“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
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