The Last Post

“Mummy, where are Daddy’s benches?”

“Darling child, come to me,

Your Daddy is in the trenches,

Far across the great North Sea.

The trenches are quite comfortable,

Daddy is dry and warm,

His men are all quite affable,

He’s sheltered from the storm.”

“Will Daddy get hurt by the Huns?”

“That, I cannot say,

Knowing he’s facing deadly guns

All we can do, is pray.”

“Your Daddy is brave, fit and strong

He knows not fear nor dread,

This war, it will not last too long.

Darling. Prayers and then to bed.”

‘Wife, I miss your touch, your smile

I miss our little boy,

We have no time to sit and while,

Out here there is no joy...’

Alone, she reads by candlelight

The letter from her man.

Tears flow for his sorry plight

As only wives tears can.

‘The cold, the screams of injured men,

The mud that’s ankle deep,

I try to lift moral for them

But words are oh, so cheap.

I am frightened, my darling wife,

I try to be brave for my men.

I really fear for my life

My constant thought is; when!...’

The tears flow freely, down both cheeks

The lady is in despair.

First letter in nearly seven weeks,

How she wishes he wasn’t there!

‘When will this madness come to an end?

When will the dove of peace,

Feather its wings and descend

To give us sweet release?

I send my love to my darling son,

And to you, my cherished wife.

I go back now to face the Hun

And the mayhem that’s my life.’

© The Last Post by Phil Bottomley. All Rights Reserved. 2023