11.11.12. Approx. 10:30-11a.m.
We gathered Round the cenotaph On a grey November morning.
In coats and hats, And scarves and gloves, We moaned about the cold.
We sang our hymns, Said our prayers, And paid homage to ‘Her Maj’.
And laid crimson wreaths Around the plinth For the fallen and the lost.
Whilst in reverent silence Flags were lowered By degrees,
‘Til the final, fading notes Of The Last Post’s Mournful lament
Drifted on a squally wind, To meet eleven, half muffled, Measured chimes of the cathedral bell.
.….And then we retired to the pub For a body warming ‘stiffener’ Before our Sunday lunch.
1.7.16. 7.30 a.m.
They gathered in the trenches On a sombre July morning. In mud-caked, cold, damp, khaki serge, That chilled them to the bone.
With bayonets fixed and emotions mixed, They cracked a joke, shared a smoke, And hid their fear from the adjacent bloke. And waited for the whistle.
Few of them came home. ‘Lest we forget’ Dave Greenan 11.11.12.