Armistice Day by Ted Crinnion ( age 9 )
Muddy trenches, and wet, usually,
Dug by our own men, and their own men,
In them, canons, machine guns, ammo, sniper-scopes,
French English, Canadians, Russians,
And on the other side, the Germans - soldiers all.
Some of them sleeping, some of them attacking,
Some of them defending, some of them dead. And rotting.
Maggots, lice and rats. Everything bloody and stinking.
In the trenches, after the war had finished,
Buried bones in grey, green, and blue uniforms,
Rusting shovels, lamps, shells, and unexploded bombs,
And poppies growing, above.
Spikes by Mataio Austin Dean, age 14
Basic,
Bent, intent on pain
With four points
Landing any way
-The spike
Hiding waiting
In the thick black mud
Waiting to
Impale, to stab, to puncture, to spike,
To bed themselves so deeply -
Rust ridden
Calthrops.
Spikes of hate
Shoving, maiming, impaling
Studded boots
The boy’s trench foot,
Rotten feet,
Cutting, forcing, stabbing
Deep
Through sodden tunics
Into hearts, cutting, winding
Through already broken bones,
Blood-soaked faces
Skin, muscle, bone,
In the bloody sick mud
Disgustingly real horror all around
Just
Hiding, time after time
In the thick, black mud.
The War To End All Wars by Kai Austin Dean, age 13
The war to end all wars,
The horror, the pain,
The death.
The weapons, the guns,
The grenades, shells,
Bayonets, calthrops.
Barbed wire, the young becoming stuck,
They can't get out, can't get out.
Shot.
The shells drop.
Gas masks!
Not everyone has one,
Some are broken,
The gas getting through
Walking,Listening and Thinking by Ade
we walk round the Somme, our eyes are wide open
we listen to stories that make our hearts gladden
walking the Somme, our eyes still wide open
listening to stories that make our hearts sadden
we walk round the Somme in the footsteps of heroes
hearing more stories of hardship and sorrows
We walk round the Somme, our ancestors the same
So listen up please and tell them we came.
The Winchester Road by CH
In the woods on the road from Winchester
The man paused to light his pipe and get his breath.
This was it, this was war !
and he felt his breast stir.
As the pipe smoke rose in the clear fresh air
he looked around and the sound of bird song
came to his happy ear
and he slowly moved along.
Months later, after many miles of travel
and sound of boot on cobblestone and gravel
the man found himself in another wood,
not by Winchester but in faraway Belgium.
He stood still awaiting the bird start,
Instead the world went dim
as the snipers bullet found its mark.
A Poppy for Edward by CH
Where fields of grass and poppies grow
the summer wind through tall trees does blow
and soaring larks high skywards fly
'tis in this land you now lie.
Where once the crazy hand of man
brought death and destruction across the land
Where shouts of death midst the battle cry
'tis in this land you now lie.
Where muddy boot in rain filled trench
and heavens rain each man did drench
Where mortally wounded gave last sigh
'Tis in this land you now lie.
Yet though the ground hides mortal remain
after battle hell and battle pain
yet no sign does it reveal
of the young Englishman who used to feel
the way we feel and shout and talk
the way he breathed and ran and walked
for now in quiet French countryside
he sleeps with comrades side by side.
To you Edward yearly a Poppy grows
given by God to one he knows
for your grave is lost and can never be found
while you sleep below this foreign ground.
Now your name shines high on the Thiepval Tower
and way below grows your Poppy flower.
Fighting for victory by Beatrix Crinnion, age 12
Chasing the ball down the field,
avoiding defenders.
Shooting the ball at the goal,
avoiding defenders.
Hearing the whistle of the referee.
Celebrating.
Chasing enemies down the field,
avoiding bullets.
Shooting bullets at enemies,
avoiding death.
Hearing the broadcast of Winston Churchill.
Celebrating.
Shelter by Beatrix Crinnion, age 12
Sitting in damp and dark
Feeling a pull in my heart
Smelling sweat and fear
Seeing the tears of my parents
And the tatters of my teddy
From my squeezes, when I'm upset.
Tasting dryness in my mouth.
Thinking about Nan, poor Nan.
She's not here now.
Hearing nothing but everything.
The sound blanks my head.
The Blind by Kai Austin Dean, age 13
When the siren goes
You rush to the shelter
Dreading invasion
Shivering, clutching onto the gas mask,
Hoping that one day the war will end.
The all clear, you think you're safe,
But you're never safe.
Most of the houses are rubble now,
No kids running around the streets any more.
But it's noisier at night now
The lights all go out and the blind comes down.
Burning by Mataio Austin Dean, age 14
Pushing through the vegetable patch,
So many people screaming,
But we're used to it now
As the planes come over
Dropping death,
Sirens wailing,
Corrugated metal closing in,
Teddy bears hugged to bits
All over the country,
Little children holding the legs
Of their mummies,
Dog fights,
Angry fights,
Loud fights,
Gun fights.
So many fights
Hanging in the air.
Houses burning,
Turning the sky bright red
The colour of dawn.
Waiting...
Silence
Drops and falls
Like never before.
I'm behind the bar
Just for another few years -
They say,
Whilst bombs whistle
Past
And all my engravings ache.
So I lie here dreaming of that day,
The last time I was a god,
In Portsmouth,
A metal god.
Armistice Day News 2008 by Elaine Crinnion
of WW1 veteran Henry Allingham
who tried to step from his wheelchair, age 112,
to place a wreath at The Cenotaph
He bears a wreath like those who fought and died.
He rips the rules of death and slams the gap.
He tried to stand but failed, help at his side
So held within his lap, weighty and wide -
A red ring-mark on England’s treasure map -
He bears a wreath like those who fought and died.
What a trouper. A gift to wrap with pride
In cotton wool; to spoon-feed, care on tap.
He tried to stand but failed, help at his side.
His call: He knew his bootstrap; when to ride
The battle out and when to take the rap,
He bears a wreath like those who fought and died.
The weight belongs in all our laps, untried:
Stand up - stand tall - in honour of this chap!
He tried to stand but failed, help at his side.
With every eye upon him nationwide;
With fallen poppies bedding - seeping sap;
He bears a wreath like those who fought and died.
He tried to stand but failed, help at his side.
and of Baby P,
who died age 17 months
