"Nothing to report"

[Katie]

"Lest we forget" 1914-1921



“NOTHING TO REPORT”

The night was dark, and wet, and rough; the boys with cold were numb.
We’d finished the day’s fatigue work, and we’d had our tot of rum.
And we’d crawled beneath our greatcoats, of our time to make the best
Darn’d glad of those few hours to get a bit of rest.

All that day I’d had “light duty” and I couldn’t sleep that night
So, reaching for the matches, to my pipe I put a light.
And for some time lay there smoking till I heard someone come in.
And going to the sergeant in a quite tone begin:-

“I want six good diggers for a working party” So
I got beneath my greatcoat lest he’d tell me off to go.
For though I am no coward, I’m not ashamed to say
The night I didn’t fancy, and I’d been ill all that day.

“Lythe, Johnson, Allan” I heard the sergeant shout.
And I pitied those poor beggars as with oaths they tumbled out;
But just as they were ready on their journey to begin
The oil sheet from the door was torn, and someone stumbled in

“A dugout’s just been blown in” I heard the captain shout.
And the men have all been buried, and you’ve got to dig them out-?
But before he’d finished speaking to his feet each man had sprung.
His rifle he had taken, and his bandolier he slung.

He had taken his pick and shovel; he’d forgotten sprain or sore
And waiting for no other word, had bolted through the door
Through my festered hand was throbbing and my foot was paining bad
With those other eager swaddies up that trench I rushed like mad

And puffing, panting, grunting, up that trench we rushed until
We reached a little sector where the air seemed strangely still;
And from a heap of debris, which the moon now risen high
Showed up in all its detail I heard a muffled cry.

Then, as shells were bursting round us and the flares showed up the place.
I was told off on a party with as stretcher for the base.
Then, with two men on the stretcher, down the trench we went again
And I wandered if the fellow that we carried was in pain.

But when I took the stretcher a bloodstained face I saw.
And I knew that lad in khaki clad, need fear the shells no more.
And thoughts kept rushing to me as along we slowly went,
And I thought of a home in England- I though of what it meant.

And we took a ragged handkerchief and placed it o’er his face
And then our steps in silence to our dug-out did retrace.
And of some bits of broken wood a little cross was made
And in his last dark dug-out on the morrow he was laid.

And if I told you who he was you wouldn’t know his name
Cause he didn’t fight for glory, and he didn’t fight for fame
And he didn’t win a V.C – cause a V.C wasn’t sought
And in the daily papers there was “Nothing to report”

But there’s a little mound in Carnoy where the grass will someday grow
When the shells have finished shrieking, and the flares have ceased to glow
And a mother back in England will bemoan her hero boy
Who lies sleeping ‘neath that little mound in old Carnoy

Lance Corporal R.O. Price K.L.R
FRANCE 1917

© copyright kfd 11th November 2011