REMEMBRANCE FOR UNCLE JOHN

 

John Holt 1887-1916

 

“Your country needs you”

We heard Kitchener say to us

We took the Kings shilling

Without any fuss

 

Lads and Pals all marched

Crowds cheering jubilantly

Then crossed the English Channel

To halt the advancing enemy

 

The distant we gain in battle

Against the loss of a comrade

Is measured in inches at best

As we play out Hague’s Charade

 

We came as proud young men

To halt the invaders advance

Only to live and die

In the mud of western France

 

In the cloying mud of France

Once rich and fertile soil

No longer appears like earth

And now is as slippery as oil

 

The mud colours everything

Even we try and fail to stay clean 

Mud has consumed the landscape

And hides the dead unseen

 

Subtle hints of another time

Some old Tree stumps remain

A jagged piece of wall sometimes

Will it ever be normal again?

 

Trenches have become home

Trench foot and rats our companion’s

Shellfire is our music hall

Mortars and rifles our musicians

 

We escape the daily horror

But only within our own minds

Where we explore familiar places

Far beyond the wars confines

 

The enemy are much like us

Their thoughts take them away

To a peaceful quiet land

On a peaceful quiet day

 

I sit in my muddy trench

My eyes closed to all but my wife

My sweet and beloved Tilly

The most important part of my life

 

Many fallen comrades lie

Where they fell upon the field

They saw no sense to fight

But still they refused to yield

 

After three long years

In the vile and muddy hell

I climbed out of my trench

And with my comrades fell