ISANDHLWANA

In eighteen hundred and seventy nine
The British marched in ordered line
A January morning on the eleventh day
Over the Buffalo River they made their way
The British force Lord Chelmsford led
As on Zulu land his troops did tread
The Zulu king sees this as an act of war
With broken word and broken law
Lord Chelmsford then his force divided
General Pulliene to make his camp decided
At Isanhlwana the British camp was made
Pickets and defenses set against a Zulu raid
But after eleven days in the Zulu’s land
The British had to make their stand
The warriors then the camp surround
After exploiting any weakness found
The Zulu impi many thousands strong
Defeat the British in the ensuing throng
Over seventeen hundred souls are lost
As after the battle they count the cost
Also countless numbers of Zulu’s dead
How many wives and children left unfed?
An organized army of foot and horse
Suffers the worst defeat by a native force

FOREIGN FIELDS

In the flower of youth cut down
Pals in regiments from every town
Sent to fight in the Nations name
Sent to die to the General’s shame
On foreign fields a generation falls
Heroes for whom the last post calls
Heroes sent to fight across the seas
Names now whispered on the breeze
Gathered as the bell of tribute tolls
Now call with pride the honor rolls


PRIVATE FREDERICK HITCH V.C.
November 29th 1856 - January 5th 1913

Frederick Hitch was born a shoemaker’s son
In Southgate, a hamlet to the north of London
It was eighteen fifty-six on a November day
Born to a large Victorian family as was the way

Fred didn’t wish to follow in his father’s trade
So as a builders laborer his way was made
But when he was barely twenty years of age
He was finding it tough to earn a decent wage

So to petty crime as extra income he sought
But he soon found himself up before the court
To the judge he pleaded guilty for his crime
His sentence join the army or serve prison time

A Victorian prison was the harshest punishment
So as hobsons choice he chose to join a regiment
Two days later private Frederick Hitch was put
In the 2nd Battalion of the 24th Regiment of Foot


Very soon they were on their way to South Africa
And they all set sail on the Troopship Himalaya
Reaching Simon's Bay and East London town
They were sent on trains to King William's Town

This was known locally as "White Man's Grave".
The regiment marched from here for several days
To find the Galekas and the rebellion crush
Soon they skirmished in the dense Petrie Brush

There were further battles on that day before
Chief Sandili was defeated in the last, Kaffir War.
For several months stationed at Mount Kempt
There were few things, for a young man to temp

It was a tough way of life to earn a penny a day
But Fred still sent some home to mother anyway
By this time the Zulu nation had reached its peak
No other African tribes had any strength to speak


Only the “red soldiers” could ever be a threat
And soon the 24th foot would there orders get
Lord Chelmsford led the army to the other side
To wage a war across the buffalo river wide

Defeat at Isandhlwana and Chelmsfords shame
Then too Rorkes Drift the victorious Zulu’s came
At the drift a hospital and Swedish mission stood
To be defended by only a few if they could

Less than one hundred and fifty made the stand
To fight the Zulu impi of more than four thousand
Young private Frederick Hitch was one such man
Who with his comrades stood fast and never ran

Fred was ordered to the roof to act as a lookout
Firing the first three shots at the enemy without
During the fray comrade’s fell to left and right
As wave upon wave of warriors came to fight


Private hitch was shot through his shoulder blade
And a comrade helped him as his dressing made
Doing his best to help his soldier brothers
He then began serving ammunition to the others

Then exhaustion washed over him like a flood
And finally he collapsed from loss of blood
He awoke confused finding himself in a stable
With victory won and awaiting the surgeon table

After Durban hospital care neath the southern star,
He was finally sent home aboard the ship Tamar
He was at Netley Hospital on his return to England
His Victoria Cross was given by Victoria’s own hand

But yesterdays hero was tomorrows unemployed
A medical boards decision Fred could not avoid
Unfit for duty and discharged from his regiment
With his medal and a pension he had to be content


In July of eighteen eighty one he married Emily
They move to Portchester Square to raise a family
Working at the Imperial Institute as Commissionaire
His V.C. was stolen while his tunic hung on a chair

After twenty years and just as many occupations
Fred with his family growing changed vocations
He invested in a hackney carriage and horse
Then a little later he owned a motor car of course

Fred finally received his replacement Victoria Cross
Three pounds, seven shillings and sixpence the cost
Only the second person ever to receive a duplicate
But the first to be charged a fee even to this date

On January 5th 1913 Fred Hitch died in his sleep
Leaving behind eight children and a wife to weep
At his funeral his coffin on gun carriage borne
With dignity and reverence the people mourn


Thousands came despite the cold and the biting rain
To say goodbye to the hero and remember him again
The gun carriage was flanked by Army outriders
Fred's cab came next manually pulled by taxi drivers

A boy scouts troop and the Chiswick firefighters
And a firing party from the South Wales Borderers
Two thousand cab drivers bringing up the rear
Respects and Tributes to pay from far and near

A memorial was erected to mark Fred’s Grave
At Chiswick cemetery befitting a soldier brave
On top of granite block some seven-foot in height
The Union Jack carved with a sun helmet in site

The helmet bears the badge of Hitch's old regiment
Finally in bronze the cross and palm leaf represent
After more than eighty five years of standing sentinel
The magnificent monument fell victim to a criminal


The memorial found vandalized when visitors went
Even the sun helmet stolen that adorned the monument
Also years had left stonework lackluster on the edifice
And the once bright bronze work tainted by verdigris

Thanks to Chiswick Council and the British Legion
The monument restored and fit for rededication
In Nineteen ninety nine on Rorkes Drifts day of glory
The gathered crowd remembers the Fred Hitch story


VASSILI THE WOLF HUNTER

Vassili Zaitsev was a legendary Russian sniper at the siege of Stalingrad
German soldiers on the whole did not know the name of this mountain lad
He set fear and dread into the invaders hearts with his cold hunters eye
And no German soldier in his sights was safe beneath the harsh winter sky

The political commissars tried to turn him into a hero of the Russian peoples
But Vassili saw himself simply as the young wolf hunter from the Urals
Despite the propaganda his record shows he went about his work without pity
His kills reaching two hundred and forty two during the siege of the city

It can only be surmised what impact his deeds had on the battles out come
Just the knowledge of his existence would have instilled real fear in some
His actions certainly affected the efficiency of the German war machine
To the average foot soldier young Vassili represented their doom unseen

The Germans called on an SS Colonel Thorvald to cancel out the Russian
But Vassili Zaitsev was triumphant out foxing the wily German marksman
His success deprived the Nazis the freedom of movement within Stalingrad
So young Vassili the wolf hunter from the Ural Mountains didn’t do too bad


THE NOT SO GREAT WAR

“Your country needs you,” said Kitchener
You’re needed to fight them over there
“It will be over by Christmas,” they said
But it was just getting started instead
In the cold trenches on Christmas morn
The guns remained silent after the dawn
Soon forgetting the horrendous conditions
Men began emerging from their positions
The opposing soldiers met in no mans land
Then smiled and shook their enemies hand
Briefly at peace both sides felt regrets
Then they exchanged gifts of cigarettes
A day without a single shot fired at all
They even got to play a game of football
Sadly the men returned their own way
They began killing again on Boxing day





THE LAST DAWN

On the horizon the eastern sky was lightening
But the over cast skies were not brightening
The dawn had little effect on the Grey sky
It was certainly a miserable morning to die

The sounds of the long range guns was absent
And the chorus of birdsong had not been vent
Just the cloud scudding across the murky sky
It was certainly a peaceful morning to die

The young soldier was led out in the silence
To face the firing squad to serve his sentence
The last cigarette signaled the end was nigh
What an undignified manner in which to die

The young man wanted to face his fate bravely
If he must die then he would do so with dignity
He would meet his maker with head held high
Though it was such an ignominious way to die


He did not run away and he was not a deserter
Nor a coward and could not be called traitor
But still he stood blindfold neath the dawn sky
In battle would have been a better way to die

His crime was to be blown over by an explosion
To lose his weapon and to suffer a concussion
His only visible injury was a cut above his eye
Its ironic really he was very lucky not to die

He was found wandering out of no mans land
Half senseless and with no weapon in his hand
His only injury was just that cut above his eye
It really is ironic how lucky he was not to die

Little did he know as he marched proudly away
What would become of him on a cold Grey day
When he kissed his love and then said goodbye
Little did he know how he would come to die


Crying out in fear is what filled him with dread
Before the shot was heard he was already dead
A new dawn breaking under the slate Grey sky
Why exactly did this young soldier have to die?

History would show that he was without blame
A young soldier no longer associated with shame
In the war to end all wars this you cannot deny
To be shot at dawn was a ridiculous way to die

THE TREATY
pauls june 2006
The eleventh hour
The T’s were crossed
And the I’s were dotted
The eleventh day
Books were balanced
Of the butchers tally
The eleventh month
Seeds were sown
For the Second World War
By the French at Versailles

DEFENDERS OF THE DRIFT

In the month of January
Of the year eighteen seventy nine
Lord Chelmsford,
The General Officer Commanding the British forces
Without the sanction of the British Government
By crossing over the great Buffalo River
Invaded KwaZulu,
In Southern Africa
The British entered the Sovereign Kingdom
In response, the fiercely independent AmaZulu people
Mobilized their armies against the invaders
Chelmsford, ignoring intelligence received
Arrogantly committed a fatal error and split his force
With the result that on the 22nd of January
A British force, seventeen hundred strong,
Was attacked by King Cetshwayo’s Impi’s
At a place called Isandhlwana
An isolated hill in Zululand
The British force encamped at the foot of the hill was attacked
By an army of about 10,000 Zulus,
The flower of Cetshwayo’s warriors
And destroyed The British
Who were quickly overwhelmed and routed
In the mayhem the camp was lost
The British tried to hold together
But any kind of discipline among the British and colonial ranks
Was lost along with the camp
As the remnants retreated before the superior force
Lieutenant’s Melvill and Coghill
Tried in vain to save the queens color
But when there horses were shot from under them
They were hacked to death by their pursuers
The few hundred who survived the battle
Had to fight a running battle with the Zulu
Skirmishing for there lives with blood thirsty warriors
Who did not take prisoners
During the retreat Private Samuel Wassall,
Of the eightieth regiment
Stopped to save a drowning soldier from the Buffalo River
He dismounted his horse and left it on the Zulu side
And swam out to rescue his comrade
Dragging him to safety under a hail of gunfire
Thirteen hundred soldiers died
Both British and natal native contingent
Their corpses all mutilated by the victors
In the aftermath of their great victory
It was the heaviest defeat ever inflicted
By a native force on an organized army

Encouraged by the momentous events at Isandhlwana
Cetshwayo’s brother, Dabulamanzi took his impi
The four and a half thousand strong undi corps
Intending to cross the buffalo river
And take his warriors into natal
But first he wanted to crush the meager British force
That remained at the small supply post
Eight miles North West of Isandhlwana
Close to the buffalo river crossing
The post was known to the British as Rorke's Drift,
Which the AmaZulu called KwaJimu
The post had formally been a trading store and a mission station
This consisted of a house and a chapel
And some dilapidated out buildings
The house was being used as a field hospital
While the chapel was the quartermasters store
Not much of a target
Of such little value
Not much of a prize for the Zulu
Of no strategic value
Not much honor to be had
In crushing such a small force
Not much of a victory to be had
Outnumbering the British forty to one
Hardly a fair fight
Not much worthy of defending by the British
Why did they stand?
Not much of a command
Some one hundred and fifty men
Though only 104 men were fit enough to fight
The men at Rorke’s drift had been warned
By retreating survivors of Isandhlwana
That the Zulu were coming
But they stayed anyway
Only one survivor of the defeat at Isandhlwana
Stayed to help defend Rorke’s drift
A Lieutenant James Adendorff of the NNC

Left in overall command of the post
Was Lieutenant Chard of the Royal Engineers
And, commanding a company-strength
Was Lieutenant Bromhead of the 24th Regiment of foot
But it was a volunteer, acting assistant commissary
James Dalton, a former Staff Sergeant,
With some twenty two years military experience
Who took control of the defenses
He ordered the construction of barricades
Connecting the two buildings with sacks of corn,
And an inner barricade with biscuit boxes
And determined the position of a redoubt
Where they would make their final stand
Dalton kept the men well occupied
Giving them little time to dwell on the situation
Or contemplate the impending assault

They heard the approaching Impi’s
Long before they could see them
The sound was like that of distant thunder in the hills
Drawing ever close and louder
Then a brief silence, very brief
When the fearsome Zulus finally attacked,
Wielding their short stabbing assegais,
They were unable to reach the soldiers
Who from behind the barricades blasted the Zulu warriors
With rifle fire at point blank range
Undaunted the Zulu kept coming
Wave upon wave, Charge upon charge
Eventually by sheer weight of numbers
They began swarming up the barricades
But Most of those who did mount the breastwork
Were repulsed by the bayonets of the defenders
Many of the Zulus were armed with rifles,
Some Taken from the dead at Isandhlwana
But many were obtained from Boer traders
Although they were older than the army issue Henri-Martini
Rifles they were
And a bullet from an old weapon kills just as efficiently
As from a new one
They took advantage of the high ground
And were able to pin down the gallant defenders
Again Wave upon wave of warriors charged the defenses
And again and again they were repulsed
Then After numerous unsuccessful attacks
And with many Zulu dead the attackers withdrew
But only to regroup and not for long
There was barely time to repair the walls
And take a much needed drink when they came again
Each attack varied slightly concentrating on different points
Probing for weaknesses
But again the redcoats held firm
By late afternoon they turned there full attention on the hospital
Where with four other men the Privates, Robert and William Jones,
Defended with valor the hospital door at bayonet point
Unable to break though the redoubtable Privates defense
The attackers set fire to the hospital’s roof,
And broke in through the burning thatch
The savage warriors began to spear the patients,
Mercilessly killing the sick and the lame
A private named Alfred Hook,
A Gloucestershire man,
Kept them at bay with his bayonet while his comrade
Private John Williams hacked holes in the wall
That separated one room from another
Then he dragged the patients through one by one
Once they had made there escape to the adjoining room
Hook continued to fight off the Zulu’s
As the patients were bundled out the window
The last man had dislocated his knee.
Williams had to break the other one
To get him through the window
Before the burning roof finally fell in
Once through the window and into the yard
The barricades offered them some protection.

The Fighting went on all night in the fitful glare
From the blazing hospital
As the Zulus made charge after charge on the barricades.
Both sides fought with desperate courage.
A patient from the hospital,
A Swiss born adventurer Christian Schiess,
A corporal of the Natal Native Contingent
Stabbed three Zulus in quick succession after clambering over the breastwork
In the yard Surgeon General Reynolds
Tended to the wounded, seemingly oblivious
To the life and death struggle going on all around him
Those too badly hurt to shoot propped themselves up
And reloaded the guns for those who were still on their feet.
Private hitch and Corporal Allan although wounded
Dragged ammunition around to the men on the barricades
In between engagements work continued rebuilding barricades
And constructing the redoubt, for the final stand


When the time came to form up on the redoubt
Each row fired there volley in turn
Then reload and await the command to fire
Then each in there turns fired another volley
Then reload and await the command to fire
Then another and another
Then reload and await the command to fire
Volley after deafening volley
Until the Zulu stopped coming
When the last echo faded all around were Zulu dead
Heaped upon each other
When dawn came at last, the Zulus withdrew
Taking their wounded with them and leaving the dead where they fell
Around the barricades
Not because they could not crush the meager British resistance
The defenders were desperately short of ammunition
And exhausted from the long battle
They could not have held out much longer
Despite the heroic stand against overwhelming opposition
It was Lord Chelmsford’s arrival on the scene
With a fresh column of British Soldiers
That finally tipped the balance
In the aftermath of that January day
A terrible revenge was exacted against the Zulu nation
Chelmsford on the Mahlabatini plains
Comprehensively defeated Cetywayo’s
Twenty thousand strong Impi’s
Then after the battle Ulundi Cetywayo’s royal kraal was burned
The Zulu have never again been one nation
However for the defenders of the drift
The highest honors where bestowed
Gunner John Cantwell
Private William Roy
Colour-sergeant frank Bourne
Second corporal Francis Attwood
And Private Michael McMahon
All received Distinguished Conduct Medal’s
While Victoria crosses were awarded to
Lieutenant, John Rouse Merriott Chard
Lieutenant Gonville Bromhead
Acting assistant commissary James Langley Dalton
Corporal William Wilson Allen
Private Frederick Hitch
Private Alfred Henry hook
Private Robert Jones
Private William Jones
Surgeon General James Henry Reynolds
Corporal Ferdnand Christian Schiess
Private John Williams,
In addition for his gallantry at Isandhlwana
A VC for Private Samuel Wassall
For selflessly putting his life at risk to save a fallen comrade
At the time posthumous medals where not given
So it wasn’t until 1907
When for attempting to save the queens color
From the field at Isandhlwana
Lieutenant Teignmouth Melvill
And Lieutenant Neville Josiah Aylmer Coghill
Were finally honored for their courageous act
When they were awarded the Victoria Cross
For valor

In these changing days
It not PC to have military heroes
You will be told of Rorke’s drift
How the honors were not earned
You will hear things belittling the efforts of the defenders
The medals were awarded only to save face
To put a positive spin on the days events
Don’t listen to them
Don’t let them blacken the memories of our heroes
They could have abandoned the post,
They chose to stand
They could have fled to natal
They chose to stay
A courageous act by courageous men
Remember them with pride


ON THE BATTLE GROUND

Soldiers stand in contemplation
Young faces etched in concentration
NCO’s keep them holding steady

A mounted officer comes prancing
Upon his steed nervously dancing
Then comes the order to be ready

Nervously awaiting engagement
Standing firm for the regiment
Then artillery is exchanged

Just stand fast and hold the line
Just do that lads and all is fine
Then the bugles tune is changed

The air fills with acrid smoke
And men must stand and choke
After the muskets flash


Across the open ground
The heavy horse’s pound
And then the sabres clash

The lancers Bodies tumble
As the legs of horses crumple
And lie on the battleground

Wounded cut and bleeding
Their Precious life receding
The lucky die without a sound

Remember the fallen brothers
Dying for you and others
Remember the forgotten

On foreign fields they lay
Buried deep beneath the clay
Remember the forgotten

Remember the forgotten
Beneath the earth and rotten
They’re heroes one and all

So tell the valiant story
Let us remember them in glory
For those who stand and fall

WAR BY GEORGE

David Lloyd George when in power
Got it wrong whence came the hour
He took the decision behind closed doors
And led us into the war to end all wars

SAVIORS

When soldiers stand neath flags unfurled
Before going to war to do the biz
Be sure before they’re sent to save the world
They re happy with the world the way it is


ON THE BLOODY FIELD OF BATTLE

Bright burnished copper shields
Shined bright as gold in the midday sun
Spear points glinted in the sun
Like a myriad of dancing fire flies
Silver lights blinked from polished
Buckles and embellishments
The clink of metal on metal
The snort of impatient horses
The barking of impatient sergeants
Leather creaked and strained
On soldier and beast
All the sights brought back to mind
Vivid remembrances
And the sounds spoke a familiar tongue
To the battle hardened
Anticipation dried the mouth
Almost as much as the dust
Banners fluttered lightly in the breeze
Some standing as tall as trees
And carrion eaters waited unseen
For the coming banquet
Then the battle commenced
With an ensuing cacophony
Many died quickly, painlessly
Not even seeing the fatal blow
Equally many died slowly
In agony from their wounds
Others lay on the bloody field
For hours and survived
Only to fight and die another day
The victors write the history
Of the bloody days events
The truth also lies dying
On the bloody field of battle


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


THEY FELL

They fell
Like ripened corn
Cut with scythe’s stroke
In seasoned hands
They fell
Like cherry blossom
Set free
By an April breeze
They fell
Like skittles toppled
By a wooden ball
Skilfully played
They fell
Like mighty English oak
Cut in thousands
To build the mighty fleet
They fell
Proudly and unwavering
Before their enemy
Uncompromising in their duty
They fell
Like the valiant
Cut down before their time
A generation forever lost


TOMMY

We walked towards the enemy
Hidden in the mist
That lay like a silent shroud
We picked our way
Across the open ground
Until the silence was broken
As overhead, a shell burst
Raining death and shrapnel
Knocking us to the ground
Throwing us hither and thither
Like skittles in an alley
Broken bodies lay in the Flanders mud
Of “no mans land”
Before me Tommy hung on the wire
His body vivid red
Cut from neck to groin
Even a baker such as I, knew
He was beyond earthy aid
“Shoot me” he pleaded
His face etched deep with pain
I knelt before him contemplating his request
Then his face relaxed
And he called out “mother”
Though not in pain or anguish
Not a cry for help, but a greeting
An exclamation of joy
As he was returned to her arms
War had diminished my faith
But in that instant it was restored
By a single death, my friend Tommy


I REMEMBER

I remember
Those with no future,
But only a gallant past
I remember
Those who never lived,
To enjoy the fruits of their sacrifice
I remember
Those who will be forever young,
Those who will never be old
I remember
When the sun sets on their past,
And rises brilliantly for our future
I remember
Father’s, sons and brothers,
Husband’s, friends and lovers
I remember
That lost generation of men,
Who went to war for our tomorrow
I remember
Poor man, gentleman and scholar,
Who stood shoulder to shoulder
I remember
Those who fell before the foe,
For a future they wouldn’t know


CRIMSON SNOW

Each November
We remember
At the Royal Albert Hall
And we remember

With dignity
With respect
They stand in silence
And we remember

In silence
Petals fall
Like crimson snow flakes
And we remember

Gently falling
They settle
Upon hat and tunic
And we remember


Each petal
Once a life
Floats in silent homage
And we remember

Red poppies
Springing eternally
From the bloodied fields
And we remember

Falling petals
Falling in millions
To recall the fallen
And we remember


H-HOUR

H hour approached
And we waited
Some men hummed
Tunelessly, nervously
Others muttered a prayer
A few were sick with nerves
Some shuffled from foot to foot
Some men were eager
Some reluctant
There was fear
And anticipation
Also a kind of excitement
Some knew this was their time
Yet no one faltered
They didn’t want to kill
Or be killed
But still no one faltered
The tension mounted
As the hour long barrage ceased
The guns fell silent
The sky cleared
And there was even birdsong
The shrill sound of whistles
Echoed through the trenches
And it was time
With the whistles still ringing in our ears
Up we went
Over the top
We covered half the distance
In silence un-resisted
Then still in silence
Men began to fall
At first only the zipping overhead
Of passing bullets was audible
Then crying and screaming
Then no one was standing
The generals, four miles behind the lines
Pointed at maps and read dispatches
As we lay in the mud dieing


RETURNING 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 treetops
As on the forest floor the patterns change
In some places shafts of golden sunlight
Burst through the canopy, like sunbeams
Sent down from god above to light the darkness
In the sunnier spots the blue bells dance
As if to entertain the travellers
The path leads us upwards into the light
Each step taking us to ever lighter skies
Until we emerge atop a green hill
We looked out across the land, England
And knew what we had all fought and died for
To save this land from the spoils of war


VENGEANCE WEAPONS

Vicious product of the conquered
Exploding on the unsuspecting
Not aimed at the soldiers
Generals or other men of war
Experimental weapons
Aimed not at military targets
Nor at the politicians that send men to war
Chariots of death
Exploding on the innocents
Wiping out whole families
Eliminating the non combatants
Aimlessly targeted at a city
People helpless to escape
Ordinary people doing ordinary things
Not foot soldiers on German soil
Spiteful vengeance of Hitler


THE RUGGED ISLE

The channel glistened
With silver strands
Beneath the early summer sun
Its waves broke gently white
Below the green topped cliffs of chalk
The sky of azure blue
Was clear and appeared limitless
But on the distant horizon
Storm clouds gathered
Though these clouds bore no rain
And would not bring a summer squall
Storm and tempest were imminent
The sky became filled with sinister formations
Like foreboding flocks
Of migrating duck or geese
But these were not of natures sending
This malevolent swarm
Scarring the clear June sky
These were of mans conception
Heading for England’s shores
To cross its wondrous tapestry
Spread casually across the land
Like a vast quilted patchwork
And when upon this landscape
Easy on the eye
Did the bombs of evil fall
Shattering the peace
Of our rugged isle
Splitting the earth
And breaking bodies
Its spirit did not break
Its people stood firm
Defiant in Satan's face
Withstanding hells fire
And brimstone smoke
And spat in Hitler’s eye


YPRES

Since that day
In that fateful campaign
When you stepped willingly
Upon that sodden Flanders field
And were gathered in
During that bloody harvest
Your future was no more

Since that day
In that fateful campaign
When you stepped out and fell
Upon that sodden Flanders field
And lay with silent comrades
During that bloody harvest
Your dreams were no more

Since that day
In that fateful campaign
When you stood and were counted
Upon that sodden Flanders field
And lay in the company of hero’s
During that bloody harvest
Your hopes were no more

Since that day
In that fateful campaign
When you were called to god
From that sodden Flanders field
With hordes of silent comrades
During that bloody harvest
You could love no more

Since that day
In that fateful campaign
Others lived to fight another day
From that sodden Flanders field
And when the cost was tallied
After that bloody harvest
The world was changed forever

Since the day the peace was one
Others ventured out in the world
And thrived in a world for ever changed
A world you helped to change
You could not reap the rewards
You could never again walk in the sun
Or Feel a cooling breeze upon your face
You gave your life for others futures
You fell to fulfill others dreams
Your sacrifice secured others hopes
Since you fell others have loved
And been loved in return as you could not
When you fell upon that sodden Flanders field
You sowed the seed of freedom
When the fragile seedling bore fruit
It changed the world forever


I MISS THE PLACE

I miss the place
Where I journeyed into this world
Where a loving mother
Kissed me and gently brushed my curls

I miss the place
Where mother taught me the joys of life
And my father
Taught me to seek harmony from strife

I miss the place
Where my school days first began
And those friends
That made up our inseparable band

I miss the place
Where my heart had an optimistic view
And I miss the face
Of my one and only love so true


I miss the place
Where summer days seemed without end
Where natures bounty
Spilled from the fields we had to tend

I miss the place
Where the bones of my parents lay
And the times
When our days were full with play

I miss the place
I knew before I grew into a man
And took up arms
To fight for the king in a foreign land

I miss the place
That is the home I shall never see again
Never smell the grasses green
Or taste those gentle summer rains


I miss that place
My distant home far across the sea
The place I left behind
So I could die fighting for the free

PEACE IN OUR TIME

When idle thoughts lead me back down Memory lane
I think of Mr Chamberlain stepping from the plane
Desperately clutching that piece of paper he waved
That promise of hope that Europe would be saved

How we all held that precious hope in our hearts
Before the promise of peace finally fell apart
And how that hope evaporated to leave me scared
When Chamberlains voice said war was declared

Hitler’s broken promise broke Neville’s heart
Another world war blew his appeasement apart
Then up steps Winston Churchill into the fray
His boldness and stiff resolve eventually won the day
A broken man, Chamberlains life came to an end
Many years before the war he tried so hard to prevent

THE DEVIL IN THE SKIES

From the dark cloudless skies
Comes the engines droan
Of that unseen and menacing evil
In grim formation flown
Then comes the sirens song
Telling of impending death
As the city looks skyward
Holding a collective breath
Long beams of light
Searched out the evil flock
Criss-crossing the darkness
In every quarter of the clock
Towards the shelters
The civilian’s ant like scurry
As the guns began desperately
Trying to stop the enemy
Fire and death rains down
Upon the weary populace
In macabre equality
The walks of life feel deaths embrace
As buildings fall to the ground
In rubble and dust
Life and history instantly erased
After the bombs combust
Then come the sirens again
Calling out loud, all clear
And from underground
The jaded survivors reappear
To count the cost
Of the night at the gates of hell
Then thanking God
For keeping them safe and well
Gaps on the ravaged skyline
Missing Churches and hostelries
Fire still burns where once stood
Homes and factories
Hoping against hope
That their home survived the night
But despite all this
They never thought to give up the fight


OVER THE TOP LADS

Over the top lads
Let’s do it for the King
Up and at em Tommies
Let’s do the Kaiser in

Heads up lads
Let’s show some heroism
Death to the Hun
Hurrah for Jingoism

Over the top we go
Putting aside our fears
Then the hail of shot
And we fall like tears

A generation’s youth
Drowning in the mud
Ghosts of our future
Drowning in our blood

Stout hearted we came
Beneath the Belgian sky
We came to fight for honour
Instead we fall and die


VILLAIN OF THE PEACE

In 1914, David Lloyd George
The British prime minister of the day
Could have avoided the Great War
By simply not getting in Germany’s way


DID YOU FIGHT IN THE WAR DADDY?

Did you fight in the war daddy?
My mother asked my grandpa
He only answered shortly yes
She had picked at an old scar
She jumped for joy and hugged him
And gave out a great hurrah

Did you win the war daddy?
My mother asked my grandpa
He only answered shortly yes
She was proud of her old da
She wanted to know more
But that didn’t get her far

She was just his little girl
And didn’t know the truth
The horrors that he had seen
And all that wasted youth
But these things he kept inside
And could not say to little Ruth

The truth he could not tell her
Was that nobody won the war
Both sides were the losers
If anyone was keeping score
That was the bitter truth of it
The Germans just lost more

HARRY’S LAST POST

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 comrades warm embrace
Goodbye Harry a soldier known
The final Tommy going home


AN ORDERED PEACE

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


GHURKA WARRIOR

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

HOLOCAUST

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


THE LAST TOMMY
John “Harry” Patch
17th June 1898 – 25th July 2009

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)

PROUD HERITAGE

Like many Englishmen
When our history is revealed
My forebears shed their blood
Men who never thought to yield
On the battlefields of England
And on many a foreign field

GRANDDADS WAR

In South Africa during the Boer War
Granddad got the key of the door
In France during World War 1
He lay wounded when the day was done

He could have met a very bloody end
But for the bravery of his friend
So he lived to fight another day instead
And died an old man in his own bed

THE SOLDIER’S LAST MUSTER

When the sun is in the west
You will safely go to rest
At the setting of the sun
With your soldiers duties done
You will feel your God is nigh
As you ascend up to the sky
And in earths fading light
Where tears diminish sight
Where loved ones question why
A new star will grace the sky
Gleaming bright in the firmament
Proudly amongst the regiment
To mark the passing of a soldier son
Who died not seeing victory won
Now the time that moves us most
The plaintive lament of the last post
For those falling fighting foes
Heads bow as the bugle blows


BEFORE THE KAISER CAME

Before the Kaiser came
Swallows fed on the wing
Above green meadows
Butterflies danced on the breeze
And birdsong filled the copses

Then the Kaiser came
And no longer did birds sing
Mud filled the meadows
Gunfire echoed on the breeze
And rats fed on the corpses


FLANDERS ENDURED

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

SERRIED ROWS OF CROSSES

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

THE DAY DAD WENT TO BELSEN

The tank stopped abruptly
And we sat open mouthed
At what we beheld
Our brains could not assimilate
What our eyes were seeing
Great mounds of …. What?
It can’t be that.
All the horrors of war
We had witnessed, experienced
Since D-day
Did not prepare us
For what Belsen held in store
A place devoid of God
A place where even birdsong was banished
We dismounted and approached on foot
As each step brought us closer
Our worst fears were realised
We saw that the mounds were indeed bodies
Or something likened to bodies
Then I saw an androgynous figure
Stood at the fence
A dirty little bag of bones
Wrapped in dirty rags
Bony fingers clutching the wire
Like a birds feet gripping a trig
I reasoned it was a girl
As the rags might well have been a dress
“We are English” I said
“Don’t be afraid”
Her fleshless face was beyond gaunt,
Her shaved head little more than a skull
Her huge eyes were so black and deep
I could see into her soul
A weak smile played round her mouth
And tears welled up in her huge eyes
I would not have believed it possible
For her desiccated form
To have held enough moisture for tears
But they were there
And they ran down the grubby cheeks
Of the little bag of bones
And dripped onto her ragged dress
We ran to the gates
And forced them open
Then we stepped into the jaws of hell
More skeletal figure appeared
From amidst the piles of rotting corpses
Bemused and disbelieving
They hugged us, and thanked us
Some cried, some laughed
We gave them water
And fed them our rations
Not realising we were finishing
What the Germans had started
The food was too rich
For their weak emaciated bodies
What we didn’t realise
Was we were killing them with kindness
The girls name was Elise
She was the same age as me
But she died the next day
Her face with the huge tear filled eyes
Haunted my dreams
All of the days of my life
Penetrating my soul
And breaking my heart
My only consolation
Was that she at least knew kindness
Once more before she died


SHOUT IT FROM THE ROOF TOPS

I like Germany
I like the Germans
I have friends there
I worked for a time near Frankfurt
And I visit Berlin often
It’s my favourite city
They are nice people
Friendly and welcoming
They share our hopes
And our aspirations
We are so alike
We have always been alike
Well almost always
There were dark days
When they were seduced by evil
And let themselves down
So what happened?
What infected this nation?
This nation so like ourselves
How did the madness take them?
Why did they become inhuman?
Why did they set a new benchmark?
In their inhumanity
Why did the good people not rise up?
And oppose the evil
Why did they fail to stop it
Were the jews so bad
So unworthy of pity
Too worthless to be considered
For whatever reason it happened
They let it happen
The worst of them profited by it
The best of them turned a blind eye to it
But they were all guilty
And after the war
I think they felt the guilt
But they feel no guilt now
Now they try to hide behind a lie
Pretending it wasn’t really that bad
There were just a few bad men
And they are gone now
The Americans exaggerated everything
There were isolated incidents
No more than that
Let’s speak of it no more
Lest we offend Islam
Well Islam should be offended
As it was the Turks of the Ottoman empire
Who taught their German allies
The meaning of Holocaust
When they annihilated the Armenians
I say lets speak of it
Let’s never stop speaking of it
And if offence is caused, then so be it
If it prevents its like
From ever happening again


AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR

At the eleventh hour
Silence falls
Heads bow in reverence
Reflecting remembrance
Ordinary people
Stop to show respect
For those who fell

At the eleventh hour
A small group
Of Muslim youth
Chant descent
And wave banners high
“British soldier’s burn in hell”
And this small disrespectful group
Of Muslim youth
Burn poppies in the street
Desecrating that symbol
Of solemnity
And remembrance
Burning the poppies
In symbolic disrespect

Spitting on the dead,
Urinating on their graves
Or defecating on the cenotaph
Would be a less abhorrent act
By that small ignorant group
Of Muslim youth
The poppy does not discriminate
It doesn’t just represent
The white race
The Christian faith
European culture
It represents so much more
Every race
Every faith
From every continent

At the eleventh hour
That small group
Of Muslim youth
Who burnt the poppies
Disgraced themselves
And disgraced the memory
Of every Muslim soldier
Who fell on battlefields
Across the world

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 16.08.2010

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