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Vitae Lampada
There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night –
Ten to make and the match to win –
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
The sand of the desert is sodden red, –
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; –
The Gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honor a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks,
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the School is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind –
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
When we’re on a losing streak, what can give us hope? What words can return us to the fight? Newbolt’s poem passes on some advice. Are we prepared to listen?
(Liza Voronin)
Although it has often been dismissed as dated and jingoistic, I find it far more profound than it may initially appear. Its Latin title translates as “the torch of life,” and it describes a light of inspiration that burns in every age.
The poem begins with a cricket match on the green of Newbolt’s old school, Clifton College in Bristol, England. However, we could be watching any cricket match in any park across the world, or, for that matter, any game of baseball.
Birth and death aside, is anything more universal as sport? From the first discus thrown among the olive groves of Athens to the basketball courts dotted around American cities and towns, sport has been central to human experience.
In the poem, the outcome of the match hangs in the balance. One team is just about surviving, with its “last man” in.
The rest are out. He only needs ten more runs to win, but the “bumping pitch” and “blinding light” suggest the odds are not in his favor. So where does he summon his courage from?
It’s not from the promise of prizes or glory, from a “ribboned coat” or a “season’s fame.” It’s not from the praise of others. It’s from the heartfelt words of his Captain to “play up, play up and play the game”—words delivered with the force of a whack.
To be smited is to be hit. It’s a jolt that wakes us up from our daydreaming. But what does the Captain mean? Is he saying that if we try our best then winning and losing cease to matter, or that victory is everything?
In the second stanza, we are transported to a distant war zone. The scene is based on an incident in Sudan in 1885, but we could be in Iraq or Afghanistan at this very moment. The line “the sand of the desert is sodden red” unreels across our mind like a piece of documentary film.
We feel shock and awe. Each aspect of the scene is laid before us with brutal precision: the broken square of the army’s formation, the Gatling gun, the Colonel’s corpse. All is carnage.
Looking again at the first stanza, we find the “breathless hush,” the “blinding light” and the “last man” standing, all foreshadow the terror of the battlefield. Now, with “England far” and “Honor a name,” have the values of home been shown up as mere slogans?
Out of the “dust and smoke” comes the “voice” of a soldier who was once given some rousing advice.
Is Newbolt suggesting that war is a sport? That wielding a gun is the same as wielding a cricket bat? The idea is absurd. His nightmarish vision of the “river of death” destroys any such reading. So what is he saying?
Perhaps it’s this: anyone who believes in hope can find it, even when everything seems over. This is no celebration of war, but an affirmation of individual heroism even in the most bloody, most chaotic, and most degrading of all possible situations. We can draw strength from this conviction whenever we believe we’ve reached rock bottom.
In the third stanza, we’re back at school, which is personified as a protective maternal presence. As long as education is in “her place”—as long as civilization stands—“the word” of the poem’s refrain, its message, is drilled into every pupil.
To “play the game” doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take life seriously, or that we should be indifferent to suffering, but that we should approach life with a cheerful resolve, come what may. As Newbolt suggests, such an attitude is no instinct. It must be learnt. Indeed, with its powerful imagery, pounding rhythm, and unapologetic optimism, the poem is a wonderful gift to pass on to our children.
The final image returns us to the title. Life is a baton race, with each generation passing on its knowledge to the next, even as it passes away. The “joyful mind,” like the Olympic torch, symbolizes an eternal ideal. Without it, we are lost.
Sir Henry Newbolt (1862–1938) was an English poet and Minister of Information. Christopher Nield is a poet living in London.
