WHERES ALL THE GLORY? (WORLD WAR ONE)I'm not poper good with words, I admit that, freely like. Well I missde a lot of schooling at Lillian Road school, well, missde a lot schooling thats a fackt! Me dad a right drunk, mum, not much better, I have to say, why I ended up in the perishing army! Well, just thoughrt, I'd wite down stuiff, so, maybe, writeing it down will make some kind of sence of it all. Now me spelings, proper bad, like, I know that, so no need for anyone to point that out! though, many will, I dear say! stuff, em, well, I just write, as it were for the likes of me, like, in the war! Let them offisers, write in proper words, no skin of my back! What I write is of the other ranks, no one gives the likes of much thought, maybe in after thoughots, like. Well hear go's nothing!
we were bloody fools!
joining up - the way we did!
some joind up for King and cuntry!
NOT as if the bloody king and cuntry did all that much the likes of us!
THE honest ones would tell you, jond up for the lark of it!
just to get away from Thanet!
and yes, kidded them selfs that '' eavrey say them French birds are easey!
only to find them slfs quing on the stirs, of Belgium or a French knocking shop
only to get a doce of the clap!
then end up on compny orders on a charge of - self inflickted wounds!
Been here three years now
yet to see any glory, no honor hear abouts
seen the graves mounting up
is all I see, hear, boys, never to live to be old men
those like me, old men already, and I'm just nineteen!
I int has seen much of life, seen so much of death, though!
growing old, become an old fart, before me time
some of me mob, been awarded meddles, I won't none of that bollox!
I just wona survive all this shit!
now what I be like, what kind of bloke, I will be, when it, this fooking war is over?
cant wait for blighty, leave, be back home!
BUT, when I'm back in Ramsgate, I miss the front! Back there, value me own life so much more, just being a live, evrey minuet, takes on a value, of it's own, when in the next miuet, me life snofde out, by a sinlgle bullet, a wiz bang, landing, near me
can snuff me out with out a chance,
down The Crown, haveing beer after beer!, them in there just have no idear,
of what, it's all about!
those in the pub, wonting to know what it's like, what can I say to 'em
what we say to a new draft: '' cushy enough'' , the new unit, says: ''That bad then'' '' Thanks for that! ''
maybe, I should tell them of the time my paltton, were detaild off, to fill gunny saks
fill them up with biots of what was ones, men, killd and shreded, bones, ribs, fingers, arms, detachde, sckin, flesh, still clining, harts, some still beeting, or was that some kind of trick?
shuverling them in to the gunnys, scluls, white as whait as only sckuls are white, grinig, at us!. Cant rely say, wha the mob was, or from whear they from, all mixt uptogeather, Austrlean, New Zeland, South african, Candean, French, Belgums German, badges, we found, as we filld the gunny sacks, anther, squod, detaild off, filld in the shell hole, that were now the bones with out names, a grave for them all, a maer pushde into the sod, it said: '' Unknown''. Simple as that! Some newly bond, fresh flesh, some old bones! Dry old bones, among the basges, I fownd, recan, date back to Nappolean, that French git, bloke. I gather hear abouts, been many a battles fought, since way back when! two old bons, found, were two, men, both had basyted each other at the same time. Not this war, though, na, way way, back. One were British, other a Frenchy, mukets, one an old Bess, so an oifficer said, when he were shown, the gun that that did fore the Frenchy, bloke. Anyway their bones in to the gunny saks, all in a jmble of old bones! New and old, in the the mix of wars!
just how can I tell them, down The Crown, of all that!
they walk on glumly towards the waiting guns, for some certan death, in all it's ways! We walk on, away, from the front line. Even as we go, death, has it's last laghf. Shels, folow us, droping, landing, expolding, killing and maiming us, some go right insaine!
I, just shrug, been there so many times now.
how can I tell, them fools, in The Crown, whats it like! Them just could not understand that it hell is over there!
I tend to drink alone, or with others like me, '' home '' on leave! some how,
The Front, now our '' home '', felow soldgers our family, and we have more
in common, with, the Germans, than with those back in our towns, citys, villages!
Those who survive all this shit, will never be the quite same at all!
ken d williams
The Dyslexic Wordsmith
Poetry by ken d williams
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Written on 2017-07-16 at 11:48
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