CategoryEnglish

Impression Du Matin

I

The Thames nocturne of blue and gold Changed to a Harmony in grey: A barge with ochre-coloured hay Dropt from the wharf: and chill and cold The yellow fog came creeping down The bridges, till the houses’ walls Seemed changed to shadows and St. Paul’s Loomed like a bubble o’er the town. Then suddenly arose the clang Of waking life; the streets were stirred With country waggons:...

When I Have Fears

W

When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripen’d grain; When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature...

Old Sheep Street

O

Where is the street I loved so wellOf many years agoThe years have gone and who can tellWhere did those people go? The old gas lamp where the gang would meetAt the top of Morris LaneThe alleyway to Carnals courtWe sheltered from the rain. Fish and chips at Mrs Trouts,We would all go back for moreBuy some sweets from auntie BessPlay fagcards by her door. Salvation Army played across the...

Call Of The Flute

C

Where, where are my mornings?Where are my happy days?Where, where is my shining sun?Where are friends of mine?
Why did the sun go down on Bosnia?Where did my morning dawn?There’s no song, and there’s no happinessAll the tears won’t wash my pain away(Volunteered with healing hands in Bosnia 1997-1998-1999)
Bill Underwood

They Call Them The Sarajevo Roses

T

In the streets of SarajevoYou will see shell and shrapnel holesFilled with plastic paint of redThese large and small paint-filled holesRemain to tell us of the sacrificeBy the many, many wounded and the deadWho fell in Sarajevo Your crimson petalsNurtured by your blood and tearsShine and glisten in the rainLocked deep, deep downInside those blooms of crimson redLay your sorrow and your pain...

National Service 1947-1949

N

We walked to the barracksBernie, John, Eric and meTime for call upIn the British ArmyA beautiful morningIn the month of MayWhen we entered the gatesWe were filled with dismayThe R.P’s greeted usAnd shouted with gleeWe hope you bastardsWill never be FreeSix weeks on the squareWe marched up and downSquare bashing finishedWe marched through the townWe marched to the stationThe train took us...

Johnny Was a Soldier

J

They lowered his body into the sandIn a far away foreign landFor Johnny was a soldier
The bugler played our last farewellThe rifles cracked and who will tellOf Johnny who was a soldier
(John Gibbs buried May 1949 Moascar) 
Bill Underwood
From the series “National Service poems 1947-1949 by Bill Underwood “

Poor Paddy

P

  Poor Paddy, we took him along the road to hell, through Ishmailia to Moascar Jail. Paddy looked sick and was really quite pale, as we entered the gates of Moascar Jail. Which of the bastards will be prisoner here? Screamed the provost Sergeant as we stood in fear. Prisoner and escort double around the room, the Sergeant’s voice then did boom. We double and doubled and doubled around, till...

Tripoli Riots February 1948

T

  “Blood Hell” said Ginger we did run wellMuch faster than any GazelleFor on that day the stakes were highNear fifty of them against Ginger and IRocks and stones hurtled through the skyBut none of them hit Ginger and I“Bloody Hell” said Ginger we did run wellEnkeliz askari yallah imsheeThe mobs were screaming in old TripoliBut as Ginger said we ran so wellWe survived that day to tell the...

Farewell Egypt

F

Egypt farewell, Goodbye, AdueWe leave you now foreverOur time is up, demob is dueWe’re homeward bound whatever We marched and slept on burning sandsWith scorpions to torment usYou did not want us in your landOur deeds sometimes outrageous We go now to our promised landWhere grass is green all overSweethearts will wander hand in handOur army days are over Bill Underwood, England From the series...