Arthur Lewis Jenkins

His parents were Sir John Lewis Jenkins KCSI (1857 - 1912), a civil servant who became Vice President of the Indian Viceroy's Council, and Florence Mildred Trevor (1870–1956).

[19] Virginia Woolf reviewing his poems in The Times Literary Supplement wrote that he was "a poet and a sportsman who loved the wind and the sea, and would always take the fighting chance.

"[12][20] The Western Mail reporting his death noted that "he, too, like the other gallant hearts that have gone before him, has found "a fuller life.”"[21] In his poem 'Bondage' he wrote[22] Oh, I am sick of ways and wars And the homeless ends of the earth, I would get back to the northern stars And the land where I had birth, ….

Who, then, are we to grudge the bitter price ⁠Of this our land inviolate through the years, Or mar the splendour of their sacrifice ⁠That is too high for tears.... God grant we fail not at the test—that when ⁠We take, mayhap, our places in the fray, Come life, come death, we quit ourselves like men, ⁠The peers of such as they.

An aching glare, a heat that kills, Skies hard and pitiless overhead, And, ever mastering lesser ills, Sad bugles keening comrades dead; Fever and dust and smiting sun, In sooth a land of little ease; Yet now my service here is done I think on other things than these.

Dawn on the desert's shortlived dew, Blue shadows on the silver sand, Grey shimmering mists that still renew The magic of the hinterland; Sunsets ablaze with crimson fire, Pale moons like plates of beaten gold, Soft nights that fevered limbs desire, And stars whereto our stars are cold; Sharp rattling fights at peep of day, Machine-guns searching scrub and plain, Red lances questing for the prey, And shrapnel puffs that melt again; Swift shifting stroke and counterstroke, Advance unhurrying and sure, Until the stubborn foeman broke— These are the memories that endure.

I would not stay - and yet, Now that the trooper's fairly in, With vain unreasoning regret I turn my journey to begin; For through the haze of dust and heat That veils the desert and the town, Still glimmers something strange and sweet, The afterglow of old renown.