The Christmas card,made form an empty cigarette box,
Addressed simply, one word, and that was Somme,
Inside, in broken letters after “Pax” was
“Peace to all...at Christmas and words asking, Where you from?”
The scene happened four years on the trot,
It seemed incredulous and hard to understand,
When a ball appeared as if by magic,
And there followed a kickabout in “no mans land”.
Christmas day and each man took some respite,
From maiming, and killing and pain,
Christmas day and the war was put on hold,
For one day there was nothing to gain!
The soft strain of carols, not canon,
Would sweeten the dank, fetid air,
But when Christmas day was then over,
Each man was like a wolf in his lair.
Forgotten the heartfelt Xmas message,
“Over the top boys” with a sign and a prayer,
Mud, mud, vile and stinking, sinking and chilled to the core,
This wasn’t of every mans choosing,
Not every man here glorified war.
Go do your duty, do your best lad!
Packed off with full kit, full of pride,
Leaving Mothers, and Daughters, and Sweethearts,
Dying a little more each day, deep inside.
Barbed wire for the wreaths of the new dead,
The echo of relentless gun retorts,
Some never making the journey then homewards,
To their Mothers, and Daughters, and Sweethearts!