Great War Poems

[Bob Dobson]

On this centenary anniversary of the declaration of war in 1914, I wonder which poems of that time will be read at commemoration services throughout the country. In my village, we are holding a candle-lit service from 10.30pm and I am going to read 'Them Lads fro' Accrington' I shall put it on here later.

[Aussie Irene]

Originally Posted by Bob Dobson

On this centenary anniversary of the declaration of war in 1914, I wonder which poems of that time will be read at commemoration services throughout the country. In my village, we are holding a candle-lit service from 10.30pm and I am going to read 'Them Lads fro' Accrington' I shall put it on here later.

Gud onya Bob.

[Bob Dobson]

This poem was written by 'M.V.P.', whose true identity is not known It was first published in The Accrington Observer in the early days of the Great War. It can be found in my book 'An Accrington Mixture' Page 63

Ah've just bin tryin'to reckon up,
But bless me if Ah con,
Heaw monny lads fro' Accrington hes donned ther khaki on.
They've gone fro every part o't'teawn.
Fro mansion and fro't'cot.
At duty's caw they've aw gone forth
To share in t'common lot.
Ah dunno think it matters much
Heaw monny on em's gone
We're certain they'' aw do ther best,
Them lads fro Accrington

Ther's one or two Ah know reyt weel,
They're med o' just t'reyt stuff.
They're nooan a bit particular,
Let things be smooth or rough.
There's others that Ah carn'd forged
Fer t'sake o' Owd Lang Syne.
When t'rooad Ah throd wer aw uphill,
They helped me monny a time.
An' when Ah kneel me deawn to ,pray
Ah think o'every one
An' ax the Lord to bless em aw,
Them lads fro Accriongton.

Ther's lots uts gone'l neee'er come back.
They fill a sowjer's grave.
An' others quite as tru an' brave
Lie deep 'neath th'oceans wave.
An' then there's some uts sure to come
Wi a shattered arm ur leg.
Letr's trust they'll noan hev to sit in t'street
Ther daily bread to beg.
An' when they land on England's shore
Ah want yo', every one
To give a hearty welcome to
Them lads fro' Accrington

[Margaret Pilkington]

That gave me goosebumps.
Thank you Bob for putting it on here.
'Lest we forget'

[yerself]

I posted this on a thread a while ago.

Waste – Woodbine Willie’s poem

WASTE

Waste of Muscle, waste of Brain,
Waste of Patience, waste of Pain,
Waste of Manhood, waste of Health,
Waste of Beauty, waste of Wealth,
Waste of Blood, and waste of Tears,
Waste of Youth’s most precious years,
Waste of ways the Saints have trod,
Waste of Glory, waste of God,– War!

Geoffrey Anketell Studdert Kennedy, known as ‘Woodbine Willie’ – the soldiers friend.

He was an Anglican priest and poet who won a Military Cross for bravery as a Padre in the trenches – under fire in one of the bloodiest battles in history. The name, ‘Woodbine Wille’, was something that Kennedy was very proud of because it grew from his work on troop trains when he’d pass out Bibles and cigarettes. He was a chain-smoker himself.

[Margaret Pilkington]

Never were truer words written or spoken Yerself.