大象传媒

Some time after WW2, having written a great deal of poetry and read the output of some who served, I decided to compile a book of poetry the title of which became 鈥淚n These we Served鈥�. The criteria were that the poems had to have been written during the war years by someone who was actually serving or a relative of a serving man or woman. The response was quite incredible and it was with intensely emotional and extremely difficult decisions that the submissions were culled to a manageable proportion. I would have loved to include them all. An Admiral named Brock was asked by me to review the book before publication. He kindly did so and his words I think, sum up the contents better than I could.

He said, and I quote, 鈥淭hough sometimes inexpertly expressed the theme of all these verses is a theme of love. Love for one another, love of poetry, painting, fine music. Love of conflict in a righteous cause, love of home and country, love of the very land we tread. Love for our regiments and ships, love of the sea from which we came and to which we all return and, of course, because there are no atheists in a sinking ship, a foxhole or under a bombing blitz, there is also love for God.鈥�

Unfortunately the book is now out of print and, as it was self published, I simply cannot afford another printing popular as it was. I have extracted a very small selection of these poems although I feel that they all deserve mention on a site devoted to keeping alive the memories of WW2 and in doing so keep alive the memory of those who wrote from the heart.

The following poem 鈥淧rayer before battle鈥� was found on the body of Major Alex Campbell a native of Perth Ontario Canada. He was killed on Christmas day 1943 at the Moro River in Italy leading a charge against German Paratroopers.

When 鈥榥eath the rumble of the guns,
I lead my men against the Huns;
It鈥檚 then I feel so all alone; and weak and scared
And I often wonder how I dared
Accept the rank of leading men.

I wonder, worry, fret, and then. I pray:
Oh God, who promised oft
To humble man, to lend an ear;
Now, in my troubled state of mind, draw near鈥raw near.

Make me more willing to obey,
Help me merit my command.
And, if this be my fatal day
Reach out, Oh God, Thy helping hand
And lead me down that deep, dark vale.

These men of mine must never know
How much afraid I really am
Help me to lead them in the fight,
So they will say鈥�.鈥滺e was a man鈥�.

This next poem 鈥淚n Memoriam鈥� was written by the wife of a Sergeant who was killed during the action at the Melfa River.

It seems he was too young to die
Yet had he lived a normal span
Could he have left a finer record?
Would he have died a better man?

He has gone to meet his maker,
Full of the charity of youth,
Serving his fellows boldly, bravely,
Fighting a battle for the truth,

Many an old and hardened heart
Would envy him - his youthful fame
His dear brief life, his ardent soul,
His noble end, his honoured name.

As a lasting tribute to a 鈥淐omrade in arms鈥�, an American Officer wrote the following while being held prisoner in a Japanese prisoner of war camp.

The Little Silver Teapot.

They breed big men where he was bred,
His eyes were blue, his face was red,
A short and bristling mustache,
The hue of desert sand.
A sturdy British Brigadier,
A Nippon bayonet at his rear
He struggled with his tangled gear
And a little silver tea-pot he carried in his hand.

The battle lost, his prisoner鈥檚 pack
With all he鈥檇 saved was on his back
But the little silver tea-pot
Was polished bravely bright
And in it鈥檚 cheerful shining face
I read the history of his race
And in my mind for just a space
There flashed a gleam of Union Jack
And old England鈥檚 Might.

There are over a hundred poems in the book, and, because of their origin are somewhat unique. Naturally I cannot include them all but I felt this site was a truly fitting place to tell their story. My ambition was to have a new printing for the 60th anniversary of 鈥淒鈥� day but, unfortunately I have been unable to find a sponsor, (there is no money to be made in poetry).

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