November 11th, 2008




                                Up until a minute before

                                The silence spread its soft grey plumage

                                The brave old guns were bumping and jumping,

                                Spitting out shells as never before.

                                And this was down to the common soldiers

                                Wanting to use up every last shell

                                On the foe they knew they’d be shaking hands with,

                                Waltzing with in a comic clinch,

                                On the other side of that spread of plumage.

Personal Connections

One of my grandfathers was in the Great War. With the Royal West Kents, I believe. There's a photograph of him in his uniform sitting with my grandmother on a cliff-top overlooking the sea. I know nothing of what he did or went through. He died before I was born- stupidly young- of a botched operation on his sinuses.

My other grandfather was training with the RAF when the war ended.

My father was with a Royal Naval bomb disposal unit in WWII. Now that was brave.

My mother was a driver on the home front.

My Uncle Dick, a captain with the Royal West Kents,  was killed in 1943, on the Adriatic coast- and is buried at the Sangro River war cemetery.