Above the fields of waving corn
He stands to face the guns at dawn
A much loved brother, dearest son,
This soldier boy - he looks too young
To fight. But he succumbed to fear.
Just seventeen. A volunteer.
He will not see another dawn,
Another field of waving corn,
Or see the skylarks swoop and swing
And hear the thrush or blackbird sing.
Nor meet again those he holds dear.
Just seventeen. A volunteer.
He lied about his age, so keen
Was he to live his boyhood dream
To wear the uniform, and fight
So countrymen could sleep at night.
But he knew nothing, then, of fear.
Just seventeen. A volunteer.
The mud, the cold, the rifles' blast,
The deaths of comrades, falling fast.
The waste. The utter waste. How could
A sheltered youth have understood
That war was this; this pain, this fear?
Just seventeen. A volunteer.
Blindfolded, bound, he stands alone,
And thinks for one last time, of home.
The warmth of a bed, a mother's kiss -
It wasn't meant to be like this.
His enemy not men, but fear.
Just seventeen. A volunteer
(I have long been haunted by the thought of the young soldiers who were put to death simply because they could no longer stand the hell that was war.)
A beautiful poem Frances. I hadn't realised that was what happened. Killing the enemy is bad enough, but killing frightened young men is barbaric.
ReplyDeleteAppalling, wasn't it?
DeletePoignant. Old men need young men to fight their wars. The younger the better.
ReplyDeleteAnd of course the decisions are made by the old men, aren't they.
DeleteThis is excellent. A poem that reminded me of something I'd rather forget.
ReplyDeleteUnfortunately they saw it as an adventure and were encouraged to do so. I always pause a while at war memorials in remote places and grief for the lost youth and families of that generation.
Adrian, I do wonder whether they had any idea at all of what they were getting into.
DeleteFrances - that's beautiful. It's a terrible waste of life I could never understand. A similar storyline was mentioned on Downton recently and it emphasised the fact the young man volunteered. So sad.
ReplyDeleteYes. It's the waste that's so dreadful isn't it.
DeleteThose of us who have no idea what that fear is like are very lucky.
ReplyDeletePatsy, I suppose our fear is such a different thing, isn't it.
DeleteThat is the most wonderful poem, and so terribly sad.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Frances. Although I'm no poet. It just seemed better in verse.
DeleteSuch beautiful writing, Frances. I am in tears. What a terrible terrible thing they did to those young men, boys, just boys x
ReplyDeleteI suppose it was meant as a deterrent, Teresa. But it seems to dreadfully cruel.
DeleteI wouldn't call your poem "beautiful" as other commenters did, but it is extremely powerful and deserves a much wider audience.
ReplyDeleteI don't think I meant it to be beautiful. I just wanted to express how I felt about this dreadful cruelty.
DeleteYou've long known my views on war Frances. We have been a charmed generation never having to go and fight as conscripts nor having to fight on our own soil: probably the first such generation in hundreds of years. Your poem is remarkably powerful and a stark reminder of the horrors that so many went through.
ReplyDeleteGraham, I just wish more of the charmed generation were able to understand at what price their war free lives were bought.
DeleteI'm not big on poetry Frances, but that was beautiful. I can't help thinking that it would make a wonderful song (and probably earn you a fortune).
ReplyDeleteI've never really wanted a fortune, Cro. Luckily!
DeleteSuch a powerful piece Frances. The young of today are so much more wiser when it comes to war. I guess we will never understand what the young men of the 1900 went through, what was their greatest fear. Staying at home and receiving a white feather or going to war and facing the guns. Awful times.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Paula. How's your own writing going?
DeleteBeautifully written and poignant poem. A generation of boys and young men lost, many pals who all signed up together from the same area.
ReplyDeleteThat's so true, L.
DeleteYou made me cry, Frances. A very moving poem which, once again, made me remember a great-grandfather who wasn't shot for being afraid but returned home, was put into an asylum and died there..
ReplyDeleteHow sad, Lynne. I know many of them never recovered. How could they?
DeleteA sobering poem, Frances. We visited the grave of a 17 year old soldier who lied about his age, in Belgium earlier this year- it was what inspired my People's Friend story published recently. I think your poetry is wonderful.
ReplyDeleteYou're very kind, Wendy. I wouldn't dignify what I write by calling it 'poetry'! But this was a subject that seemed to require verse rather than prose.
DeleteI'm sorry not to have seen your story.
A beautiful, moving poem. Thank you, Frances. How appalling for young men to know such fear. It's a haunting subject.
ReplyDeleteJoanna, there are two wonderful novels you might like (of you haven't already read them). Strange Meeting, by Susan Hill, and How Many Miles to Babylon by Jennifer Johnston. They express so well the horrors of WW1 for young soldiers.
DeleteThanks so much, Frances. I have read a few novels by Susan Hill, but haven't come across Strange Meeting, so I shall order it right now and have a look at the Jennifer Johnston at the same time. xx
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