Friday, 11 November 2016

In Memoriam. One Hundred Years On





Written For Private D. Sutherland
killed in action in the German trench,
and the others who died

So you were David’s father,

And he was your only son,

And the new-cut peats are rotting

And the work is left undone,

Because of an old man weeping,

Just an old man in pain,

For David, his son David,

That will not come again.

Oh, the letters he wrote you,

And I can see them still,

Not a word of the fighting,

But just the sheep on the hill

And how you should get the crops in

Ere the year get stormier,
And the Bosches have got his body,

And I was his officer.

You were only David’s father,

But I had fifty sons

When we went up in the evening

Under the arch of the guns,

And we came back at twilight - 

O God! I heard them call

To me for help and pity

That could not help at all.

Oh, never will I forget you,

My men that trusted me,

More my sons than your fathers’,
For they could only see

The little helpless babies 

And the young men in their pride.
They could not see you dying,

And hold you while you died.

Happy and young and gallant,

They saw their first-born go,

But not the strong limbs broken

And the beautiful men brought low,

The piteous writhing bodies,

The screamed ‘Don’t leave me, Sir’,

For they were only your fathers

But I was your officer.

E. Alan Mackintosh

2 comments:

Yamini MacLean said...

Hari OM
Firstly... Never Forget...

Secondly - hiya Alastair; I was thinking only last Sunday that it has been a while. Glad to see you, and that too with such a wonderful and heartfelt offering. Hope you are living blessed. YAM xx

Twisted Scottish Bastard said...

Poem was nice,
but shooting the Hun was much more satisfying.

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