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This collection of poetry was contributed by David Griffiths on behalf of the author, Captain J S Earl, from whom full permission has been granted and who is fully aware of the terms and conditions of the website.

Captain J.S. Earl (an ex sailor, who was born during 1941) has written a series of poems in remembrance of the war veterans who returned, and of those seafaring men, both in the Royal Navy and the Merchant Navy, who did not come home. This is a sample of his work.

DON’T CRY FOR ME

Don’t cry for me when I’m gone;
I’ve done my time — I’ve sung my song;
Smoked the rolls, drunk the wine,
Self-inflicted, the fault is mine.
No regrets, I’ve been content,
I’ll guess you’ll know which way I went.
So my loved ones — near and far,
Let me go to cross the bar,
For the wheel has rolled, it’s my turn now,
Happy in old age to take a bow.
I’ve drifted off to catch the tide,
One day I’ll greet you — on the other side.

REMEMBRANCE

Alas for the Merchant seamen — their grave the mighty deep,
We cannot mark the oceans — we may only grieve and weep;
Sailors now — retired at last — the remainder of the best,
Know shipmates from saltwater tomb should come ashore to rest.
We shall not forget them, til we ‘cross the bar’ in turn,
So we will raise a monument for our countrymen to learn.
And in our famous seaport, we’ll find a berth to lay the keel
Of a tribute to our seamen, that one may see and feel.
Where upon the superstructure — suitably inscribed,
We may focus our emotions, for the mariners that died.

THE VETERANS

Cheers to the men in blazers with their memories of old,
Proudly wearing badges and tributes of the bold;
They belong to different units from the forces or the sea,
They stood fast for their country and the likes of you and me.

You will sight them at the squares and the Cenotaph parades,
And standing to attention by the British Legion graves;
You will see them selling tickets for the charities involved,
And travelling round in coaches for reunions in the cold.

You will see them in Toc H and the battlefields of France,
Or performing gentle two-steps, at a military dance;
You will spot them socialising — propping up the bar,
In fact you’ll spot them anywhere, in places near and far.

They are a little older, than when they served their time,
The ranks may be a little crooked, when they march or stand in line;
Many are sprouting hair from their noses and the ears,
But also that’s what happens, when you’re getting on in years.

You may see the standard-bearer showing off the colours,
At the van of stalwarts — all his band of brothers;
Their pedigree is noted while standing ramrod straight,
Boots and medals gleaming with a beret on the pate.

Some are grumpy granddads, but most have a welcome smile,
But all remember comrades that forged an extra mile;
So when you meet a veteran with a badge upon his cap,
Bid a fond ‘good day’ to him — he may salute you back..

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