大象传媒

They fed me on milk
And food of that ilk
Till I felt like a babe in a cradle,
And then, for a treat,
Some jelly to eat
And junket, dished out with a ladle.

Next, some very weak tea
Was doled out to me,
With boiled eggs,
(or poached eggs, or buttered),
And most that I had
Were not at all bad
Though one or two actually fluttered.

From thence I progressed
To milk pudding, and lest
I should starve altogether, they brought a
Very large lukewarm dish
With a small piece of fish
Which tasted of saucepan and water.

They won't let me smoke,
Which isn't a joke
When it's almost my sole occupation:
To a man in my state
This desolate fate
Is almost beyond consolation.

If you've taken a crack
Or broken your back,
You can sure shoot a line that's a winner -
When you're drinking your beer
Just think of me here
With some bismuth to round off my dinner.

You've crutches and slings
And plasters and things,
You're all bandaged up like a dummy,
While I've got nothing to show
For fighting the foe
But a hell of a pain in my tummy.

'This story was submitted to the 'People's War' site by Linda Firth of the County Heritage Team on behalf of Elisabeth Terry and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.'

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