Some years ago the remains of a British redcoat were found under a house that was being demolished in Washington DC; he had died during the American War of Independence. He was buried with full military honours by an honour guard of American soldiers.

News from the front

Dear Mother and Father,
I do miss our Oxfordshire farm,
And would rather be where there
Was no chance of harm,
In a sun-kissed field of wheat
With nothing on my feet,
Scrunching the sweet soil below,
Scaring away the thieving crow,
Playing kiss and chase with a lass,
Laying with her, raising a beery glass,
But this memory cannot be, alas,
For I am here in the New Continent
Where I declare I am not content,
Wearing the gilt of my regiment,
Sitting by a crackling fire of red,
Writing this note before I rest my head;
The morrow sees our advance on
The pretty town of Washington,
Which looks from where I stand
Like a nostalgic piece of England,
Strange to think that if I should die
I'll feel at home under a foreign sky.

Chris Fernie, 2006

Poetry by Chris Fernie
Read 453 times
Written on 2006-10-18 at 23:28

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Kathy Lockhart
I love this personal look at history. This is wonderfully done.

Rob Graber
Yes, poignant indeed (just to echo Sandy)!

Sandy Hiss
This is heartfelt and poignant. I like how you've written the poem from the dead soldier's point of view. Nicely done