A WWI remembrance poem

(First published online for Northern Life magazine 2018)

 

It creaked as he left:

The old garden gate

He’d promised to fix it

But now it was too late

 

Tearful in the doorway

His mother cries out,

‘Do it when you’re back, Billy!’

And of this she has no doubt

 

He waves,

And off to glory are the swathes

Of boys, and men in their prime

Escaping the coal dust & the grime

 

Such an adventure awaits

Far beyond their garden gates

For King & Country, family & friends

They’ll all be heroes when it ends!

 

It may take a few month

So most of them reckon

But, three meals a day

And eternal glory beckon!

 

Joining the DLI

Are a ready made team

Already used to graft & grit

Men forged from the anthracite seam

 

   The training is basic

But no time to waste

In a foreign land

There’s a victory to taste…

 

                  ***

 

   Some men throw up

On the crossing to France

Some have a laugh

Some sing and dance!

 

Billy takes note

Of the ship’s trailing wake

He likes how it foams,

And then how it breaks

 

He likes how it settles

Into a gentle, swaying calm

And hopes it’s an omen

For his brothers in arms

 

He writes to his Mam

As her only son

He knows she’ll be hurting:

 

I’ll soon be done!

 

It was 1906

When his father was taken

The pit rumbled black thunder

The whole village was shaken

 

His Mam never remarried

Said, it would be a lie

And besides, she had her son

The apple of her eye

 

                    ***

 

   The Battalion is now marching 

As news of hell filters through

But the humour still flows freely

A little sarcasm gets them through

 

   Marching through a village

Wafts the smell of pies & bread

It makes them think of home

And words they left unsaid

 

 But, somewhere near the river Somme

Is where weary feet can rest

A good night’s sleep & a hefty meal

And they’ll all be at their best…

 

                   ***

 

The shelling is relentless

It shakes their very bones

It feasts upon their inner self

‘til the mind becomes unknown

 

Some, get dragged away 

Still quaking in their boots

The collateral of a shell-shocked mind

Too disruptive to the troops

 

Some are ‘home from home’

Digging tunnels underground

Forever vigilant of the enemy

And that familiar rumbling sound

 

Billy has trench foot

Of course, he’s not alone

Men waddle like lame ducks

Before they cast a single stone

 

He writes to his Mam

(It would be his last)

Rumour is they’re going over

Finally, the stone is cast

 

Set my place at the table, Mam

I’ll soon be coming home!

 

And this is what she did

But would forever sit alone

             

                    ***  

 

They’re waiting for the whistle

Some men look around

Gentle nods & subtle winks

To these brothers they are bound

 

The tension is mounting

The Commanders are shouting

The whistle blows

Over the top they go!

A cacophony of thunder

Blasts them asunder

Mortar and machine gun

Obliterate the first run

The whistle blows once more

Billy screams at the faceless foe

His bayonet is fixed & ready

But the bullets come thick & steady

A brother’s blood adorns his face

One who’s gone without a trace

The breath of Satan then rolls in

Full of wickedness & sin

It sears the flesh & burns the eyes

And feeds upon their plainful cries

Through yellow mist, a gas mask emerges

Billy fires a shot & forward he surges

The enemy is down, but he feels no joy

Somewhere a mother has just lost her boy

There’s a cry for help, then another

He stumbles forward, ‘I’m coming brother!’

He feels a punch to his shoulder

   (body feels a little colder)

His rifle has gone, but he stumbles on

There's a glint of steel: 

His innards revealed

A mortar explodes, flashing searing heat

He’s no longer on his weary feet

His hands sink deep 

into the cold, red mud

He’d get to his feet... if only he could

His memory drifts home

To his Mam and his Dad

A realisation of what little time they'd all had

   Then, strangely,

He thinks of the old garden gate

Slowly creaking to its inevitable fate

‘I’m sorry, Mam’, in soft whispers, he says

And slowly drifts to the end of his days

 

                    ***

 

   His mother sweeps the grime

From out the front door

She hears the gate creak

And then tumble to the floor

 

For a brief moment

She swears she sees her boy

Wandering down the path

Full of life and youthful joy

 

But it’s fleeting

She carries on sweeping

Ignores her rapid heart beating

Ignores the momentary fear

Ignores the random tears

 

And this is how it went

Until her days were spent

Forever wishing her boy home

While he lay in a grave unknown

 

                   ***

 

   His body is trampled, buried deep

Above him the fallen begin to heap

He’s just one of many, missing at war

Gracing the soil beneath the earth’s floor

 

Let us never forget the sacrifice made

Every lost soul a foundation laid

This is why Britain is Great and free

This is how we all came to be.

So wear your poppy with absolute pride

And remember all who fought

And all those who died.