My latest WW1 story/poem. In this some of the words are not my usual dyslexic
spellings. In the telling I have decided to use the English as spoken in Thanet.
Finished. With grateful thanks to Laura Probert & David Ewens Keith of Oz .
MARCHING TO THE FRONT (WW1)
Me kit bag is bloody heavyStraps cutting rubbing into
Me shoulders they heart like
Bleeding hell!
Me bleeding rifle so bleeding
Heavy
The road we march down
Is muddy , doted by potholes
Only they aint potholes
''There bleeding shell 'oles! ''
''Block in front kicks up mud
Strait in me face ''
I give him some gob
Only to 'ave 'im kicks up yet more mud
That gos straight in to me open bleeding
Gob
'' You bastard '' I swear
He laugh's
I swear again , saying ''I'll get you ''
To witch Archy responds with:
'' You and who's army? ''
'' Fred Karnos? ''
Fings was getting heated getting
Out of hand
Till Sid starts up with a song:
We are Fred Karno's Army .
What bloody use are we ,
We cannot fight , we cannot shoot ,
So we joined the infantry ,
But when we get to Berlin ,
The Kaiser he will say ,
'' Hoch! Hoch '' Mein Gott ,
What a jolly fine lot ,
Are the ragtime infantry!
As usual Sid calmed the situation
Down we've a song
We all laugh , if we did not , we would cry
Or fight each other!
And the government did not pays us
A shelling a day to do that kind of fing
Inside I'm getting windy
I recon as were all of us as the front got closer
With each step we took
Singing as we marched to the front
''Helped us if only little bit
Sid , started singing if you could call it singing that is
Before the war Sid had been a sign writer
Not a bloody song writer!
We all laughed how we laughed
Singing a song lessened our growing fears , if only a little
As we pass dead horses
In the distance I hear thunder
I observe to me mate , ''Chalky'' White
'' Sounds like a bad storm up a 'ead ''
'ear that thunder , Chalky?
Marching behind me
Chalky , says , '' yea mate , I 'ear it clear
enough
A corporal by the name of Frost
Laughingly said , '' A storm?, Thunder? My arse! ''
'' Thats , The Bleeding Front , that's the Bleeding Guns Your 'earing! ''
Then 'e , added fore more good measure
''AND NOW STOP TALKING IN THE RANKS ''
''I'M ORDERING YOU TWO ''
He did not specifie just wot two blokes!
'' JUST ONE MORE WORD OUT OF YOU TWO ''
'' YOU TWO WILL BE ON COMPANY ORDERS SO SWIPE ME ''
We shut up , held our tongs , just grumbled to our self's
He was an old timer , so 'ed know wot's going bang and the like
Right enough
Gloomy grew now's our mood
Our singing now more a groan
Our iron shod army boots
Marching in the mud on the road
Marching to the front
Parsing shattered houses , now just a load of ruble
Broken window pains of glass lay broken
Burnt and splinted timbers
Lay amongst the ruble
Splinted trees , fields with nofing planted nofing growing
Sad looking faces of the locals
Staring back at us , looks of pity
Some looking kind of looking angry at us
Looking around it was not 'ard to see just why
Men came marching , well more staggering than marching
Towards us on the opposite side of the road
We call out '' wot's it like mate? up there?''
We ask ''is it bad up there?''
Two or three blokes look blank saying nofing
At all to what we asked them
Then a Sargent comes past us
He said '' take no notice lads '' Their Scots gits ''
'' they cannot understand a word you say ''
'' the front aint so bad '' '' a piece of cake ''
'' A catwalk all the way ''
'' It's cushy enough ''
The Sargent hurry's on to catch up with his men
Leaving us a thinking '' but 'e's not a bleeding Jock! ''
We'd all gone kind of quiet by now
The offaser in front took note
And ordered us '' eyes front now men ''
And ''sing up up lads ''
Though not of us was in much of a mood to sing ,
Then young Sid began to sing one of his songs
He saw him self as a bit of writer of songs
Before the war he had been sign writer ,
He did a stint down The Pave**
Down Ramsgate sand's , now he recons he could write song's!
God above give us strength , help us!
Well 'ears Sid's efoot:
It's a long way back to Thanet sands
A long back to our Thanet sands
We've left Ramsgate harbour behind us
We've said goodbye to Margate pier
Said our farewells to Broadstairs
Its a long way back to Thanet sands
Where my girl lays waiting fore me
The songs our singing the songs
Took our minds of what lay a 'ead
Evan if they were , songs by Sid!
We marched on to the end of the road Singing
On we marched up to the front
* Local people refer to The beeches as The Sands
** The Pavilion a place of seaside entertainment
Ken D Williams The Dyslexic Poet
Poetry by ken d williams
Read 627 times
Written on 2012-04-07 at 00:45
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