They were our great grandfathers, our grandfathers, our fathers, our uncles and our friends. They were wives, sisters and nurses. Some left never to come back, some came back broken in body and in spirit. The horrors they witnessed were seldom, if ever, spoken of. But their lives were changed and, hence, changed the lives of those who loved and lived with them. Mothers who mourned husbands and/or sons; siblings who would never forget, wives and mothers who raised children on their own, sweethearts who lived in sorrow, even beloved pets who waited for their master’s return. The bad dreams which woke wives, the angry outbursts which frightened children, the unexplained behaviour which alienated friends. The periods of binge drinking or stone silence, the days of retreat into somewhere else. Like a pebble thrown into a pond, the ripples were far reaching, touching everyone and everything for years to come. War changes everything.
Pastor Beryl
A poem written by Maria Cassee
On a cold November morn, an old man sits a while,
Looking through old photographs, he cannot help but smile
They’re all there, all the boys, with hair cut short and neat
Uniforms of khaki, strong black boots upon their feet.
They met as strangers, but became brothers to the end,
Smiling at the camera there could be no truer friends
They all took the Queen’s shilling, went off to fight on the run,
Soon learnt the pain of loss once the fighting had begun.
So many never made it home, lost on foreign shores,
Many more were injured and would be the same no more.
The old man’s eyes mist with tears as he remembers every face
Each of his fallen brothers and the killing which took place
He proudly dons his beret, his blazer and his tie
For today he will remember the ones who fell and died.
On his chest there is a poppy, a blaze of scarlet on the blue
He steps out into the cold; he has a duty he must do
Once at the cenotaph he stands amongst the ranks
Of those who marched to war and those who manned the tanks
He bows his head in reverence as the last post begins to play
And he wonders what will happen at the ending of his days.
Will anyone remember? Will anybody care?
About the lads so far from home whose life was ended there?
I wish that I could tell him that he should fear not
For this soldier and his brothers will NEVER be forgot.
We owe a debt of gratitude that we can never pay
And this country WILL remember, on each Remembrance Day.