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                       Michael G Kimber

The Nightwriter

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    The war to end all wars the posters cried.
     So side by side,
stand tall and do your duty proud and true.
It’s a fight that must be won, a just cause, we must stand firm.
Join up and fight, for now your country needs you.
But what did they mean? “before the enemy we must not squirm.”
     Did anybody say?

    Was that the war about which our leader said,
     with nodding head,
“Would not be troublesome for long;
six months is all our army needs to win the day.”  
Though no-one knew if he’d be right or wrong;
“it’s nearly over!” he calmly promised, our fears to allay.   
      Any day!

    The lads, upbeat and jubilant in the queue,
    all patriots true.
And patiently they stood and steadfastly waited,
to take the Royal shilling and on the page their names to sign.
And all of them, as the regiments were created,
were joking, laughing, singing, patriotic songs along the line.
     Shoulders sway.

    Older men hopeful, and young men too,
     all but a few,
though some of them still played the games of boys,
they’d seen the pointed finger, and answered one and all.
This was it, for now there’d be no time or place or need for toys.
now that they were Kitchener’s volunteers standing tall.
      New games to play.
  
     But the army didn’t question deep,
     They lost no sleep,
despite the youthful faces, appearing time and time again,
the recruiting sergeants didn’t try too hard, or look too close or try,
to differentiate between the boys and men,
who’d heard the call, and wanted to reply.
     Seize the day.

    The promised land the sergeants lied,
     without much pride,
to young men keen, but many there not fully understanding;
lads not yet fully grown but eager for adventures call,
the danger undefined, but danger notwithstanding,
and with heads held high they took their place; soldiers all.
      Come what may.

     So they were sent to places quite unknown,
     a foreign zone,
names they’d never heard of, names they never knew before.
Places unfamiliar, like Flanders, Neave Chapelle and Mons, and
Loos and Verdum, Ypres, the Somme and many many more;
spread wide across that unknown foreign land.
     Fields of hay.

    But none had ever told them, none had ever said,
     what lay ahead.
Nor tried to tell it to them true, or hold back on the lie,
of the hell they faced. And none who knew the truth would speak,
or look those young excited conscripts, firmly in the eye.
Too soon the smiles were gone, from the strong and from the weak.
      Torn away.

    For ‘come what may’, came all too soon;  with little training,
     bodies aching, straining.
Active soldiers now, but before they knew it, many died,
amid machine guns fire, and shells that rained from morn till night.
And choking gas from which they could not hide,
which torturously filled their lungs,
and turned their hopeful dreams  to hopeless fright.
      The truth of the affray.

     They saw trenches filled with bodies, dead and dying,
     some blown apart and lying,
submerged beneath the ever present mud,
and for some the horrors were too much, shell shocked and blinded.
They turned, and ran, oblivious of every thud,
silent screams of anguish; empty eyed and empty minded.
      Must run away.

      But no! Do not run. No matter how bad the torment,
       or of hells descent,
for if you do, much worse than a devil’s curse awaits,
for then your ‘own’ squad will shoot you; under orders they will fire.
‘They’ll be your executioners. ‘They’ who’d been your mates,
will blind your eyes and tie you to a post,
and from their bullets you’ll expire.
     Bang! Feet of clay.

    The Generals will call you coward, dismiss your mindless state,
     your helpless fate.
In that place once of beauty, but now more like a living hell,
they’ll ignore the shock, the bursting shells, the evil of insanity,
The bloody death, your mind no longer there to tell,
and you’ll be shot at dawn; without reprieve,
or signs of mans humanity.
      And dead you’ll lay.

    For you there’ll be no glory, no medals or acclaim.
     And there’ll be only shame,  
for those back home, unbelieving what they hear,
you’ll be condemned. ‘Turned his back and ran away’, they will avow.
What’s more, ‘Afraid to do his duty’, they will sneer,
and for your pain the truth they’ll not allow.
      Shot without delay.

     The Generals, safe behind the lines,
     simply blaming these hard times,
Like gods playing judge and jury without restraint,
shell shocked boys condemned to die, an example to be made.
No proper voice to plea for them; no questions, no complaint,
with injustice on injustice, said the price it must be paid.
      No conscience to weigh.

    When war was done, and families grieved,
     the nations ‘thank you’ they received.
But not for ‘some’ for even that small comfort was denied,
They, - - whose men (nay boys) though damaged beyond belief,
yet condemned and shot as traitors - - simply cried,
their torture endless year on year, their only solace, grief.
     Mothers could only pray.

    And so I ask; was that the war to end all wars?
     On faraway shores.
Four years of carnage, brutal death, the nation almost reeling,   
and for millions it was the last; the prime of youth departed.
While back at home millions more were almost numb of feeling,
and people asked, the war was won, why ever was it started?
     Jubilation and dismay?

    But nothing changes. Were all those sacrifices in vain,
     and all that pointless pain,
For still around the world too many conflicts rage,
And yet from somewhere hope does rise, humanity emerging.
No more will ‘Shot at dawn’ ring out across the stage,
for now they see that they were wrong, old prejudices purging.
     Belated victory, shout hurray.
       
     Too late for men of world war one, but wrongs at last put right,         after an ninety year long fight.
For finally from the governments door, at last the pardons came,
and cruel burdens set aside, justice overdue for long ago.
For family pride of kith and kin can now replace the shame,
and speak about the pain of loss,
which they were not allowed to show.
For as it was back then, so it still remains today.
For that small unhappy band it was, too high a price to pay.