.
 “What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? – Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle.” Wilfred Owen, ‘Anthem for Doomed Youth,’ in The Poems of Wilfred Owen, ed. Edmund Blunden (London: Chatto and Windus, 1931), p. 80.
 Jon Stallworthy, Wilfred Owen (London: Pimlico, 2013), p. 30.
 As quoted in Stallworthy, Wilfred Owen, p. 158.
 Ted Bogacz understands such language (termed here as “high diction”) as reflective of an English resistance to the industrial age. See Ted Bogacz, ‘“A Tyranny of Words”: Language, Poetry, and Antimodernism in England in the First World War’, The Journal of Modern History, 58 (1986), 643-68.
 Owen, ‘Exposure,’ in The Poems of Wilfred Owen, p. 54.
 John Bunyan, Grace Abounding with Other Spiritual Autobiographies, ed. John Stachniewski and Anita Pacheo (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), p. 24.
 Within the Australian military context, the influence of The Pilgrim’s Progress can be seen in Lance -Corporal Cobber, The ANZAC Pilgrim’s Progress: Ballads of Australia’s Army, ed. A. St. John Adcock (London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co., 1918).
 Eric Shepherd, ‘The Pilgrim’, in Pilgrimage: Poems by Eric Shepherd (London: Longmans, Green, and CO., 1916).
 Henry Williamson, The Patriot’s Progress (London: MacDonald and Jane’s, 1976, original 1930), p. 37. On Williamson’s experiences in the trenches see also Anne Williamson, A Patriot’s Progress: Henry Williamson and the First World War (Gloucester: Alan Sutton, 1998).
 Christopher E. Garrett, ‘Other Pilgrims: Sequels, Imitations, and Adaptions of The Pilgrim’s Progress’, International Journal of English Literature and Social Sciences, 5 (2020): 13-20 (p. 17).
 Albert J. Foster, Bunyan’s Country: Studies in the Topography of Pilgrim’s Progress (London: H. Virtue, 1911).
 David E. Smith and Gillett G. Griffin have offered a perceptive analysis of the illustrations contained within Pilgrim’s Progress up till the year 1970. Although the authors conclude that the artworks produced under the inspiration of Pilgrim’s Progress grew steadily more commercialised and superficial over time, this does not alter the essential point that the text captivated the creative imagination across generations. See David E. Smith and G. Griffin. Gillett, ‘Illustrations of American Editions of “The Pilgrim’s Progress” to 1870’, The Princeton University Library Chronicle, 26 (1964), 16-26.
 Stallworthy, Wilfred Owen, p. 158.
 Philip Gibbs, From Bapaume to Passchendaele: On the Western Front, 1917 (New York: George H. Doran, 1918), p. 448.
 Max Egremont, Siegfried Sassoon: A Biography (London: Picador, 2005), 103; cf. Robert Graves, Goodbye to All That (London: Penguin, 1960), p. 174.
 Siegfried Sassoon, The War Poems of Siegfried Sassoon (London: William Heinemann, 1919), p. 13.
 See Paul Stevens, ‘Bunyan, The Great War, And the Political Ways of Grace’, The Review of English Studies, 56 (2008), p. 716.
 Siegfried Sassoon, Sherston’s Progress: The Memoirs of George Sherston (New York: Penguin, 2013).
 Stevens, ‘The Political Ways of Grace’, p. 718.
 Sassoon, War Poems, p. 18.
 Sassoon, War Poems, p. 24.