A Poem By Ken Smith
ONE LAST TIME
I'm 94 not much time have I left
But there's one thing I must do before that appointment with death.
To return to the battlefields of Y'pes and the Somme
And memories of comrades who have long since gone.
The ultimate sacrifice they had made, now the world
Only knows them as a name on a grave.
I've travelled so far from the place I call home
To spend a few moments looking down at these stones
Stones of marble so white and so cold
The soldiers beneath them never got to grow old.
For this is a place where the lost where found
And laid to rest beneath the ground.
Husbands, fathers and brothers too or are they
Simply a name someone knew.
The battlefields here are scattered all around
Now deathly quiet you can't hear a sound.
In 1914 many men were so keen to don the kharki
And serve god, king, and queen.
The pals battalion's they had been formed
Lie now in death, in rows all uniformed.
The whistle would sound then it was “Over the Top “
And one by one you would see men drop.
Barely a man made it back again alive.
Those who did their fear they could not hide
Shell shock or coward it mattered not to me
For the awful sight's we had to see.
The blood turned to mud from the constant rain.
As men lay dying in terrible pain.
“Mother “they cried as they fought not to die
With arms out stretched pointing up to the sky.
“ War” is evil so many men lost, it's the man in the
Street who pays the cost.
Politicians bang the drum. Then hide in the shadows
Till their war as been done.
When the guns they finally fell still.
And I can still feel that chill that runs up my spine
I had lived through it all, and I was still alive.
When the soldiers went home they were never the same
Some would be diagnosed as being insane.
Broken and bitter men turned to drink, to get rid
Of the nightmares was all they could think.
The last post sounds at the menin gate to remind
The world of these poor men's fate.
Every year in November people gather to remember
The souls that were lost and how families paid the cost.
Thousands of widows mourn, on that bleak winter's dawn.
“We will remember them” the pledge is made
Whilst poppies are placed on men's graves.
The British legion makes sure of that as old comrades
Stand silent and remove their caps.
As they stand quiet, still, with backs ramrod straight.
Their minds drift back to their friends and their fate.
And the tears roll down the cheeks of the few.
For the remains of their comrades who were never found too
Then they pray to god that never again
Must generations of our young men be slain?
For a world full of peace, is that to much to ask,
Or isn't man committed to fulfil this task.
And they raise their hands and salute the brave
For the world to save, their young lives they gave
And I turn and walk slowly away, I know in my heart
We will meet again. Some day.
As I have mentioned on other threads, this is a great link for people interestedor reseaching 'The War To End All wars' WW1.
"Shot At Dawn"