In 1980 or thereabouts, the hottest thing of which I was aware was the English rock bank Pink Floyd’s double album TheWall. Some of the lyrics were disturbing, if not repugnant (“We don’t need no education.”). At least one song was superb (“Comfortably Numb”). And then there was this track, which I found puzzling.
Who was Vera Lynn? As a young American of the pre-internet era, I had no idea. A friend said, “Oh, it’s like some girl he knew in high school.” That seemed as an good an explanation as any.
By now, the actual story is readily available even on this side of the Atlantic. As an infant, Roger Waters, the principal lyricist of Pink Floyd, lost his father — a conscientious objector who felt compelled to change his mind and volunteer — in the Battle of Anzio. The Vera Lynn to whom Waters referred was the British singer most closely identified with the Second World War. She boosted morale by singing, “There’ll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover,” and — most famously — “Don’t know where. Don’t know when. But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day….” I had actually heard the latter song without making the connection to Pink Floyd. It was used to memorial effect for the conclusion of the 1964 film Dr. Strangelove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.
But let’s return to Pink Floyd’s question. The answer is improbable. Vera Lynn — who was born in London Borough of Newham on March 20, 1917 —
began performing in public at the age of seven. During the war, she entertained troops in Egypt, India, and Burma and was nicknamed, “The Forces’ Sweetheart.” She continued her successful career for decades thereafter. In 1975, she was named a dame of the British Empire. In 1982, she released her final single to mark the end of the Falklands War. Even after retiring her voice, she continued to make a splash with remastered versions of her old recordings. In 2009, she became the oldest living artist to reach first place on the British charts. Last year, she was back in spot number three with a new compilation, Vera Lynn 100. Tomorrow, she will celebrate her 101st birthday.
As ordinary people achieve extreme longevity, they become iconic. Reminisces that would have been dismissed as trivial at 60 or even 80, age like vintage wine. For those who are already icons, the effect is magnified. And so I cannot help being touched in a profound if dubious way by the mere fact that Vera Lynn draws breath. I want to thank her for having survived as an ever so fragile link to a distant past.
And yet, in a sense, is that past too near and alive (or, if not quite alive, undead)? Arthur Crew Inman once described his youth in the American South as living in the aftermath of a war that had ended fifty years earlier. To what extent are we still living in the aftermath of World War II after a lapse of over seventy years? Can anything surpass the drama of the “greatest generation” in its fight against what remains (thankfully at least for most) a symbol of ultimate evil? Indeed, to supersede World War II seems to imply the advent of a World War III, and thus — see Dr. Strangelove — the end of the world.
Then again, I was a child of a time when certain symbols still resonated. And so I spent more than one afternoon examining the yellowing pages of World War II in Headlines and Pictures (Price 50c). Perhaps I will be the last to have done so. Eventually — new Churchill movies and the internet notwithstanding — the 20th century may be all but forgotten. A wave of oblivion will overtake Anzio and tear down The Wall. The end may come, not with a bang, or even a whimper, but with indifference and ignorance.
Does anyone else feel the way I do? The Dog Wants to Know.
Author: Lame Dog
3 thoughts on ““Vera, Vera, What Has Become of You?” — Pink Floyd”
Fred S
I’m happy to read your philosophical wonderings on the past. It’s hard for me to make much sense about my feelings regarding history. As far as World War II, I will always be grateful to that conflict. My father served on an aircraft carrier in the South Pacific, an image fraught with superhumidifed tropical romance for me. For instance, my dad learned to swim by having a rope tied around his waist and jumping off the deck of his ship into the two-mile-deep Pacific while off duty. The War was my dad’s age of discovery: although my dad was a baker’s son who worked in the USS Bougainville’s bakery, he had never seen cornbread – which in that era was strictly a product of the South – before, but loved it the rest of his life.
So why am I grateful? Because in the last year of my father’s life, the War was something for him to hang onto. As his short-term memory shattered, he could still reminisce about his wartime experiences and feel comforted, and that comforted me. I am afraid I have no sets of memories as monumental as those of the War, so I’ll just have to make shift some other way when my time comes.
Thanks for this bit of reflection. The lyrics to “Vera” pop into my head occasionally and they still fascinate and inspire me. As a teenager facing difficult times I obsessed over The Wall…doodling the album art in my text books and dissecting every lyric. I see that Vera Lynn lived to 103 and died in the challenging year 2020…even she had seen enough. I googled part of the lyrics and your blog popped up…so thanks for the reminding me of this story. Cheers
I’m happy to read your philosophical wonderings on the past. It’s hard for me to make much sense about my feelings regarding history. As far as World War II, I will always be grateful to that conflict. My father served on an aircraft carrier in the South Pacific, an image fraught with superhumidifed tropical romance for me. For instance, my dad learned to swim by having a rope tied around his waist and jumping off the deck of his ship into the two-mile-deep Pacific while off duty. The War was my dad’s age of discovery: although my dad was a baker’s son who worked in the USS Bougainville’s bakery, he had never seen cornbread – which in that era was strictly a product of the South – before, but loved it the rest of his life.
So why am I grateful? Because in the last year of my father’s life, the War was something for him to hang onto. As his short-term memory shattered, he could still reminisce about his wartime experiences and feel comforted, and that comforted me. I am afraid I have no sets of memories as monumental as those of the War, so I’ll just have to make shift some other way when my time comes.
Fred S.
Thanks for this bit of reflection. The lyrics to “Vera” pop into my head occasionally and they still fascinate and inspire me. As a teenager facing difficult times I obsessed over The Wall…doodling the album art in my text books and dissecting every lyric. I see that Vera Lynn lived to 103 and died in the challenging year 2020…even she had seen enough. I googled part of the lyrics and your blog popped up…so thanks for the reminding me of this story. Cheers
Thank you for your thoughtful comment. And for letting me know of Vera Lynn’s passing.