REDDITCH TOMMY   POETS 

                                     1914 1919.

The Redditch Indicator published poems from men who were serving at the front through out the war. Poems from people at home were also published as well as poems  found in the poplar press which the Editor thought captuered the  mood of the time. Some of these poems shed light on feelings and thoughts of the men at the front and when they returned home. As well as the people at home looking at the war through the prism  of poplar  press.Some times the gap appears quite wide.But there is a some change in the views and tone of both sets of poems as the war dragged on. These poems cant be ranked with Brook, Gurney, Sassoon,Owen and the other well known War Poets, but they do represent the hundreds of men and women who set down there feelings on paper had the bottle to send it of to the local paper.

  

The Orderly Sergeant

Three cheers for the orderly Sergeant,

Who, on the sound of the “lights out!”

Bangs on the tent with his stick and exclaims

“What’s all the talking about?

Hurrah! For the orderly sergeant

Who, when you come at ten,

Presents you with “C D” and ‘pay stopped ‘-

All by a stroke of his pen

Bravo! for the orderly sergeant

Who, ere “reveille” has blown.

Cries out, ‘show a leg, like a fog horn,

With a prehistoric tone.

Here’s to the orderly sergeant,

Who, when you want a “late pass.”

Talks of “guard “and “fatigues” in significant tone.

And murmurs “don’t be an Ass”.

Signaller Will Jenkins,

Somewhere in France 1915

Christmas 1917

From land and sea and sky,

Comes the bright cry

‘Cheero!’

Let others speak the lie

Of dangers nigh,

‘Cheero!’

No glances must be wry;

No hearts sigh-

‘Cheero!’

When trouble comes to try

Then dry the eyes

‘Cheero!’

When stranger’s questions ply

Say; “God knows why-“

(and) ‘cheero!’

W.G.W

The Sprit Invincible

You ask me to believe that he, my friend,

So lately full of life, so strong of soul,

Is dead –extinct – his power at an end –

All finished –nothing left of that grand whole?

And what, I ask you turned him thus to nought?

A piece of steel? -  a cold hard lifeless thing?

A scrap off thoughtless iron has ended thought?

Was such a thing thus able death to bring?

To much it were to ask thus to think

A thing so mighty turned now into dust;

Too hard it were to dream god thus should sink

So Far below loves eager wistful trust.

No so- his soul lives on; his body dead,

It killed his body, him it did not kill;

The gun remains when forth its shell it speeds.

The power behind the missile lives on still.

-( Lieu) H.E Dudley. 1917

Dear old Redditch.

At last; a stranger  from a foreign shore.

Were I’d done my bit, through, and more,

I trod once more my native soil.

Safe, far from hellish war’s turmoil

And as I walked and gazes around,

Some old, some strange new things I found

Up Unicorn Hill I walked and stood

In admiration, no, it was mud.

When at my feet I stole a glance,

I thought I was back in ‘La Bell France’.

A lady rode by,’ what ho, she bump,

I cried, as she jolted between the lumps.

She said sweet words I dare not tell;

Something- she wished the surveyor in-well

I think had he heard, he’d have scratched his Nob

And winked, he’s had a good government job.

I wondered on till I reached the parade;

Found the same old crowed –some jolly staid,

I’ve seen Belgian beauties and French man ‘sells.

I thought how I’d like to kiss their lips.

But, good lor, they were chewing fish and chips.

And their lovely complexion, does it go to the roots,

Or do they get it in jars, ready –made at Boots

I moved along; what! Comic cuts,

No; on a couple of us there, hungry, lousy clods,

While there they were dressed up like gods,

When they ought to have helping me and my pal Bill

As they went to lawyers, who had no guile,

And it’s very evident they struck ‘ile,

And got behind the lathe and pen

Instead of sallying forth like men.

Well enough of this; it gives me the blues;

I’m off to the pictures, or the latest revues.

What’s that; that bell and those loud shouts

Why it’s my old friend Marshall and his “thereabouts”.

And his “plenty of seats, plenty of room”.

So I went to the hall; seemed a regular boom.

I strolled outside; to the palace went,

And everyone seemed on the same errand bent.

I’ve heard some music in every land.

But none to touch the palace band

Then I went across to Treadgolds near,

Where they say the pictures are always clear.

A chap came up full of G.B’

Sat half on his seat and half on me.

So I did a march, outside into the street,

When who d’ye think I meet.

Why councillor JG with his pipe and smile,

And his shrewd old look that has no guile

We chatted on councillors and electric light

And I thought I would never get away that night.

He was so excited I heard him say,

That he dreamed the electric light would pay.

Taws’ true to make the figures fit

They drew the same money though the lamps weren’t lit.

But that’s nothing unusual in municipal schemes,

To question the figures no ratepayers dreams.

What is it? Why to build two hundred new houses

I asked him how the money would be found,

“Oh, very easy; rates, another bob on the pound.

I said I must go; what a pity,

He wanted to tell be of the garden city.

 I went home and drew my chair near the fire,

Got the ‘Indicator’, toddy and also my briar.

Till I got to that gem by walker G W

Who they say resembles, Napoleon the great,

Well I hope that never will meet the same fate.

Enough, my lips may grouse, my heart is right glad

Old town, your Blighty to each Redditch Lad,

And we all say fondly as we go round,

You’re the best spot on earth we ever found.

‘Tommy’1919