pte 307255 frederick rodaway kia 18/8/1916 4th bn kings liverpool caterpillar valley longueval Ive often thought and pondered to if i am the first to visit you from the family you left behind as you lay here in the ground what was you doing at your age fighting a war when your twice there age i would have thought you had more sense suppose it better than sitting on the fence your sons came home from that war and i guess they new the score they were hurting deep inside knowing you were left behind my granddad never spoke a lot of you his dad he loved so much so i thank you on this day the price for freedom you had to pay and has i gaze and look around at all your pals in the ground i wonder what life would have been without there sacrifice for the likes of me. i had the honour of visiting my great-grandfathers grave in September 2008 he was 47 years of age when he died WW1 - Rodaways of ww1-2
THE GOOD OLD MOD AND GOVERNMENT IT SEEMS THEY ONLY LIKE A PARADE FLYING THE FLAG FOR THE FALLEN AND BRAVE HOW MANY ARE COMING HOME ON THERE OWN RELYING ON CHARITY'S NEAR THEIR HOMES BROKEN BODIES AND MINDS MOST WONT GET FIXED THE SERVICE MEN AND WOMEN AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LIST WE TOLD YOU ABOUT THE GURKHA'S YOU WENT ABOUT TURN WE ARE TELLING YOU ABOUT THE WOUNDED WILL YOU NEVER LEARN THERE IS A EASY WAY TO BALANCE THE BOOKS SEND HOME THE REFUGEES THE THIEVES AND CROOKS FORCE THE BANKS TO START PLAYING A FAIR GAME MINISTERS THROW AWAY YOUR EXPENSES CLAIMS THE VALUES OF THIS COUNTRY HAVE GONE DOWN THE DRAIN ALL THE DEAD BRITISH SOLDIERS ARE TURNING IN THEIR GRAVES WHAT DID THEY FIGHT FOR ALL THOSE BRAVE MEN FOR YOU LOT TO GIVE ARE COUNTY AWAY ITS NO GOOD SAYING YOU ARE TRYING YOUR BEST GIVE OUR TROOPS WHAT THEY NEED AND THEY WILL DO THE REST THERE WONT BE AS MANY COMING HOME IN A BOX JUST A FEW WALKING WOUNDED IN NICE CLEAN SOCKS TONYROD
Wonderfully moving. Thanks for sharing it. I would have thrown you a salute if I had seen this sooner.
Am i the first?... a sad thought...Next time im at a war grave i think i might say G'day to ALL there...For some i may be the first...
The history books remind us that the Allied Army invaded Sicily on the 10th of July 1943 The British 8th Army under the command of General Bernard Montgomery, the American 7th Army under General Patton. On the 24th of July my unit, the 49th Light Ack Ack Regiment, disembarked North of Avola, Sicily as part of the 78th British Infantry Div. We arrived 14 days after the initial beach landings. This was my first taste of 'real war', as I had arrived in North Africa when virtually all the fighting was over and had seen the spoils of war without having actually to fight for them. Sicily was different in more senses than one, my most vivid impression was the constant blinding dust that our vehicles threw up as we made our way northward towards Messina, the springboard for landing in Italy. My schoolboy French, which I had an opportunity to practice in Algiers and Tunis, helped me learn Italian, and as I have always had a flair for languages, I was soon acting as unofficial interpreter in the bargaining that took place whenever we entered a village. The most common swap was our bully beef for their eggs, although it was not unknown for a fair amount of black marketing to take place with lira changing hands for cigarettes or clothes. One of the towns we passed through was called Adrano and the impression it made on me was sufficient to inspire the only poem I have ever written or am likely to write. Apart from a slight alteration to the last few lines it remains as I wrote it some sixty years ago and I print it here without comment. "Darkness was falling as we entered the town, but t'was light enough still to see The shattered ruins of what had been, a town, in Sicily. It wasn't much to call a town, compared with those of greater size. It wasn't built for modern war and now a stinking heap it lies, Rotting beneath the azure skies, of Sicily. It seemed as if an angry God had run amok with gory hands, Then dropped a veil, a canopy, of dirty, blinding, choking sands And as to wreak his vengeance more Had propped a body in each door We drove on by with sober thought, Of those poor bastards who'd been caught, We grimaced at the sick, sweet, smell, of this small piece of man made hell This could be you, the bodies said, This could be you, soon gone, soon dead We hurried by, enough to be, Alive that day, in Sicily" Ron
As Clem has said, thank you for your service and thank you for sharing your poem, Mr. Goldstein. I have been researching my great uncle's service. He served in North Africa and Italy as well, though with a US Tank Destroyer battalion. Your poem gives me an impression of what he might have experienced. Thank you.
Excellent, both of them! ETA: CAC, I knew some folks back when I lived down in the Austin area who would go out to a local cemetery every Veteran's Day and Memorial Day, and put flags out on graves of military vets. Unfortunately, I was working in retail at the time and generally worked those days, so I never got the chance to go with them. I'd love to do that some time, though...
Im sure some never get visited...sad to think, laying there, seeing others turn up and pay respects...but no one ever stands in front of your grave...days and nights turn to years and still no one comes...thats wrong. We should give all what we expect for our fathers and brothers...as if they were...because they are.
Great poems. I had never thought that war was particulary poetic, other than the Charge of the Light Brigade. Thanks for opening my eyes a bit wider.
There I paused, but for only a moment. To see the glistening blood slipping from the muzzle and along my bayonet, Dripping on the ground. Wondering... How could the defense of all that is said to be right and just... Lead to my killing a man no less than me? Aged a thousand years, I paused again... To see the field of glistening white crosses Driven hard into the ground. Wondering... How many used their final breath To beg for mercy upon their troubled soul?
Great effort! Have had similar thoughts...theres at least a couple more "verses" in there i reckon...Expand Heir Colonel...make me think...
Thank you. I haven't written any serious poetry for years, although I was once published long ago. I sort of miss doing it... hmmmm.
