大象传媒

My father was Cyril Leonard Neville. He came from a working class family in Battersea, South London. He was called up and joined the East Surrey Regiment when he was 18. I think he was known as Len to his army friends. He fought in Italy, landing in Sicily and fighting his way up the whole country, including Monte Casino. He didn't talk much about his wartime experiences, apart from to say that he spent the war "up to his neck in muck and bullets." One story he did tell us was how his best friend, Ken, was killed beside him during the fighting in Italy. Sadly my dad died in 1988. How I wish I could talk to him now and try to understand what he and his generation went through. There is so much that was never said.
One day in 1986 I had visited an exhibition about the Spanish Civil War and that must have got him thinking about his war and he sat down and wrote this poem. I know it is not great literature but it is very special to me and I treasure it as a reminder of a wonderful father.

As a lad in my teens I went to war
I was too young to know what for
They taught me to fight and harry the foe
I was prepared to give it a go
The training was good and rather fun
I was disillusioned when we faced the hun
Across desert, mountain, river we went
I was getting exhausted and nearly spent
They taught me to blend with the ground like a viper
I was not going to be a target for the sniper
The bullet is quick it travels like lightning
I was not going to stop one and miss the fighting
The shelling is different its sheer bloody hell
I was heart broken when my best friend fell
We were attacking the boche with artillery support
I was shocked to see our shells fall short
Ken died instantly with three or four more
I was a lad in my teens when I went to war.

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