This tha time o year whun wae try an tak oor memories baak tae battles lang syne noo in tha hidden mist o time. A think it is richt tae luk baak becaase it gies is a wee inklin o wha wae ir an whaur wae come frae. But for maesel A hae tae sae in tha month o July on tha very furst dey am aye minefa o a that ha battle that wus tae tak sae mony o tha young men o Ulster for freedoms caase . Aff coorse Am taakin aboot tha Battle o tha Somme wur sae mony frae this airt geen thaur lifes blid for thaur King an country. North Entrim wusnae ahint tha dure whun it come tae listin for tha Great War an mony mair wars that wur tae follo, it ony taks is tae hae wee luk at tha War Memorials in oor toons an ootlyin countryside tae see thaut. Onywye a come across a wee rhyme frae awa bak in tha time o tha Somme it is scrieved bae a sojer wha dinnae pit hes name tae it but here it is,
There’s a broken battered village
Somewhar up behin’ the line
There’s a dugoot an’ a bunk there
That A ustae sae wus mine.
I remember hoo I reached them
Drippin’ wat an al’ forlorn
In the dim an’ dreary twilight
Of a weepin’ summer morn.
Al’ that week I’d buried brithers
In wan bitter battle slain
In yin grave I laid twa hunner
God, what sorro an’ what pain !
An’ that nicht I’d been in trenches
Seekin’ oot the sodden dead
An’ jest drappin’ them in shell holes
Wi’ a Service swiftly said.
For the bullets rattled roon me
But I cudnae lae them there
Wather soaked in flooded shell holes
Reft o’ common Christain prayer.
So I cralled roon on mae belly
An’ I listened tae theroar
O’ the guns that hemmered Thiepval
Lake big breakers on the shore.
Then there spake a drillin’ Sergent
Whun the time wus growin’ late
Wud ye please bury this yin
Cause he ustae be mae mate.
Sae we groped oor wiy in darkness
Tae the body lyin’ there
Jest a blacked lump o’ blackness
Wi’ a rid splotch on his hair.
Though we turned him gently ower
Even noo I hear the thud
As the body fell face foart
An then settled in the mud.
We went doon upon oor faces
An I said the Service through
Frae I am the Resurrection
Tae the last the grate Adieu.
We stud up tae gie the blessin’
And commend him tae the Lord
Whun a sudden licht shot soarin’
Silver swift and lake a sword.
At a stroke it slew the darkness
Flashed its glory on the mud
An I sa’ the Sergent starin’
At a crimson clot o’ blood.
There ir mony kin’s o’ sorro
In this warl o’ love an’ hate
But there is nae sterner sorro
Than a Sojer for his mate.
Efter a rhyme lake thaut A a kan sae is niver forget them.
Tha Poocher July 2014