Dear Charlie,
In trousers short, in summers long,
We talked, in voices braking,
of girls,
of plans,
of adventures.
We heard together the call of country.
As boys we signed our names.
We would be the heroes.
As men we sat united,
within walls of dirt,
eyes uncovered,
souls scarred.
Yet still somehow,
we were still those boys,
together to the end.
I spoke to you of Dot,
a pretty girl from home,
I asked if you remembered,
how every Sunday,
we would choose the pew behind her,
and watch her pert breasts,
rising and falling,
as she sang hymns.
Filling ourselves
with unholy thoughts.
You smiled,
remembering,
and then you left.
A shot rang out,
the smile was gone,
the crimson of Charlie,
Covered my damp,
lice ridden,
itchy,
woollen,
uniform.
You escaped.
You multiplied my hell,
you left it here for me.
I hate that you did.
I loved you.
Dear Mum,
Thank you for the parcel, it means so much out here,
to receive something from home on this over ploughed frontier.
And when I read your letter, I swear I hear your voice.
Of course I’ll wear the socks you sent,
it’s not even a choice.
I feel your love, I feel your fear, I promise I’ll take care,
and when I hold the socks you sent I know I hold your prayer.
I know you’ve heard of Charlie’s death,
we came out here together,
friends as close as brothers, as one in our endeavour,
to free the world of evil, for adventure and national pride,
Charlie was a hero and I, his friend was at his side,
please tell his mother he felt no pain, my desire to calm her fears,
a lucky shot into a trench the cause of all her tears.
But Charlie’s death does not mean mine,
this great war will be short,
I’ll be home for Christmas,
the Bosche plans will be thwart.
So save your energies for those left at home,
and your worries for me be done,
I have close comrades here who keep a watch,
on your ever loving son.
Dear God
What reason for hell?
What reason for loss?
Oh dear God!
Dear God!
What reason,
for no reason?
© Jackie Phillips
March 2015.
