My Mother Told Me

My Mother Told Me

I joined the Army,  I was only 16.
Dad said;  ‘You’re barmy.’
My pals said, ‘Come with us, add a year to your age,
it’s the only way to get off the dole, you hear.’

We embarked for France,
On a cold November day.
We take our chance and enter the fray.
We were young, what did we know of pain and fear?

We dug trenches.  Officers shouted.
We dug faster cursing the rain and mud.
Cursing the army and the Germans.
Dad said; ‘Son, you are barmy to join the army.’

We stood stag, me and my pal.
A roar of guns.  The sky lit
A blue-white flash.
Young boys moaning for Mother.

Sleep.  The rats jump.
Reaching for our food.
Too tired to move.
To slink away at sunrise.

‘Soldier,  stand up.  Ready, fire’.
Rifle falls fingers numb.
‘Pick up the rifle.’
Pistol  menacing
March,  March.  Rain,  Rain.

Over the top.  Shout.  Scream.
Bayonet ready.  At the enemy’s belly.
Your country needs you.
March, march through poppies
Red with young men’s blood.