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
