The process of composing my solo piano piece The drumfire was incessant, and continued all night with unabated fury in 2012 allowed me to research the war experiences of my great-great uncle, Private Leslie Robins, and to meet and connect with members of my extended family. After the work’s premiere performance, Bette Paynting (the granddaughter of Leslie’s youngest sister) immediately piqued my interest after mentioning a letter that Leslie had written to his mother Emma (my great-great grandmother) in August 1916, about six months before his death.

Upon reading it, I was struck by its ‘ordinariness’; Leslie—a young farm labourer from Bendigo—describes in plain language his experience of being in the trenches on his nineteenth birthday, killing Germans whilst manning the machine gun, and being shot and wounded at Pozieres (although he insists he “came out alright”). Leslie seeks to placate his mother’s anticipated anxiety, but in the final sentence, acknowledges the reality of seeing her once more …”Till we meet again, if not in this world, in the next”. Tragically, Leslie was killed by German artillery fire during a raid on Stormy Trench at Gueudecourt on 5 February 1917. The ferocity of the seven-hour mortar attack on Leslie’s trench was subsequently described as “a wall of fire and steel” resulting in the “continual…expectation of death or mutilation”.

I knew, without a doubt, I had to set Leslie’s words to music, however I wanted to include another voice, a different perspective on the horrendous brutality that Leslie faced daily. Thus I chose to include correspondence between Emma and the Australian War Office (preserved in Leslie’s official war record) as a counter to Leslie’s text. Emma’s letters to the War Office cover a five-year period, beginning with her son’s wounding at Pozieres in August 1916. Later, after Leslie’s death, Emma begged military authorities to locate a tiny “Good Luck” ring she gave Leslie before he left Australia. The pathos of this highly implausible request shows the desperation of Emma as she struggles to hang on to the memory of her boy. Unsurprisingly, Leslie’s ring is never found, and Emma is ultimately left a broken-hearted “lonely mother”.

As I set about composing If Not In This World in the year of the Armistice centenary, I realised my piece was more about Emma than Leslie. When the Armistice came on 11 November 1918, Leslie had gone, and Emma, like so many millions of mothers and families around the world, had to find a way to keep on living. The end of the war did not bring closure, but opened up a gaping wound that tore at the internal fabric of society for a generation, through damaged returned soldiers and their brutalised families. Emma’s final letter from 1922—the last words of the work—capture this; her bittersweet request for her son’s Victory Medal overwhelmingly conveys the sense of defeat.

From a structural viewpoint, If Not In This World alternates back and forth between Leslie and Emma, although they are never in dialogue. Instead, Leslie and his music are frozen in time, whilst Emma travels forward, giving us a sense of her unfolding grief. Framing the text at various points are three short instrumental ‘laments’, heard first in the cello, later the clarinet, and finally the trombone.

If Not In This World is dedicated to my wife Linda (the mother of two fine strapping boys, Daniel and Benjamin), and my father Barry.

Text:

Leslie:

August 16^th, 1916

Dear loving mother,

Just a few lines to let you know how I am. I was in the trenches on my birthday and I came out all right. Then we went down to the advance. I was on the machine gun up in the trenches we had just taken. The night we went in the Germans counter-attacked us and we got about 400 with what we killed and wounded and took prisoner.

Emma:

September 12^th, 1916

Dear Sir,

Will you be so kind to let me know what hospital my son is in, and be so kind to let me know how he is wounded.

From an anxious mother

Leslie:

It is bombardment all the time, shell holes about 7 and 8 feet deep and 2 inches apart. We had a drop of water in a petrol tin, a couple of biscuits to eat. There was dead Germans and our fellows all around and the smell was pretty high.

Emma:

September 28^th, 1916

Dear Madam,

Your son is not reported as seriously wounded, and in the absence of further particulars, it is to be assumed he is making satisfactory progress towards recovery.

Leslie:

We used German flares and pistols through the night, and the second morning there was only about 4 of us on the gun. The others had been wounded and our cobber was knocked in the back.

Emma:

March 20^th, 1917

Dear Sir,

In regard to my son killed in action on 5^th February 1917, I would like you to try and get my dear son’s personal effects. I would like the kit bag if possible, and anything that belongs to my dear son Leslie. I would like you to get the gold ring; I gave ­it to my boy when I said our last goodbye.

Leslie:

We was fixing him up and the 2 of us got knocked with shrapnel. I got a little bit in the leg and blew a revolver pouch off my arm. Then we met the rest of our cobbers coming down in the train so they knocked 12 of us out on 2 guns.

Emma:

March 1^st, 1918

Dear Sir,

I do so wish you would try and find my dear loving son’s ring that I gave him when he went away. It had a horseshoe and ‘Good Luck’ on it, and my dear son just adored it. As far as I know he put it in some place to be kept safe when he was in the firing line. Hoping that you will do your best.

From a lonely mother.

Leslie:

I got the boat to France and went to England in the hospital. I’ll be out in a few days and be ready to go back for some more.

Emma:

March 11^th, 1918

Dear Madam,

No trace can be found of the ring, and as no information is available as to where the late Private Robins placed it prior to entering the firing line, no hope can be entertained that it will be recovered at a later date.

Leslie:

This is all I can say at present. Love to all dear mother, brother and sister. Till we meet again, if not in this world, in the next.

Emma:

December 1^st, 1922

Dear Sir,

Would you be so kind as to forward the Victory Medal to me due to my late son Private Leslie Robins, Number 3127 14^th Battalion C Company, killed in action. By doing so you will greatly oblige me.

Mrs E. E. Robins
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