Thoughts of a VAD: Lapugnoy 1917
It was the screaming.
I could put up with most things
and to be honest I had done so
these past few months.
The sound of the bombs
didn’t really faze me
nor the constantly falling rain
and cloying mud.
The fleas I found in my hair
or clothes were just a nuisance
as long as you caught them early.
What I did hate was the screaming.
It made my blood run cold,
the screaming of men in agony,
men who had lost their sight
or had lost a limb.
It ripped my own heart out.
Young boys in pain,
a pain they did not deserve.
Boys who screamed in terror,
far from their homes and their mothers.
Boys who screamed at things
that weren’t there,
at memories of falling friends.
Boys who screamed
when they should be at home having fun.
The number of times I had lied
to a dying boy with the words
‘mams here now son’
were countless.
I lied to help them, to reassure them,
to remind them of their mother’s love,
the love they would never feel
again as they died in this foreign field.
I often wanted a hug from my mother,
I knew what they were missing.
Then when I park up at the Clearing station
or at the ambulance train
I have the honour of seeing them.
Mangled bodies,
missing limbs,
gas burns,
trench foot,
gangrene…
all the pleasures of this so called modern war.
All the pleasures plus the screaming
that never seems to end.
So, rain and wind, snow, and ice,
all this I can put up with.
Incessant screaming though is
another thing all together.
It is unseen.
Starlings in Serbia
Snowy mountain passes
Vibrant blue white sky
Sun glistening on rutted road
Driving as shrapnel flies
Like a Murmuration through the air.
The horror of blood and bone.
Of gas and not so much
Air.
No ecstasy here
But the ecstasy of death surrounds.
Smiles and songs, laughter and tears
To keep each other
Awake.
Alive
To the sounds of
War.
As girls just out of school
Drive heavy wagons
From Front to back, from war to peace.
From harm to haven, such sweet
Heaven.
Girls save men, women boys
Their roles reversed
Bravery never questioned
As they do their bit
For country, King and Flag.
Chilblained fingers turning
On unforgiving wheel.
Bouncing and sliding as tyres
Meet ice and bone.
Eyes red raw, from wind and rain.
Brain seared numb by sights seen
And thoughts unseen.
As nightmares fill the daylight hours
With War.
To what will they return?
A land made fit for Heroes?
What of the Heroines?