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Originally Posted by Morthoron

The War of the Ring does not emulate WWII in the least, per the author. If anything, the battle and horror in the story reflect Tolkien's recollections of WWI

Much agreed.

Towards the end of Summer, I came across a brown patch on one of the backyard stepping stones. Upon closer examination, I saw that it was composed of ants - some alive, but most of them dead. What struck me was the shear number of ants, as they collectively made an area about the size of a circle with a radius of about 6 inches.

As I live in a temperate zone, these are not huge Amazonian army ants that are the size of small dogs. No, these were the typical brown-colored carpenter ants (I surmised, as I don't even pretend to be an entomologist) native to the region.

The swarm was again sizable, but again they were mostly dead. I couldn't see any signs of their demise - no chemical residue, no child-sized foot prints, no magnifying glass burns. Just dead ants.

Out came the hose. Whatever it was with the ants, they - the living and the dead - were washed away, and now that we're into Fall, are long forgotten.

***

At least sixteen million people died as a result of WWI, the war that J.R.R. Tolkien experienced. Here's how some of his contemporaries saw that time (all quotes and poems taken from Martin Gilbert's The First World War):

Originally Posted by Captain Spears

In the splendor of conquest, or at rest, troops could try to forget realities of the battlefield, but for those who were at the Front, or even near the front as it moved swiftly forward, a new, harsh world was beginning to impinge upon the accepted conventions of armies at war. For Captain Spears, who had been with the French Fifth Army for the previous two weeks, that moment came on August 20, as he sat on a hill with a French officer overlooking the fields, towns and villages of the Sambre valley south of Charleroi. 'A dog was barking at some sheep. A girl was singing as she walked down the lane behind us. From a little farm away on the right came the voices and laughter of some soldiers cooking their evening meal. Darkness grew in the far distance as the light began to fail. Then, without a moment's warning, with a suddenness that made us start and strain our eyes to see what our minds could not realise, we saw the whole horizon burst into flame.'

'A chill of horror came over us. War seemed suddenly to have assumed a merciless, ruthless aspect that we had not realized till then. Hitherto it had been war as we had conceived it, hard blows, straight dealing, but now for the first time we felt as if some horrible Thing, utterly merciless, was advancing to grip us.'

Originally Posted by A.P Herbert

This is the Fourth of June

Think not that I never dream

The noise of that infernal noon,

The stretchers' endless stream,

The tales of triumph won,

The night that found them lies,

The wounded wailing in the sun,

The dead, the dust, the flies.

The flies! oh God, the flies

That soiled the sacred dead,

To see them swarm from dead men's eyes

And share the soldiers' bread!

Nor think I now forgot

The filth and stench of war,

The corpses on the parapet,

The maggots on the floor.

Isaac Rosenberg
The wheels lurched over the sprawled dead
But pained them not, thought their bones crunched,
Their shut mouths made no moan,
They lie there huddled, friend and foeman,
Man born of man, and born of woman,
And shells go crying over them
From night to night and now.

Earth has waited for them
All the time of their growth
Fretting for their decay:
Now she has them at last!

Originally Posted by Wllfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eye writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick with sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, -
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

As above, it wasn't a country or person that Tolkien was equating with Mordor; it was WAR! It was this ugliness, this waste of lives, the destruction of the world, the pitiful sacrifices on Mars' altar, the suffering of those just trying to find a quiet place (just think for a moment of all of the children!) - that I think was what Tolkien saw as the 'evil,' not some specific European country.

Reading the book with the stories and poems like those above, I couldn't help but be touched by the huge mess the whole affair was...and yet, for what? What did it accomplish again? Ask someone on the street to see if they even know about what had taken place.

All of it washed away by some big hose?