I’m teary now recalling the time
my son went off to the hateful front line
his jacket and boots in hand
he went to fight the German band,
of soldiers that were the same as him
in the same place, with the chocolate tin
a friend, wife or children’s gift
exactly the same as my poor kid
But are they the same? I highly doubt it
Thought of as “the boche” “there’s nothing cruel about it”!
But there is that harshness in their voice
as they go over the top shouting “let’s kill ’em boys”
The harsh reality of the war
seen by us at home as a trivial thing
but out there in Ypres they have wet socks to wring
At home we use it as an advertising slogan
but there they hear “missing in action”
I dream every night of that fatal day
When I receive that letter that will say
“If you are reading this I’m dead”
The words ring eternally in my head
It wrenches my organs up inside
I wish my son would never die
But this is the same for both boche and us
the world is unfair, destroys your trust,
in the leaders and officers that lead our boys
but shoot them if they don’t want to suffer the noise
that they hear each day
but they shouldn’t pay
for protecting our nation from enemies
who’s aggression was caused by a little sneeze
of misjudgement and a silly blank cheque
and transformed into four years of life-changing wreck
Alone, alone, so alone
My son travelled with friends to the battlefield
So young yet so old
so innocent yet so wise
so naive yet so… so…
Too young to die he was
“Missing in action” they said that day
The very thing that I was most afraid of
You can only imagine how I felt
The “knock, knock” on the door
You have no idea what it meant
I lifelessly dropped to the floor
As they said
“Your son is dead”
I will never forget those two days
The three and a half years imbetween are just blurs
Like black spots on a page
Lost in time like my son
I watched as his name was engraved on the memorial in town
Each stroke was etched on my heart
And it will be forever
Even until I die after my own little boy.
By Nathan Baker, Barnard Castle School