The landscape changed
From peace to bloody
war
A hellish muddy
landscape
Those men had to
endure
And when war was ended
The living had moved
on
The dead remained on
parade
To forever guard the
Somme
The landscape changed
From bloody war to
peace
A sombre mark of the
passing
Of those who fell
before the cease
Serried ranks of white
crosses
Marking those who
stayed
To be forever
remembered
These fallen comrades
on parade
A wondrous pastoral scene
Green fields and
meadows
Woodland and hedgerows
Unchanged for
centuries
A beautiful place, a
safe place
Then came war’s unkind
caress
Which swept away the
green
Repainted the pastoral
scene
In shades of brown
And turned everything
to mud
Tree trunks devoid of
branches
Stood like rows of
rotted teeth
In the mouth of hell
The fetid stench of
detritus
Filled the air
All this did Flanders
endure
The blood, the mud,
the tears
For four long years
Now another kinder
hand
Has touched the land
And colour has
returned
From the paint box of
peace
Since the cooling of the Nazi’s oven fires
And the fading glow of
the funeral pyres
The world has had to
endure the mutterings
Of those who deny the
holocausts sufferings
The inane ramblings of
conspiracy theorists
The bigoted bile of
Islamic fundamentalists
The holocaust now
stricken from the syllabus
We must not speak of
it lest we cause a fuss
We must appease the
liberal sentiments
For God forbid we
might cause offence
But the holocaust
happened, SHOUT it aloud
Shout it in the face
of the apathetic crowd
For if we do not
condemn the holocaust deniers
Somewhere, one day
they will relight the fires
God bless you Harry Patch
The last British Tommy
to fall
Jack, Jill and Maudie
are waiting
Can you hear that
distant bugle call?
The serried ranks
stand cheering
Calling you to glory
Harry
Calling you to
reassemble
You must go now no
time to tarry
Jack, Jill and Maudie
Allen
Are waiting to greet
you proudly
Goodbye Harry so long
old friend
Can you hear the bugle
calling loudly?
Come to the cookhouse
door boys
Come to the cookhouse
door
Oh fallen heroes, oh
hearty lads
I fear we will see
your like no more
Jack, Jill and
Maudie Allen where the nicknames of Harry Patch’s Lewis machine gun crew who
were killed by shell fire on Pilkem Ridge, Passchendaele, Belgium in 1917
Ghurka warrior
Proud and loyal
How can you take
This cruel betrayal
Always williing
To take up arms
To suffer war
And all its harms
You defended empire
And commonwealth
Fighting hand to hand
And in stealth
You stood and fought
In our nations name
How we forsake you
To our governments shame
Ghurka warrior
Loyal and proud
You now have justice
Let us cheer you aloud
Soldiers bear the last of the lads
In casket draped in
the union flag
And then a reverent
silence falls
Before the last post’s
mournful call
Trumpeting his journey
into grace
To feel his comrade’s
warm embrace
Goodbye Harry a
soldier known
The final Tommy going
home
An ordered peace
Now hold sway
Where once was chaos
And hell came to earth
Nature has returned
To repaint the
landscape
The mud and the blood
Are of the past
The alien terrain
Featureless and
without end
Are but a distant
memory
The mud now green
grass
And poppies grow
Red as the blood that
fed them
In the savage harvest
The landscape now is
neat
The birds have
returned
And grace the trees
unknowing
The farmers work the
land
Where once the
soldiers trod
National flags still
flutter
Above ordered plots
For silent armies
All neat and tidy
Uniform patches
Of uniformed crosses
Serried ranks
Of white polished
stone
Where lads and pals
parade
With eternal regiments
