And No Birds Sang

And No Birds Sang

Book - 2003 | Revised edition.
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Farley Mowat's antiwar masterpiece speaks directly to the times in which we live today. It is a powerful reminder of the human cost of war. In July of 1942, Mowat was an eager, idealistic infantry lieutenant barely out of his teens, bound for Europe on a troop ship and impatient to see action. This powerful true account of the action he saw, and against all odds survived, evokes the terrible reality of warfare with an honesty and clarity fiction can only imitate. Here is the agony and the antic humour, the tragedy and the tedium, the special camaraderie shared only by those who have fought a war. Here, too, is the impassioned anger of one soldier who discovers he can no longer accept the bloody carnage that engulfed him near the end of the Italian campaign: I was staring down a vertiginous tunnel where all was black and bloody and the great wind of ultimate desolation howled and hungered. I was alone...relentlessly alone in a world I never knew...and no birds sang. A timeless story of the courage forged by terror in a man's heart.
Publisher: Toronto : Key Porter, 2003.
Edition: Revised edition.
ISBN: 9781552632468
Branch Call Number: 940.548171 MOW 2003
Characteristics: 243 pages


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Feb 23, 2016

Canadian troops fought beside us in WWII. Farley Mowat was one such soldier, and presents a vivid history of his time on the front lines. It's a brutal, disturbing story and a great reminder of what we owe to our military representatives.

History fans, certainly of WWII, should seek out this fine book

May 22, 2013

A plain-spoken account by an infantry foot soldier of the Canadian Army's role in the Italian Campaign of the Second World War told by a master story-teller.


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May 22, 2013

"What followed [at the Battle of Moro River] was the kind of night men dream about in afteryears, waking in a cold sweat to a surge of gratitude that it is but a dream. It was a delirium of sustained violence. ... The snap and scream of high-velocity tank shells pierced the brutal guttural of an endless cannonade from both German and Canadian artillery. Moaning Minnie projectiles whumped down like thunderbolts, searching for our hurriedly dug foxholes. Soldiers of both sides, blundering through the vineyards, fired with panicky impartiality in all directions. And it began to rain again, a bitter, penetrating winter rain." (p. 226-7)

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