I got a great scan of the Wilfred Owen statue in Birkenhead today., my first Statue scan since i fell scanning. The whole thing took about fifteen minutes. I kept going over it again and again, trying to capture every last fine detail. I didn't want to miss a thing, and the final result was outstanding. I used the Creality Otter, with the Wireless Bridge, and Samsung Fold 7, the cloudy weather helped a lot. No sun meant no harsh shadows or glare, which gave me a smooth, even surface to work with.
The statue itself, called Futility, is in Hamilton Square. Created by artist Jim Whelan and unveiled in 2018, it shows a weary First World War soldier with his rifle across his knees, head bowed in exhaustion. The title is taken from one of Wilfred Owen’s most haunting poems, which captures the hopelessness of soldiers watching a comrade die.
Owen, born in Oswestry in 1893, is one of the greatest war poets. His works stripped away any sense of glory in battle. He gave a voice to the suffering of soldiers and changed how the world viewed war.
He actually studied at the Birkenhead Institute before heading to the front. Tragically, he was killed on November 4, 1918, just a week before the Armistice. He was only twenty-five. His mother received the news of his death on the same day the bells rang to celebrate peace.
The statue also pays tribute to the 88 "Old Boys" of the Birkenhead Institute who never returned from the war. The plaques on the base carry Owen's words, ensuring his poetry and the sacrifices of his fellow soldiers are not forgotten.
For me, scanning this statue was more than just capturing a digital model. It felt like preserving history, making sure Owen’s voice and the story of those who served continue to live on in another form.
As the statue honors him, it seems fitting to include some of Wilfred Owen's own work. Here are two of his most well known poems.
Futility
Move him into the sun— Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields half-sown. Always it woke him, even in France, Until this morning and this snow. If anything might rouse him now The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds— Woke once the clays of a cold star. Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides Full-nerved,—still warm,—too hard to stir? Was it for this the clay grew tall? —O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break earth's sleep at all?
Anthem for Doomed Youth
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle Can patter out their hasty orisons. No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,— The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all? Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes. The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall; Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
This also why i scan, the feeling of capturing this fantastic piece of history and art, and for stories behind everything i do and sharing it with others to learn from, and know the forgotten heroes behind every story... sorry if this is a bit long hope you enjoy the Photographs and videos #whyiscan
