Re-Union, Wizard Award For Veterans Everywhere Options

[Guest__*]

Faery Award

*Graphic provided by
Celtic Castle Designs

*Graphic provided by
Celtic Castle Designs

Re-Union

The sound of muted voices, heard from another age.
Spirits of long dead soldiers who'd turned their final page.
Old Joe sat in the corner, left all alone at last;
Hearing the secret whispers as he relived his past.

He'd met here with his comrades for over sixty years;
Fighting those ancient battles, the love, the joys, the tears.
Tonight the hall was empty, as Time, Immortal Foe
completed all that carnage, begun so long ago.

Old soldiers can be stubborn; Joe sat, and waited for
a lad named Tommy Atkins to march in through the door.
For Joe, and his pal Tommy  had walked through shot and shell
Their loyalty and friendship surviving years of Hell.

Old Joe recalled the moment his leg was shot away,
and good old Tommy Atkins had saved his life that day.
Tom carried him to safety, and then, an old spent round
caught Tommy in the temple. He fell without a sound.

Both of the wounded heroes were invalided home,
They swore that they'd be comrades, wherever they might roam.
Now, at their last reunion, Joe sipped his tepid beer,
and waited with a deepening dread, for Tommy wasn't here.

Joe looked around in dark despair, his heart was sick and sore,
and then his face lit up with joy as Tom walked through the door.
Joe gasped in sheer amazement, for Tommy's face was clean.
The blemish of the bullet's scar was no more to be seen.

Tom stepped up, young and sprightly, saluted his friend Joe.
"Come on old pal, the bugle blows, its time for us to go"
Old Joe stood to attention, they marched out side by side.
Out to the waiting regiment. Those comrades who had died.

The barman watched Joe's corner, and said with some dismay,
"Old Joe seems awfully quiet. I think he's passed away."
But a miracle had happened, Joe found once more his feet
and rank and file with his soldier Pals,

marched off to the drummers beat.
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[Guest__*]

Hello James
My brother in law, Sam, was one of the first commandoes to head the  British offensive on D.Day. Or, to be more precise, D Day -1, as he and his comrades landed on June 5th 1944, in an attempt to sabotage key defences at the beach heads. Many books on the subject refer to him as the diminutive Sammy Ryder.( He was one of the original diddy men.)  
Fortunately he returned from this foray unscathed, and able to fight on in Malaya, Korea, and then Cyprus for Queen and country.

He and I, and several other ex-professional soldiers believe that the ceremonies held at the various cenotaphs around the country should be discontinued. That may sound controversial, but it seems to us that the occasion is now used more to glorify war and the nobility of those taking part than to remember the fallen.

As the song says.
When will it ever end.

Thanks for the comments Jim. Time, Immortal Foe is the Enemy.  Personalised because it is more deadly, eventually, than a thousand machine guns.I note your remarks about the heart being sick and sore. I suppose to a man in his mid forties this may sound cliche. Wait until you are eighty.  In degrees of sick and soreness it comes in closely behind the knees and the hips.  

About those semi colons. "We will fight them on the beaches"  

The Verb was excellent last night. (Radio Three, 2145.)

Cheers

Tom

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