A DWELLER IN WIPERS’
ELEGY TO THAT TOWN
(With apologies to
Grey)
A six-inch tolls the
knell of parting day.
The transport cart
winds slowly o’er the lea.
A sapper homeward
plods his weary way,
And leaves the world
to Wipers and to me.
Now fades the
glimmering star shell from the sight,
And all the air a
solemn stillness holds;
Save where a whizz-bang
howls its rapid flight,
And “five pounds
rapid” fill the distant folds.
Beneath the Ramparts
old and grim and grey,
In earthy sap, and
casement cool and deep;
Each in his canvas
cubicle and bay,
The men condemned to
Wipers soundly sleep.
Full many a men would
venture out by day,
Deceived by what he
thinks a quiet spell;
Till to a crump he
nearly falls a prey,
And into neighbouring
cellar bolts like hell.
A burning mountain
belching forth its fire,
A sandstorm in the
desert in full fling;
Or Hades with its lid
prised off entire,
Is naught to dear old
Wipers in the Spring.
TO MY CHUM
No more we’ll share
the same old barn,
The same old dug-out,
same old yarn,
No more a tin of
bully share,
Nor share our rum by
a star –shell’s flare,
So long old lad.
What times we’ve had
both good and bad,
We’ve shared what
shelter could be had,
The same crump-hole
when the whizz -bangs shrieked,
The same old billet
that always leaked,
And now – you’ve 'stopped one.'
We’d weathered the
storm two winters long,
We’d managed to grin
when all went wrong,
Because we fought and
fed,
Our hearts were
light; but now – you’re dead
And I am Mateless.
Well, old lad, here’s
peace to you,
And for me, well,
there’s my job to do,
For you and the
others who lie at rest,
Assured may be that
we’ll do our best
In vengeance.
Just one more cross
by a strafed road-side,
With its G.R.C.; and
a name for guide,
But it’s only myself
who has lost a friend,
And though I may
fight through to the end,
No dug-out or billet
will be the same,
All pals can only be
pals in name,
But we’ll all carry
on till the end of the game
Because you lie
there.
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