THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES #7 - The Piper
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- Опубликовано: 16 мар 2017
- MAG006 - Case #9220611 - Clarence Berry
Statement regarding time spent as a staff sergeant and serving alongside Wilfred Owen in the Great War.
The Magnus Archives sings an anthem for doomed youth from an NCO during World War I who sheds some interesting light on one of our most acclaimed war poets and reaps the spoils thereof.
Starring: The Archivist - Jonathan Sims
Writer: Jonathan Sims
Director / Editor: Alexander J Newall
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The Magnus Archives is distributed by RustyQuill.com and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International Licence. - Развлечения
I think the cynical tired attitude of the narrator is so funny when paired with the sincerity of the stories.
You get told a very earnest and soulful sounding tale and then /*CLICK*/ Narrator: now wasn’t that some shit!!! No fuckin organization!! Ugh, I gotta do EVERYTHING around here!!
It’s very funny and gives me a little whiplash every time 😂
Okay this comment made me laugh jfsjdhsk- absolutely it's so funny
John just wants to be a voice actor deep down
@@miacowburn2108 He does 🥹
Just wait until you are your second listen through. Takes on a whole new meaning.
@@sithisarcanisi legit burst out laughing at this😂
Wilfred: No bro- I met *The War* 👀
✨ *THE* war ✨
Hello im John War
@@viscerator68 Hello to you too, fellow listener... are you... ✨ *THE* war ✨?
"excuse me sir have you heard of our lord and saviour ✨THE war ✨ ?
THE War
Considering that Wilfred Owen was a real war poet who was renowned for finding ways to personify aspects of war in his writing, I find this strange, haunting story to be such an immensely intriguing one
its why magnus is so good, it sends these little threads into the real world that lends a sense of legitimacy and that what is happening on tape has actually happened.
Its like how (spoiler!)
Robert Smirke was an actual architect
For some reason this episode makes me think that the disorganization is intentional. Like she was ensuring he’d read these by placing them in the wrong area. Can’t be sure of course.
Are you listening for the first time?
@@dedicatedsparrow8932 I am. Recommended to me by Red from overly sarcastic Productions. I'm having a hard time trying to keep track of any characters that supposed to be important though.
www.reddit.com/r/TheMagnusArchives/comments/8s8ox4/magnus_archives_faqnew_listeners_guide/?
Here's a guide someone posted. Hope you get some use out of it
👀👀👀
@@epsyblue7714 same
Joseph Rayner is a real person who served in WWI, you can read about him and see documents on his service and enlistment.
Where he lived, that he wasn't married, that he at some point went missing.
Wait-
Neat
Wait- he was never married-
Isn't that like- code for something.
I swear in historical documents they always put ‘Sadly he was never married but he did live in a cottage with his male close friend, the cottage only had one bedroom which has brought researchers to believe that one of them must of been sleeping in the sink, they had several collections of high-end clothing and were recorded as throwing amazing dinner parties.’
@@davv6628 XDD
@@davv6628 also adding how once one of those "friends" died, the other fell into despair not being able to go on without the other... sure these are... friends lol
This episode really deserves an award for the writing and performance, it could be a short story on its own even without the context of the Magnus Archives.
Agreed, it was so captivating. It truly stands out apart from the other stories
@@anneface-pg6yh This and the statement of Jane Prentiss are both award worthy
This! It’s one of my favorite episodes.
I so agree!
I did some research on Wilfred Owen after listening to this. One of his poems, "Strange Meeting", includes the line "Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were". If that inspired Owen's death, then dang did Jonny do some research.
Dayum, that's some good quality writing
do you really have to question? that's jonny to the core
This has got to be one of my favourite episodes... something about old unknowable war harbingers just galloping across the battlefield blasting a trumpet with one arm while another arm is holding a movie popcorn bucket and another is flipping off Nazis and two more are dedicated to dabbing is so good, so classic, so timeless
the great war was WW1, so no nazis
well now i know what i'm going to draw tonight
If you like that, I recommend looking up mythology/folklore, such as The Wild Hunt! Some of the ways Wilfred Owen described the physical concept of War in the story reminded me of various mythological influences (such as the three heads part reminded me of how Dante described Lucifer to look in Inferno).
Historical illiteracy moment
I heard the silent melody,
As a young, jolly, working maid.
And only when I told the soldiers what I heard they understood
The Piper must be payed.
Wilfred Owen went insane,
His 3rd eye opened in the field.
To the slaughtered soldier's thoughts true, but mundane,
From the Piper, there is no shield.
He still is there, in the battle field, alone.
Playing in that sad, sad tone.
A reminder from the past,
That a lot of soldiers never came home.
What is this from? I try to Google/Gargle it and nothing comes up???
@@RevelationsPrimo they may have made it up
Why do I get the sneaking feeling that there was a definite method to the previous archivist's madness?
gertrude so intended for him to read them in this order.
@@whats_this.madness Yeah, no. She didn't intend John to read anything.
You'll find out....
Ok now I REALLY want to see someone draw an ilustration of War based on this!
I want to draw war based on this!!
Also nobody is gayer than me
@@remuslupin2795 you DARE TRY TO OPPOSE ME
And I did get around to doing it, if I can find the canvas I'll keep y'all posted
@@danielyoung7534 Hell yeah
Reminds me of Wrath from Marlow's Faustus.
Thank you for the idea
ARCHIVIST
Statement of Staff Sergeant Clarence Berry, regarding his time serving with Wilfred Owen in the Great War. Original statement given November 6th, 1922. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.
Statement begins.
ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)
A lot of people call me lucky, you know. Not many came through the entirety of the war in one piece. And if you discount the burns, then I did indeed do just that. Even fewer spent all four years at the front, like I did. I was never sent for treatment for shell shock or injury, and even my encounter with a German flamethrower only ended up with me in a front line hospital at Wipers. I was still in that field hospital when the fighting started at the Somme, so I suppose that was lucky too.
Four years… I sometimes feel like I’m the only one who saw the whole damn show from start to finish, as though I alone know the Great War in all its awful glory. But deep down I know that honour, such as it is, has to go to Wilfred. You wouldn’t have thought it from his poems, but all told, his time at the front totalled not much over a year. Yet he got to know the war in a way I never did. He’s certainly the only person I know that ever saw The Piper.
I grew up poor on the streets of Salford, so I joined the army as soon as I was old enough. I know you’ve heard the stories of brave lads signing up at 14, but this was before the war started, so there wasn’t such a demand for manpower and the recruiters were much more scrupulous about making sure those enlisting were of age. Even so, I was almost too skinny for them to take me and barely made the required weight. But in the end I made it through and, after my training, was assigned to the Manchester Regiment, 2nd Battalion, and it wasn’t long before we were shipped off to France with the British Expeditionary Force. You seem like educated sorts, so I’m sure you read in the papers how that went. Soon enough, though, the trenches were dug and the boredom started to set in. Now, boredom is fine, understand, when the alternatives are bombs, snipers and gas attacks, but months at a time sitting in a waterlogged hole in the ground, hoping your foot doesn’t start swelling, well… it has a quiet terror all its own.
Wilfred came to us in July of 1916. I’m not intimately familiar with his history but he clearly came from stock good enough to be assigned as a probationary Second Lieutenant. I was a Sergeant at the time, so had the job of giving him the sort of advice and support that a new officer needs from a NCO with two years of mud under his nails. That notwithstanding, I will admit taking a dislike to the man when I first met him - he outranked me, and most of the others in the trench, in both military and social terms, and he seemed to treat the whole affair with an airy contempt. There’s a sort of numbness that you adopt after months or years of bombing, a deliberate blankness which I think offended him. He was unfailingly polite, far more so than I was accustomed to in the Flanders mud, where the conversations, such as they were, were coarse and bleak. Yet under this politeness I could feel him dismiss out of hand any suggestion that I gave him or report that I made. It came as no surprise to me when he mentioned he wrote poetry. To be perfectly honest I expected him to be dead within a week.
To Wilfred’s credit, he made it almost a year before anything horrendous happened to him, and by the following spring I’d venture to say that we might almost have been able to call each other friends. He had been composing poetry during this time, of course, and occasionally would read it out to some of the men. They generally enjoyed it, but personally I thought it was dreadful - there was an emptiness to it and every time he tried to put the war into words it just sounded trite, like there was no soul to what he had to say. He would often talk about his literary aspirations, and how he longed to be remembered, to take what this war truly was and immortalise it.
Were I prone to flights of fancy, I daresay I would call his words portentous. When he talked like that, he had an odd habit of trailing off in the middle of the conversation with a tilt of his head, as though his attention had been taken by a far-off sound.
The spring thaw had just recently passed when it happened, and we were on the offensive. Our battalion was near Savy Wood when the orders came down - we were to attack the Hindenburg Line. Our target was a trench on the west side of St. Quentin. It was a quiet march. Even at this stage there was often still some excitement when the orders came down for action, even if it was usually stifled by that choking fear that you got when waiting for the whistle. Yet that morning there was something different in the air, an oppressive dread. We’d made this attack before, and knew that the change from the valley exposed us to artillery fire. And artillery was always the scariest part of it for me. Bayonets you could dodge, bullets you could duck, even gas you could block out if you were lucky, but artillery? All you could do against artillery was pray.
Even Wilfred felt it, I could tell. He was usually quite talkative before combat. Morbid, but always talkative. That morning he didn’t say a word. I tried to talk with him and raise his spirits, as is a sergeant’s duty, but he just held up his hand to quiet me, and turned his head to listen. At the time I didn’t know what it was he was hearing but it kept him silent. Even when we crested the ridge, and the rest of us tried to drown out the deafening thrum of artillery with our own charging cry, even then he made no sound.
The ground shook with the impact of the mortar shells, and I ran from foxhole to crater to foxhole, keeping my head low to avoid the bullets. As I ran, I felt a shooting pain in my ankle and pitched forward into the mud. Looking down, I saw I’d been caught by a length of barbed wire, half-hidden by the damp upturned soil. I felt a surge of panic begin to overtake me, and frantically tried to remove the wire from my leg, but only succeeded in getting my hand scratched up quite badly.
I looked around desperately to see if there was anyone else nearby who could help. And there, not twenty yards in front of me, I saw Wilfred standing, his face blank and his head swaying to some unheard rhythm. And then I did hear it - gently riding over the pulse of mortars and the rattle of guns and the moans of dying men, a faint, piping melody. I could not have told you whether it was bagpipes or panpipes or some instrument I had never heard before, but its whistling tune was unmistakable, and struck me with a deepest sadness and a gentle creeping fear.
And in that moment I knew what was about to happen. I looked at Wilfred, and as our eyes met I saw that he knew as well. I heard a single gunshot, much louder than any of the others somehow, and I saw him go stiff, his eyes wide. And then the mortar blast hit him, and he was lost in an eruption of mud and earth.
I had plenty of time to mourn him, lying in that dreadful hole until nightfall, when I could free my leg as quietly and gently as possible before crawling back to our trench. It was slow going; every time a flare went up I could only lay motionless and pray, but the good Lord saw fit to let me reach our line relatively unscathed. I was quickly bundled off to the field hospital, which was overburdened as always. They didn’t have much in the way of medicine or staff to spare, and certainly no beds free, so they washed my wounds with iodine, bandaged them, sent me on my way. Told me to come back if I got gangrene.
I did have a look around the place to see if I could find Wilfred, but there was no sign of him to be found anywhere. Asking around the trench, no-one had seen him return among the wounded, so I began to reconcile myself to the fact that he was dead. He wasn’t the first friend I’d lost to the Germans nor even the first I’d seen die in front of me, but something about that strange music that I heard in the moments before that explosion lingered in my mind and left me dwelling on Wilfred in many a quiet moment.
It was probably about a week and a half later I heard shouting from the end of the trench. It was a scouting party who had been reconnoitring the river that flowed near Savy Wood. Apparently, they had found a wounded officer lying in a shell hole there and brought him back. I made my way over, and was astounded to see that it was Wilfred. His uniform was torn and burned, he was covered with blood and his eyes had a distant, far off expression to them, but he was most definitely alive. I rode with him back up to the field hospital, along with the Corporal of the squad who had found him.
Apparently he had been lying in that hole for days, ever since the battle. They’d found him there, half-dead from dehydration and fatigue, covered in the gore of another soldier. Whatever shell had created the hole he’d ended up in had clearly annihilated some other poor soul, and it was in his gory remnants that Wilfred had lain for almost two weeks.
I waited outside the hospital tent while he was being treated. The doctor came out shortly, a grave look on his face. He told me the Lieutenant was physically unharmed - something I considered at the time nothing short of a miracle - but that he had one of the worst cases of shell shock the doctor had ever encountered, and would have to be shipped back to England for recuperation. I asked him if I could see him, and the doctor consented, though he warned me that Wilfred hadn’t said a word since he’d been brought in.
As soon as I stepped inside the medical tent I was overwhelmed by the sweet scent of decaying flesh and the moans of pain and despair. The sharp smell of the disinfectant brought back unpleasant memories of chlorine gas attacks. Still, I eventually found my way over to Wilfred’s bed and, sure enough, there he was, staring silently out at the world, though with an intensity that alarmed me. I followed his gaze to a bed nearby, and there I saw a private I didn’t recognise. His forehead was slick with sweat and his chest rose and fell quickly, then abruptly stopped. I realised with a start that a man had just died, and nobody had noticed except Wilfred.
I tried to engage him in conversation, rattled off a few meaningless pleasantries. “How are you doing, old man?” “Heard you had a bit of a close call.” “Glad you found yourself a crump-hole.” All that sort of nonsense. None of it seemed to produce any reaction in him, and instead he turned to me and after a long while he simply said: “I met the war.”
I told him that he certainly had, not many walk away from something like that and lying in that hole for so long, surrounded by all the death… Well, he had definitely met the war and it was rotten bloody business. But Wilfred just shook his head like I didn’t understand, and to be honest I was starting to feel like I didn’t, and he told me again that he “met the war”. He said it was no taller than I was.
It struck me that perhaps he was describing some dreadful mirage that had come upon him as he lay in that wretched place, and I asked him to tell me what the war looked like.
I remember exactly what he said. He told me it had three faces. One to play its pipes of scrimshawed bone, one to scream its dying battle cry and one that would not open its mouth, for when it did blood and sodden soil flowed out like a waterfall. Those arms that did not play the pipes were gripping blades and guns and spears, while others raised their hands in futile supplication of mercy, and one in a crisp salute. It wore a tattered coat of wool, olive green where it was not stained black, and beneath, nothing could be seen but a body beaten, slashed and shot and until nothing remained but the wounds themselves.
I had heard quite enough by this point, and said so to Wilfred, but if he heard me he gave no indication of it. He told me that the war, “the Piper”, had come to claim him, and he had begged to remain. The thing had paused its tune for but a moment, and with one of its arms it reached out and handed him a pen. He said he knew it would return for him someday, but now he too would live to play its tune. The way he looked at me at that moment was the same way he’d looked at me before the shell hit, and for a moment I could have sworn I once again heard that music on the breeze.
I left almost immediately after that, and was later told that he’d been shipped back to Britain, to recuperate at Craiglockhart. The other men grumbled about officers’ perks and a nice holiday for the Lieutenant, but they didn’t know what he’d been through, and I found it very hard to envy him myself. At one point I asked some of the squad who brought him back whether he’d been holding a pen when they found him, but they told me he hadn’t. The only thing they’d found nearby were the tags of the dead man among his remains. A man named Joseph Rayner.
And for a long while that was that. Wilfred was back at home recovering and taking on lighter duties, while I slogged on through the mud of Flanders. I had a few close calls myself - including the flamethrower that marked me so distinctively. Could have been worse, of course; if the rain hadn’t almost liquefied the mud of no man’s land I’d have gone up like a lucifer.
I did start to notice something among the troops, though. Every time we lined up to go over the top I would watch them, look into their faces. Most of them showed naught but the starkest fear, of course, but a few of them seemed distant. The whistle would startle them back to themselves and with wide eyes they would surge forward.
I had seen this before all that business with Wilfred, but had always assumed it was simply the mind trying to choke down the likelihood of its own death. Now when I watched, I found I could not help but notice the slight tilt of the head, as though gently straining their ears to hear a far-off tune. Those men never made it back to the trenches.
You know the phrase “to pay the piper”. I thought on it a lot through those many months - the debt of Hamelin, who for their greed had their children taken from them, never to be returned. Did you know Hamelin is a real place in Germany? Yes, not too far from Hanover as I recall. We had a prisoner once from there - I wanted to ask him about the old fairy tale and what, if anything, he knew of The Piper. The poor soul didn’t speak a word of English, though, and died from an infected shrapnel wound a few days later. He spent his last minutes humming a familiar tune. That night, as we scrambled through mud and broken metal in another futile attack, I began to wonder: were we the children stolen from their parents by The Piper’s tune? Or were we the rats that were led to the river and drowned because they ate too much of the wealthy’s grain?
Still, those are musings for poets, among whom I do not number. I did keep up with Wilfred’s work, though, and was startled to see how much it had changed since he left. Where once it could have been dismissed as frivolous, there was now a tragedy to it that flowed from the words. Even now, I can’t hear Exposure without being back in that damned trench at wintertime. And the public clearly felt similar, as one of the few newspapers we actually got through to the line had an extensive article praising his first collection. Despite all this, there was something about it that sat uneasily with me.
Wilfred returned to the 2nd Manchesters in July of 1918. He was clearly much changed from his time away, and seemed to be in good enough spirits, though we talked little any more, and when he looked at me, I saw in his eyes a fear that he was quick to hide. The war was grinding towards a close at this point. There was a fatigue that could be felt everywhere; even the enemy machine guns felt slower and more begrudging in their fire, but this charged our commanders to spur us on to more and more aggressive actions. Some desperate attempt to push Germany into a surrender, I suppose, and our attacks grew to a crescendo.
On the first day of October, we were ordered to storm the enemy position at Joncourt. I remember that the weather that day was beautiful - a last day of sunshine before autumn pressed in. We charged with some success, as I believe the German artillery hadn’t been lined up correctly, and for the first time since his return I found myself fighting alongside Wilfred. I can say without a word of a lie that across all the war I never saw a soldier fight with such ferocity as I saw in him that day. I hasten to add that that statement is not given in admiration - the savagery I saw in him as he tore into a man with his bayonet… I’d just as soon forget it. As he charged, he howled a terrible battle cry and, just for a moment, I could have sworn that I saw him cast a shadow that was not his own. I read in the paper he won the Military Cross for that attack.
It was a month later that I woke up to find him sitting next to my bed. He stared at me, not unkindly, though there was something in his eye that put my ill at ease. “Almost over now, Clarence,” he said to me. I said yes, it did seem to be all coming to an end. He smiled and shook his head. He sat there quietly for some time, at one point a flare burst in the sky outside, and enough of that stark red light came through the dugout’s makeshift doorway for me to see that Wilfred was crying. I knew he was listening to The Piper’s tune. He asked me if I heard it, and I told him no, I didn’t, and I wasn’t sure I ever really had. He nodded, and said he didn’t know which of us was the lucky one, and neither did I. Still don’t, really.
Wilfred Owen died crossing the canal at Sambre-Oise two days later. There wasn’t meant to be much, if any, resistance, but some of the soldiers stationed there returned fire. I found myself crouching behind him as the Captain, who had been shot in the hip, was pulled to safety.
As we prepared to charge, Wilfred stopped all at once and turned to me with a smile on his face. At that moment I saw a trickle of blood start to flow from an opening hole in his forehead. I feel like I should make this clear - I have seen many people get shot. I know what it looks like and how a bullet hole appears. But here, the bullet hole simply opened, like an eye, and he fell to the ground, dead.
It was told to me later that it was on that day the first overtures of peace were made between the nations, and the Armistice was signed almost exactly a week later. We were shipped home soon after.
I believe it was not merely on that day, but at that very moment, when Wilfred fell, that the peace was finally assured. No-one can convince me otherwise. Did The Piper spare him before? Did it simply use him, later to cast him aside? I don’t know, and I try not to think about it overmuch. I have a wife now, and a child on the way, but I still get nightmares sometimes. The parade for Armistice Day passed by my house last year, and I had to shut my window tight when the military band marched past. It wasn’t a tune I cared to hear.
ARCHIVIST
Statement ends.
Well, if further evidence was needed of my predecessor’s disorganisation, here we have it. A statement from 1922 filed among the mid-2000s. Obviously there’s not much research or further investigation to be done into a case almost a hundred years old, especially when it involves so well-documented a figure as Wilfred Owen.
Still, an interesting enough tale, and I feel like I recognise the name ‘Joseph Rayner’ from somewhere, though for the life of me I couldn’t say where. I’ve had the case returned to its proper location in the archives.
Recording ends.
thanks!!!
You're welcome
Petra Iván you are incredible for doing this on like every episode
I think all the English Literature students that had Exposure in their GCSE poem roster were quaking by the end of this.
yep. i do a level literature now but exposure is just ringing in my head
Why is that?
Ha! I'm a or was Scottish literature student!
*I am*
it hit me half way through and I was like HUH!!??
The description of The Piper combined with the time period in which the story takes place makes me imagine him in the style of old political cartoons with stark shading and crosshatching and faded colors, alongside features that just evoke this uncanny valley effect. Haunting.
BANGER ART IDEA
Moving like the _Take On Me_ music video
The description of War,although I know its a paranormal being here, makes for such a beautiful and macabre explenation of every war
The details about hands asking for mercy and wounds on the body really got to me
honestly any of these magnus archives story could make a better horror film than those produced in hollywood...
.. So TRUEEEEEE
ngl this would do best as a show, most of these story podcasts can do well as shows (except Welcome to Night Vale, it does best as it is)
YESS THE PEARL PFP
I’d love to see it in a visual medium, would be soso cool
@@googoogaga7986 Just started listening recently, and personally, I envision this as a graphic novel that looks like a crossover between Gaiman's Sandman and Junji Ito.
The voice acting in this one is incredible.
I want to believe that wilfred was used by the piper, or War and was happy to see the end of the fighting approach, even though he knew it would be his doom, because his dead and eventual defect of the vessel that creature used, would mean end of suffering. The imageries where beautiful by the way
"Did you know that Hamelin is a real place in Germany?" - yep. Been there, it's a cute little town with lovely old buildings. :D
Did you know for centuries after they would list dates as being X many years since the children were taken". This isn't a fairly tale, that town recorded this as a real event
Yep, me too
Very clean town. Hardly any rodents...
@@matthewstephenson5781Wow, I just looked it up, and it really is true. They all list the same date for when it occurred: June 26, 1284. There are also witness accounts and many statues and such dedicated to the event. There’s even a street where those 130 missing children were last seen (which is now called Bungelosenstrasse, or “the street without drums”). On this street, dancing and music are banned to this day.
I just want to say I've started relistening more carefully to each episode after having devoured all three seasons/beginning of season 4, and this episode is .... Really good. I got very invested in the descriptions, in the relationships between the characters, in the conversations... The description of the piper is awe-inspiring
First read Wilfred when I was about 14 years old. Was immediately taken by him.
Reread him many times over
the next 60 years.
Now this tale will stick with
me the few days I have left.
Thank you.
oh god when the narrator said wilfred heard a distant flute near the end of the ep i started crying bc i knew what was coming to him
naw fr I was like CLOSE THOSE EAR HOLES BROOO
Owens is an actual poet and his poetry is really interesting
Why does this one make me sad? Like... Wilfred... bro...
The Piper's description made me think in a sort of angelical creature, like the sorts of cherubims or seraphims, with all those armas and heads ...
Or an Asura -- a figure of war or death in Hindu mythology
I’m listening to this series for the first time, and holy shit this story is so good. I’m sure it will fill some role in the worldbuilding, but it could absolutely stand on its own as a haunting metaphor for the effects of war.
War is like the Pied Piper: it steals away and murders the youth, all because of the greed of the old.
And the Piper handing Wilfred a pen is so poignant: he got his wish of becoming a great poet, but I’m doing so he had to literally give his mind and body to the War.
I think we should take notes of the off-hand mentions of people and events outside the stories. I'm sure there's a wiki full of information but it will also be full of spoilers.
Agreed
yeah, it seems like the witnesses who send these in to the archivists will be important later or people like the girl in the red dress from last episode it seems it wasnt the first time they heard of her
I've been doing this
Is it super important that I remember certain characters? An overarching plot sounds interesting, but part of me just wanted to listen to some scary stories.
@@epsyblue7714 If you're looking for monster of the week stories, this isn't it. The show develops an arc over time and every single case is important in some way. They don't have that many recurring characters, but organizations, monsters and concepts will start appearing againa and showing a patern.
well this was a weirdly beautiful episode. if you're writing about the horrors of war, ww1 is a deep and familiar well to draw from. as a canadian, i've had 'in flanders fields' drilled into my head from a young age, but like, the message of that poem is to continue the noble fight against our foes. 'dulce et decorum est' communicates the war's ugliness clearly, and identifies blind nationalism as a terrible reason for young men to be sent to kill each other horrifically. the personification of war captured that ugliness really well. i can't say i was expecting historical fiction in this podcast, but this story was an interesting change from the modern statements i've heard so far. the narrator is characteristically grumpy about the organization of the archive, and i'm becoming really fond of that grumpiness.
I've been learning about the poem "Exposure" by Wilfred Owen for my English exam, and this has made me think about it completely differently. I'll have to mention this to my teacher, she might find it interesting
Did they find it interesting??
We need an update!!
Update: I talked about this episode and "Exposure" for my English speaking exam, my teacher loved it and I got a Distinction! :)
Congrats!!!!
"Take no prisoners, give no quarter,
Show them all the colour of their entrails on the floor
The Kaiser’s men are cattle to the slaughter
And their blood will run like wine!"
My fav quote
I teach "Dulce et Decorum Est" to my students. I think I shall connect it with this podcast. Bravo!
Today is the day, baby!
how did it go??
@@VittoIB How did it turn out?
It went okay. US middle school. They didn't really enjoy it as much as a high school audience would.
NEEERRRRRRD!!!!
I love the horror genre so much and this podcast does a really great job at being terrifying!
i don't even love the horror genre that much but this podcast is making me interested
I don't know what it is about this episode but I just keep coming back for this weirdly poetic story and descriptions
Ah yes. The sound of battle cries and war cries, and that random haunting tune that keeps coming out of nowhere.
Music to my ears.
The three head aspect is very deep, the piper face is the political aspect rulers playing the song soldiers are the screaming face represents a war cry of soldiers as with the weapons and the face with dirt and blood is the fallen dead any casualties both civilian and military
I think it's chilling that it's literal blood & soil that comes pouring out of the third faces mouth.
I am absolutely in love with this series.
I am also now sitting in a room with all windows barred with various items and my pullup bar as a makeshift staff/club near me as I listen to them.
Getting a bit paranoid from binge listening them late at night? Yes, but its worth it^^
I'm starting to notice a pattern Rusty Quills. Not in the story, but your choice in source material. Uniquely expressive poets, regions dull yet with an easily hidden darkness, the uncanny goings on of public servants. You've crafted a world based on trivia, written as a universe in your mind, connected with blood vessels of an eldrich truth.
I wonder if you'll ever share with us the origin. Because I know you have it written in your mind. I'm the same way.
Glad I didn’t discover this whilst doing gcse English, trying to analyse exposure after this would be difficult
This one doesn't feel necessarily evil. Just a truth. Among the darkness of war, War means nothing.
The Slaughter statements are always so brutal.
Man, it's real fun to catch things like what Wilfred Owen is on the second listen.
"Wilfred, you look like hammered shit."
"Looks don't count for shit in no-man's land. This is the War, baby."
This story gets to me because my father, brother, uncles and husband have been in actual wars, not just serving without being in a war. You have no idea the horrors of war I’ve hear and I can tell you, in some of the stories I’ve heard…I’ve seen war!
i cried twice here bro, i dont usually cry either but, i dont know why but the tears just flow when i think of the piper and wilfred even now
original statement in 1922, I didn't realize the institute was so old. I don't remember the dates of the other original statements but that one got my attention. Thats really interesting
This one hits hard
"I met The War." *instantaneous chills*
this one hits different now, than it did when it was made, due to current events. This is aging like wine and that fact is genuinely horrifying.
This is a known, mass-produced wine
"Did you know Hameln is a real place in Germany"
Me: *literally lives there*
13:09 Oh, there's background white noise.
Jon, you're feeding them...
"nom nom nom" goes the Eldredge horrors
@@reluctantlysmol4274 They be munchin' really hard 🤣
This doesn't seem horror as much as it feels philosophical. I think I'm gonna be coming back to this episode again and again
I don't know why but this one made me feel sad and depressed. But not the usual kind of depression I feel, more like the feeling I get from a never ending dream. One that's not necessarily a nightmare but isn't very pleasant either.
I couldn't really say if I liked it or not.
i finished 7 episodes today. yeesshhh i think it's time for bed
What episode you up to now?
and at this comment ive decided to also go to bed.
I still find myself returning to this one. Perhaps it's the context of the great war, the disconnect of time between now and then, and the nature of the statement, all draw me in, not to mention the authorial voice!
I've always felt a pull to Owen's poems which was kinda weird for a 14 yro high school girl but I always keep his poems nearby all these years later. This has been my fav episode so far!
I think The War chose Wilfred as a final sacrifice of the great war. I don't think The War itself is inherently bad or evil, but simply a being that embodies war and decides the fate of it, as well as those who fight in it.
I’m not so much creeped out as much as I am in awe of the amazing writing of this episode!! Both the detailed description of “the war” and the poetic comparison of the pied piper myth and war are outstanding to me and I hope the writer/writers of this episode gave themselves a good pat on the back for this one. Very well done
Ok so no major spoilers please since I’m only up to this episode but did the previous archivist put these stories in this order on purpose because it feels purposeful
I'm on my first listen of this series, and I have to say I've found episode 4 to be the scariest so far. But this one is just... Sad. I almost cried. It's just so bleak and haunting and visceral and existential all at once.
This episode hits different man!
The description of War... "those men never came back"...
CHILLS
This is my favorite episode so far! Written very well and the description of War and how it died was bittersweet.
Joseph Reyna does sound really familiar but I can't place it. Help!
Same. HELP!!!
He was a Corporal who served on the west front and died of his wounds after an attack in 1918.
SPOILERS FURTHER DOWN!
He also has a similar name to Maxwell Rayner, who is an avatar of the Dark that appears a little later in the series.
why do i feel like i should be taking notes?
What a magnificent work. I liked all the ones before this but this one... there's just something absolutely captivating about it, the kind of story that sticks with you for a long time, it really feels like it has happened, as if War does exist in such form and is able to appear before and rule the fate of people.
The light music in the background during the statement is such a good detail
This is the story I keep coming back to. I don't know why, but something strikes out to me on how this man *saw* The War. And began describing them. It sent shivers down my spine the first time I listened
this is one of my fav episodes so far... and the description of the concept of war was so interesting i wanna draw it now
Relistening after the finale, and this episode still gets me. I don't know what it is, but this is by far one of my favorite statements.
This is pure literally at its finest I legit can’t wait to see more of the Magnus archives Istg almost gonna believing this might be real at the end of it because of the amount of detail
reminds me of that SCP, i think his name was “the old man” or smth like that?? totally unrelated
Wilfred Owen was an actual dude so this was funky
Johnathan sims!! You are amazing!!
This is the best episode so far.
I’m caught up with the whole series but I’m coming back due to hyperfixation and the people in the comments have surprisingly good theories
I found a poem from Wilfred Owens. It is called: Smile, Smile, Smile. It kinda gives me a creepy vibe.
that was awesome, very lovecraftian and vivid
Vivid and Lovecraftian is almost an oxímoron xD but you are right, I can see a glims of the dreaded face of war every time I hear this episode and yet I feel I'm lucky to not know it in its fullness.
This is
....
Sadly very fitting~
Heart goes out to Ukraine
YASSSS I LOVE WILFRED OWEN
One of the stories that will always stay with me, and as fair warning to you, curious reader, it might be the same with you
Love how I’m learning about the war in history class and listening to this too 😭😭
Does anyone know an artist that draws the creatures from the magnus archives?
Did you find any?
@@ameokami5780 not really :/
as someone who recently finished gcse english and studied exposure as part of our syllabus,,,, this was SO GOOD
This is incredible writing.
This episode is amazing, easily my favourite so far.
ah one of my faves~ Love that 30's haunting radio music in the background subtly ramping up as the story reaches one of many pitches
This episode was awesome and the whole podcast so far too.
Oh my gosh I so love this!! So creepy and yet almost believable!! And the entrance music! I jump out of my skin!!
This statement would be an incredible movie
As a historian, I loved this one.
I really want to see a Bekinski inspired painting of the Piper now...
One of my favorite episodes so far !! It’s so eerie
So looks like war spared him as long as war was going so when it ended Piper took wat was his.
this might be my favorite one so far
I’m new to this series but this is my favorite as a historian very interested in WW1
I just imagine the classic spongebob meme music every time they mention the Piper
I really really don’t like the intro music
By which I mean I love it but it makes me feel constantly in danger and if there’s any darkness around me I turn on all lights available
I know I'm a bit late, but man. I love this podcast, and my hand just slipped..:
Child of youth be aware, be warned,
For a monster out there,
Who hunts the young
It's called the War, my dear, my child,
Sweeps away life
As the wind blows the sand
I met the War, my life, my love,
I still remember
Its sound, its wrath
People followed the pipe, the tune,
They died young death,
Buried in mud
The terrifying sound, the cry, the song,
Like rats to the river,
Young soilders flowed
And there it stood, in blood, in sweat,
The Piper itself,
The Angel of Death
Three of heads with no eye, no face,
Arms, hands clenched
In fists of rage
It stood there among the dead, the dust,
One face cried,
One played the song
As I watched in terror, fear and shock,
The third face opened,
And cried soil with blood
A bomb just crashed through flesh and dust,
I lost my mind,
I cried for mom
And as the fire necrose, I died, I swear,
My eyes went black,
Then cold, I felt
And there was it again, The Piper, the War,
With its strange melody playing,
For which many have died
PLS tell me U wrote that yourself..
@@Perryperrychickentheplatypus I wrote it on English class while I was bored 😆
@@jakab0077 That's amazing!!
Be still. For there is strange Bagpipes
Ok
This is my first time going throught these
I think one of the reasons I'm liking them so much, is because, most of the time, the stories are told by a secondary "character" or bystander on the story
As the main victim is either dead or missing
The only exception is the first one, unless the hanging flying pale person of the halleyway is a human used as a puppet
And the story with the coffin, unless the dude that obviously died to it in the end were the main one, but the coffin staid too long with the op OP of that one, so, i dont think so
Since this one has actual people in it I’m currently that simpsons *chuckles* I’m in danger meme