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Does it matter?—losing your legs?...
For people will always be kind,
And you need not show that you mind
When the others come in after football
To gobble their muffins and eggs.
Does it matter?—losing your sight?...
There's such splendid work for the blind;
And people will always be kind,
As you sit on the terrace remembering
And turning your face to the light.
Do they matter?—those dreams from the pit?...
You can drink and forget and be glad,
And people won't say that you're mad;
For they'll know that you've fought for your country,
And no one will worry a bit.
Siegfried Sassoon’s "Does it Matter?" is a searing indictment of the societal indifference toward soldiers returning from the horrors of World War I. Written during a period of unprecedented destruction and disillusionment, the poem employs biting irony to expose the hollow platitudes offered to wounded veterans. Through its deceptively simple structure and repetitive questioning, Sassoon critiques the civilian world’s failure to comprehend the physical and psychological devastation wrought by war. This essay will explore the poem’s historical context, its use of irony and understatement, its thematic concerns (including trauma, alienation, and societal hypocrisy), and its enduring emotional resonance.
To fully appreciate "Does it Matter?", one must situate it within the broader landscape of World War I literature. The conflict, which lasted from 1914 to 1918, introduced mechanized slaughter on an industrial scale, leaving millions dead, maimed, or psychologically shattered. Sassoon, himself a decorated officer, initially embraced the war with patriotic fervor but soon became one of its most vocal critics. His poetry, along with that of Wilfred Owen and others, forms part of the "war protest" tradition, rejecting the glorification of battle in favor of unflinching realism.
The poem was written in 1917, a year marked by catastrophic battles such as Passchendaele, where soldiers drowned in mud and shell craters. Meanwhile, on the home front, civilians—shielded from the full horror of trench warfare—often perpetuated simplistic narratives of heroism and sacrifice. Sassoon’s poem directly challenges this disconnect, exposing the inadequacy of civilian sympathy and the empty reassurances given to those who had sacrificed their bodies and minds.
The most striking feature of "Does it Matter?" is its relentless use of irony. Each stanza begins with a seemingly innocuous question—"Does it matter?—losing your legs?", "Does it matter?—losing your sight?"—only to follow with responses that are grotesquely inadequate. The poem’s tone is superficially light, almost conversational, but this veneer of politeness makes the underlying bitterness all the more devastating.
Consider the first stanza:
"Does it matter?—losing your legs?...
For people will always be kind,
And you need not show that you mind
When the others come in after football
To gobble their muffins and eggs."
Here, Sassoon juxtaposes the life-altering loss of limbs with the trivial comforts of civilian life. The image of able-bodied men enjoying muffins and eggs after a game of football underscores the veteran’s alienation. The phrase "you need not show that you mind" is particularly cutting, implying that the wounded must suppress their suffering to avoid making others uncomfortable. This enforced stoicism was a common expectation of soldiers, who were often praised for their "cheerful" endurance while their trauma went unacknowledged.
The second stanza shifts to blindness, another common war injury:
"There's such splendid work for the blind;
And people will always be kind,
As you sit on the terrace remembering
And turning your face to the light."
The supposed "splendid work for the blind" is a hollow consolation, reducing the veteran’s experience to a patronizing cliché. The final image—"turning your face to the light"—could be read as bitterly ironic, suggesting that society offers only superficial gestures of compassion rather than genuine understanding.
The third stanza delves into psychological wounds:
"Do they matter?—those dreams from the pit?...
You can drink and forget and be glad,
And people won't say that you're mad;
For they'll know that you've fought for your country,
And no one will worry a bit."
Here, Sassoon addresses what we now recognize as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), then dismissed as "shell shock" or mere weakness. The suggestion that one can "drink and forget and be glad" mocks the self-medication many veterans resorted to, while the assurance that "no one will worry a bit" lays bare society’s indifference.
At its core, "Does it Matter?" is about the chasm between the soldier’s experience and civilian perception. The poem’s wounded figures are expected to perform gratitude, to accept their suffering with quiet dignity, lest they disturb the fragile illusions of those who sent them to war. This theme of alienation is central to much of Sassoon’s work, reflecting his own struggles with postwar reintegration.
The poem also critiques the performative nature of kindness. Society’s "kindness" is conditional, contingent on the veteran’s ability to conform to expectations. The moment a soldier shows true anguish—whether through rage, depression, or addiction—he risks being labeled ungrateful or unstable. Sassoon himself faced this when his public anti-war statement in 1917 led to his brief confinement in a psychiatric hospital rather than a court-martial, as authorities preferred to brand him as mentally ill rather than politically dangerous.
Furthermore, the poem exposes the hypocrisy of nationalist rhetoric. The line "For they'll know that you've fought for your country" drips with sarcasm, suggesting that the phrase is used to justify neglect. The war was sold as a noble cause, but the returning soldiers found that their sacrifices were honored in abstraction while their actual suffering was ignored.
Sassoon’s poem resonates strongly with the works of Wilfred Owen, his contemporary and fellow war poet. Owen’s "Disabled" similarly explores the isolation of a wounded soldier, while "Mental Cases" depicts the psychological ruin of war survivors. Both poets employ irony, but where Owen’s tone often leans toward pity and horror, Sassoon’s is more acerbic, almost contemptuous of civilian complacency.
Another illuminating comparison is with Rupert Brooke’s idealistic war sonnets, such as "The Soldier," which glorify death in battle. Sassoon’s poem dismantles such romanticism, replacing Brooke’s "foreign field / That is forever England" with the image of a legless man watching others eat muffins. The contrast could not be starker.
Though rooted in its historical moment, "Does it Matter?" remains painfully relevant. Modern veterans continue to face inadequate care, societal indifference, and the pressure to mask their trauma. The poem’s central question—Does it matter?—echoes in contemporary discussions about the costs of war and the responsibilities owed to those who fight.
Moreover, the poem’s emotional power lies in its restraint. Sassoon does not scream his outrage; he lets the irony do the work, forcing the reader to recognize the cruelty beneath the polite reassurances. This technique ensures that the poem’s bitterness lingers long after reading, a quiet but unshakable indictment.
"Does it Matter?" is a masterpiece of ironic protest, distilling the fury and despair of a generation betrayed by the very society they fought for. Sassoon’s use of understatement, repetition, and biting sarcasm exposes the hollowness of wartime rhetoric and the failures of postwar compassion. The poem is not merely a historical artifact but a timeless challenge to the way societies treat their wounded—both seen and unseen. In an age still grappling with the consequences of conflict, Sassoon’s words remain a necessary rebuke to complacency and a testament to poetry’s power to speak truth where others look away.
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