大象传媒

SOLTAU

A Poem for Armistice Day
(Written after a visit to Soltau Military Cemetery, Germany).

Soltau Military Cemetery, fringed by trees, lies in the gentle, rolling hills, on an hillside overlooking Lunenburg Heath where the German surrender was taken on the 4th of May 1945 (RBL Pilgrimages)

I look through the entrance archway
At row upon row of white grave stones
Oh! How many stones there are!
As I stare at them
By some trick of the light
Suddenly they become flesh and blood
Look! Here they come
Tramp! Tramp! Slog! Slog!
Marching over the hill!
Their rifles glistening in the sunlight
Their pack straps chafing their shoulders
How young they look, these fresh-faced lads!

A fortnight before the War ended
Don manned a Bren gun for an attack on Rethem
As they advanced across the River Aller the mist came down
The official Communique said, 鈥�. . They met stiff resistance....鈥�

And now, he lies here
Beneath this cold, stark, stone
Is this all the human spirit is reduced to?
A number, rank and name?
These flowers will wither and die
But we remember this happy, whistling, boy
With his open face and infectious smile
Never again will he roam the wind blown hills
Or watch the scudding clouds
Or see the valley green

I shut my eyes
From their bleached gravestones,
Drenched with their mothers鈥� bitter, scalding tears I see the spectres rise
Their gaunt young faces turn to me in ghostly pleading
鈥淥h! Why did we die?鈥�
I replied, 鈥淏ecause the silver-tongued politicians weaved their spells
They said if we fought to save the world from a madman
Then all would be well
But we still have poverty, greed and rising crime
A man is still judged solely by what he owns in our selfish, acquisitive society鈥�
The ghosts replied,
鈥淪o let the patriots who stayed at home
Wave their flags
But we the dead in this cold, cold clay
Will not be celebrating on the Queen鈥檚 Golden Jubilee day鈥�

Later the Padre, before the Cross
Surrounded by the pomp and splendour of a military band
Attempts to answer the deads鈥� question
But sadly fails

We sing the moving hymns
The uniforms and medals of the congregation look so splendid on this
Sunny summer鈥檚 day
And the standards hang limp in the sun

As we turned to leave the cemetery A young man said to me
鈥淏ut it all happened a very, very long time ago鈥�
So does that makes it right then?
Does each generation have to learn for itself the hell and futility of war?
The scream of shells, the splatter of bullets, and the broken bodies of the wounded and the dead?

And we who fought and saw our comrades die
Now short on breath but long on memory
Still march to the drum on Armistice Day
And here we stand with bowed heads
This dwindling, be medalled band
While the wreaths are laid and the bugle sounds
We wear our poppies with pride
Not for those who unleashed the mad dogs of war
But for those who died!

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.