They’ve gone of course the heroes gone.
Passed on through war or just woebegone, I
one time heard it said. Our military a history -
Charging Light Brigades of fearless men they’d
try to have it said – dressed in all the colours
of our chequered vanity at various parts of the
globe – job to some – and traditions of the family
to others – or needed tasks in challenged times, so
often in the foreign climes where blood was mixed
with sweat and grime. Only the ghostlier thoughts
remain in modern days at Barracks where the young
guys trained - swearing loyalty and grit – oh yes the spit
and polish too and all that shouting ballyhoo. Though
not forgetting drill and sand hills where the punishing
routines were exercised – and those who stood the
tests then forced to drag along the ones who’d
dropped from sheer exhaustiveness and oh the shame!
What stories of that gore the old boys used to tell us
about the sprogs unable to take any more by blowing
themselves apart. I do suppose that soldiering is an art
form known to better men than average guys who lack
a certain drive – the better men who eye-ball the foe
across a trench’s no-man’s-land, waiting for the whistle to
blow GO. For those who never made it back – I doff my cap.