Post by andanar on Nov 19, 2007 20:01:55 GMT
Today I met two brothers as I walked upon the path,
And I listened to their story as they spoke.
Of the service they had given, and the price that they had paid
Midst the blood and mud and pain and fire and smoke.
The early rays of summer were warm upon their backs
As together they marched proudly off to war.
With their regimental banner, through the streets and cheering crowds
This nation’s youth who’d heard this nations call.
Now the rain was gently falling, from a sky of sullen grey,
As they slowly trudged in silence to the line.
There to face the living hell that man had made upon the earth
There to face the bullet, bayonet and mine.
It was in the warmth of summer, the elder brother took his post
Steel helmet pulled down tightly on his head.
But it couldn’t stop the bullet that cut him down that day
And left him hanging on the wire cold and dead.
And come the cold November, the younger brother stood in turn
Waiting for the next offensive push to start.
Through no-mans land he struggled with his rifle and his pack
Until a German landmine blew his world apart.
So now they rest together, underneath an English sun.
The guns are silent now, no screams of dying men.
And I wish that politicians, could hear their story too
And resolve that wars will not be fought again.
And I listened to their story as they spoke.
Of the service they had given, and the price that they had paid
Midst the blood and mud and pain and fire and smoke.
The early rays of summer were warm upon their backs
As together they marched proudly off to war.
With their regimental banner, through the streets and cheering crowds
This nation’s youth who’d heard this nations call.
Now the rain was gently falling, from a sky of sullen grey,
As they slowly trudged in silence to the line.
There to face the living hell that man had made upon the earth
There to face the bullet, bayonet and mine.
It was in the warmth of summer, the elder brother took his post
Steel helmet pulled down tightly on his head.
But it couldn’t stop the bullet that cut him down that day
And left him hanging on the wire cold and dead.
And come the cold November, the younger brother stood in turn
Waiting for the next offensive push to start.
Through no-mans land he struggled with his rifle and his pack
Until a German landmine blew his world apart.
So now they rest together, underneath an English sun.
The guns are silent now, no screams of dying men.
And I wish that politicians, could hear their story too
And resolve that wars will not be fought again.
Seemed appropriate as we're just past Armistice Day. I was looking around a graveyard near my flat earlier this year; I like the peace I find there. There were hundreds of graves, but standing together virtually touching were two bright clean stones that stood out. Inscribed upon the first was “S.D. 1252 Private E. Baldwin, Royal Sussex Regiment, 3rd November 1916 Age 21”. Beside it a second gravestone - “7747 Private T. Baldwin, Royal Sussex Regiment, 17th July 1916 Age 31”. Both younger than me, both ninety years dead. I have no idea who they were, or what they did other than die in a war that killed so many others. Perhaps there are descendents of theirs who tend the grave and remember them, perhaps sadly not. But it’s a truism that when we forget our history we are condemned to repeat it. By chance I was reminded today of that history by two brothers.
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning we will remember them. Dedicated to Private E Baldwin, and Private T Baldwin, of the Royal Sussex Regiment.