Song of the Dying Gunner

[mandragora]

Oh mother my mouth is full of stars

As cartridges in the tray

My blood is a twin-branched scarlet tree

And it runs all runs away;

Oh cooks to the galley is sounded off

And the lads are down in the mess

But I lie down by the forward gun

With a bullet in my breast.

Don’t send me a parcel at Christmas time

Of socks and nutty and wine

And don’t depend on a long week-end

By the Great Western line.

Farewell Aggie-Weston. The barracks at Guz,

Hang my tiddley suit on the door

I’m sewn up neat in a canvas sheet,

And I shan’t be home no more.


By Charles Causley


We observed the two minutes silence this morning at 11 am. An announcement was made at quarter to eleven asking us all to remember and keep our silence. Everyone did. And after it was over one of our people, who sounded like an old soldier himself (entirely possible, even probable) recited over the intercom:
"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them."

And from somewhere he'd found a recording of 'The Last Post', which he played as he spoke.

I found myself to be very much moved. As were all my colleagues, (usually) cynical lawyers all.

Never forget.

Comments

[pinkdormouse.livejournal.com]

I don't think I'd seen that poem before. Thanks for posting it.

And I used to be a bit scared of my solicitor's assistant, but I found out yesterday that she does sweet things like phoning from M&S when solicitor is working over lunch to ask *which* potatoes she should buy (solicitor had apparently commented earlier that she needed to buy potatoes on the way home). I'm glad someone looks after my solicitor.