DON’T PRAY TO YOUR GOD

 

Don’t pray to your God

When another war begins

Because he doesn’t like war

And he doesn’t care who wins

IT’LL BE OVER BY CHRISTMAS

 

August 4^th 1914

The world goes mad

And the Great War Begins

The war to end all wars

“It’ll be over by Christmas”

So they promised

Instead there followed

Four years of death

THE RETURN HOME

 

Through leafy glades we walked together

In the dappled shade beneath the trees, where

Spots of light chase each other frantically

As the soft summer breeze moves the canopy

And the patterns change on the forest floor

In some places shafts of golden sunlight

Burst through the canopy, like sunbeams

Sent down from God, lighting the darkness

In the sunnier spots the blue bells dance

As if to entertain the weary travellers

While the path leads us upwards into the light

Each step taking us to ever lighter skies

Until we finally emerge atop a green hill

And we look out across the land, England,

And knew what we had fought and died for

To save this land from the spoils of war

THEY MUST CROSS THE BARREN EARTH

 

They must cross the barren earth

Where once wheat and barley grew

A land where nothing lives in the mud

And an eerie silence hugs the land

Until the chattering of machine gun fire

Breaks the quietness of the morning

And hails of bullets cut like a scythe

Until like wheat and barley they fall

BREATH PLUMES IN THE CHILL

 

Breath plumes in the chill

Of the morning still

When suddenly, harsh whistles blow

Shrilly breaking the silence

And then the order comes

It’s time to advance

So over the top go the lads

Clambering out of the trench

To stride with purpose

Towards the enemy line

When the machine guns

Speak their deadly greeting

And their body’s fall

On the scarred

And blood-stained land

INTO THE LANDING CRAFT

D-Day at Dawn,

As he climbed down

The scramble net

And into the landing craft,

He was afraid,

But more than that

He was terrified,

But he was not

Afraid of death

Nor of injury,

Not of the rolling seas

Or the deafening boom

Of Naval guns

Or incessant gunfire

From the hostile shore.

None of that unnerving

Catalogue of terror

Frightened his as much,

Or made him more afraid

Than of fear itself

A paralysing fear

Filling him with anxiety

Rendering him inert

Leaving him unable

To do his duty

To remember his training

Or fulfil his function

But above all else

His greatest fear of all

Was that he would

Let down his men

When they needed him most

THE BOOMING GUNS FALL SILENT

 

The booming guns fall silent

All along the western front

As the dawn breaks and

In dimly lights trenches

Men pass the time in silence,

Alone among the throng

With their own thoughts

Or speaking silently to God

But in the silent waiting

Nerves jangle until the whistles blow

And up they go, over the top

As bullets sing their deadly song

And reap a bitter harvest

But the stalwarts strive on

A deliberate course sustained
Unwavering, toward the foe

Across the battle-scarred field

Amidst smoke and shell 

Where the acrid scented air

Stings the eyes and fills the nostrils

As concussive blast assails the ears

But onward, ever onward

The stalwarts strive on

Not though in the footsteps of heroes

For these heroes are making

The footprints in the mud

That others must follow

ON THE HOME-FRONT

 

On the home-front

Brave men and women

Gave their all

Granddad was a special

Mum was a WRAC

Her sister was on the land

Great Uncle Bill

Was in the home guard

Uncle Fred was in the ARP

Not everyone did their bit

But the majority rolled up their sleeves

Some did more than others

But everyone was under fire

AFTER WAR WAS DECLARED

 

The bombing began

Cities were struck

With vengeance

Night after night

Shattering explosions of death

Shaking the ground

Delivering deadly destruction

Buildings fell to the ground.

Stones and bricks

Turned to shrapnel

As architecture was rent asunder

Death meted out indiscriminately

On the innocents

The mighty Luftwaffe 

Had declared war on civilians

Theatres and churches

Schools and homes

Pubs and shops

All fell victim

Little was spared

In those terrible raids

Many British Cities

Still bear the scars

OLD SOLDIERS WEARIED WITH AGE

 

Old soldiers wearied with age

Marching with faltering stride

Carry themselves with dignity

And wear the uniform with pride

THE WHISTLES BLEW

 

The whistles blew

And over the top

Went the company

Moving as one

Through the smoke

And strewn before us

Broken and bloody

In the Flanders mud

Lay the fallen,

Comrades all

Lifeless and cold

But on we walked

Each of us knowing

We might join them soon

HAVING WON THE WAR

 

Having won the war we struggled in peace

We lived those post war days austerely

But truly believed it was for the best

Despite feeling the rationing severely

But out children charged on into the sixties

And lived the decade too cavalierly

BLOOD SWEPT LANDS

 

What a stunning and fitting tribute

Well met at the Bloody Tower

A Poppy Sea, marking the toll

Levied at the eleventh hour

Ceramic Poppies, flower and stem

Placed so we will remember them

THANK GOD FOR LITTLE BELGIUM

 

Thank God for little Belgium

Bravely holding off the Hun

Mounting a strong defence

So no easy victory was won

Gaining time for their allies

And maddening the Hun

A high price had to be paid

By Belgian mother and son

It was called the rape of Belgium

When the fighting was done

THE OLD SOLDIER

 

I don’t bitch and moan

About growing old

To me it’s a privilege

One which was denied to so many

My fallen pals

And the countless foe

Those who never left

The bloody field

Or succumbed to their wounds

Never to return

To a sweetheart’s arms

Or to sit beside the home fire

So, I bare the pains of age

With stoicism

And thank all that’s holy

For my long life

And the fruits of longevity

And keep the memory

In my heart for all the fallen youth

Until I re-join them

PACIFISM IS A NOBLE IDEAL

 

Pacifism is a noble ideal

A heartfelt principle

Yet when the foul poison

Of the Nazi doctrines

Leached into the world

An internal struggle began

Was the cause to defeat fascism

Greater than pacifist principles

Many took the position

War was the lesser of two evils

But not a decision taken lightly

INTO THE LANDING CRAFT

 

As he climbed

Into the landing craft

He was afraid

But not of death

Or of injury

But of fear itself

A paralysing fear

Rendering him inert

Leaving him unable

To do his duty

But above all else

His greatest fearl

Was that he would

Let down his lads

AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR

 

At the eleventh hour

On the eleventh day

Of the eleventh month

We heard the generals say

You can go home now lads

To the land you’ve defended

Thank God one and all

That the madness has ended

HMS BIRKENHEAD

 

HMS Birkenhead began life

As a steam frigate

One of the first iron-hulled vessels

Built for the Royal Navy

But she was quickly converted

And was commissioned as a troopship

It was as such on 26 February 1852

While transporting troops to Algoa Bay,

She was wrecked at Danger Point

Near to Gansbaai

100 miles from Cape Town,

With insufficient serviceable lifeboats

For all the passengers.

This gave rise to the most disciplined

Act of self-sacrifice ever witnessed

Described in verse by Rudyard Kipling

As the "Birkenhead drill"

Where the soldiers famously stood firm,

In serried ranks and allowed

The women and children

To safely board the boats

The courage and chivalry

Of the noble soldiers

In the face of certain death

Gave rise to the now accepted practice

When abandoning ship

Of “Women and children first”

And 550 men perished in the sea

SO SILENT WENT THE GUNS OF HELL

 

So silent went the guns of hell

No longer dispensing shot and shell

So we emerge from where we dwell

In answer to the armistice bell

PAST THE CENOTAPH THEY MARCH

 

Past the cenotaph they march

After Big Bens doleful chime

The proud veterans on parade

Years beyond their prime

But even with walking sticks

They still keep perfect time

ARE YOU WEARING A POPPY?

 

Are you wearing a poppy?

Wear it proudly on your lapel

Wear it with pride and respect

So everyone will be able to tell

That you recognise the sacrifice

Of those who fought and fell

THE VIKINGS

 

Killed in battle, bloody axe in hand

The reward of the Nordic warrior

Was for their souls to spend eternity

Residing in the great hall of Valhalla

SOLDIERS OF ROME

 

They died beneath the eagle

On the battlefields Rome

And were blessed after death

To walk in the fields of Elysium

CENOTAPH

 

Bow your undressed head

Before the cenotaph

A reverent monument

To warrior’s past

But not to glorify

Their tragic loss

But to mark the moment

And count the cost

MONUMENT

 

Each faceless name

In neat regimen

Of stone mason’s text

Is one of the fallen

Long forgotten names

Cut deep into the stone

Marking the sacrifice

Of battles Histories

The cold stone sentinel

A poignant reminder