We get various items sent in to head office and to the website for inclusion " If we think it suitable"
Well there is very very little "unsuitable content" put forward. These poems are definitley not unsuitable.
A personal insight from the other poor victims of war……………the children and their families
How many tortured souls have read – reported missing – presumed Dead?
Fathers, Brothers, Cousins, men never to be seen again! I was but only two and ten –
can vividly remember when my Mother bow’d her head in tears – and proudly cast away all fears
of “singleness” – to face a struggle yet to come, not showing how her heart was numb,
and never willing to succumb to the chilling hardship of a vile tempestuous sea;
She’s in Heaven now! and we thank our God – her burnful road was graceful trod:
‘tis all so very far away – yet musing makes it seem like yesterday –
When Ypres splashed her blood across the pages – and Loos coughed up her lungs in furious rages –
Came Hitler and his thirst for “Blood red wine” And Mussolini finished hanging like a swine –
drowning those voices void and vain that vowed we’d never vex again –
yet there were the ageing – and those so young. “Who kissed the serpent on the tongue”
and unwitting spread a mire, and dung onto the roadway of an infant Generation!
O God what consternation? What degredation? Is there to be no realization of a world wide Peace?
My poor old heart and soul are so perplexed! What next O Lord – O Lord what next?
He also composed “THE VISITOR”, recalling his young emotions at the time his family were informed of their fathers’ death……..
This on a strange November night,
Dim rolling drums and trumpets bright
Crowning my armchair reverie;
I looked for him…. He looked for me….
And in a sprinkling of November tears
I stood with him who fathered me
For twelve tender years;
And as we drifted towards a silvery light
Strange little poppies seen of a pure white;
And where the ugly martial footsteps led,
Stranger, the war crosses dipped in red,
He warmly kissed my brow – and held my hand
And whispered “son we understand
The senselessness of war………….”
Then drums and trumpets stole a
Gliding flight into God’s upper world.
What a strange November night!
Harold James Green had five brothers and one sister. Gerald aged 14, Cecil aged 11, Edward aged 6,
Arthur aged 5, Walter aged 4 and Ivy May aged 13. Their mother Lydia Louisa was aged 40.
The Guys At The Sharp End
We are the guys at the sharp end,
The soldiers who stand on the wall.
You may have heard say that we go in harm’s way,
Will you shed a kind tear if we fall?
Spare a thought for the guys at the sharp end,
When you’re tucked safe and warm in your beds,
For we can be found in some hole in the ground,
While the bullets fly over our heads.
Give a cheer for the guys at the sharp end,
For we fight for all you hold dear,
Your freedom, your life, your husband, your wife,
To live out your lives without fear.
Tip your hat to the guys at the sharp end,
It’s really not too much to ask.
We may pay the full price, the supreme sacrifice,
But we will accomplish our task.
It’s no joke for the guys at the sharp end,
When some mock what we have achieved,
But when we get the call we will stand on the wall,
And we’ll hold it till we are relieved.
“Rocket” Ron Fraser MVO
9th September 2010
A cold wind blows
A cold wind blows across the field,
Where shining youth it’s soul did yield.
A father’s joy, a mother’s son,
Their lives were precious, every one.
Awakened by their country’s call,
They left their homes and gave their all.
Not knowing what might be their fate,
Each marched to war beside his mate.
Across the ocean and the sea,
They came to fight for liberty.
And leaving those they knew so well,
They marched into the Pit of Hell.
From gas and shell and sniper’s round,
They sought protection in the ground.
And daily, deep beneath the turf,
They lived and fought in Mother Earth.
Farewell to comfort and to ease,
No cushy soldier’s billets these.
But mud-filled trenches, cold and dank,
Wherein they sheltered, rank on rank.
When whistles blew they rose as one,
And through the mud and fire were gone.
They took the ground. They paid the price,
With their unselfish sacrifice.
No Titans these, no Dogs of War.
Just Tommy, Digger, Kiwi, the bloke next door,
Who took their duty as it comes,
And fought and died amongst their chums.
The years may pass, the memories fade,
Yet they remain here, on parade.
So we our humble homage show,
To those who lie asleep below.
“Rocket” Ron Fraser MVO
16th December 2002
