Author Information
Shell Shock
It was deceptive for us, always warm and cosy
For twenty seven years, there'd been no change
The familiar photos and the well worn armchair
And as ever, a blaze in his cast iron range
The great stone mullions there took in the yard
Stalls, shippen, midden and the new milking shed
There the old man could survey his ever shrinking world
But the slamming of doors or a rattling pot's lid
Or the smells: of wet woollens, bleach, even newly mown hay
These could open the windows, so wide in his mind,
Where white lipped and wild eyed, though seemingly blind,
He bellowed orders and warnings, or called out the shots,
"Gas Gas Gas!" "Rapid….fire" and once heard:
"Twenty five men to cut the damned wire, we're told to draw lots,"
While he floundered, ever deeper, in the mental quagmire.
But sometimes he'd sing with a querulous voice
The standards "Tipperary" or his own "parly voo"
Where I never quite found out what his Mademoiselle wouldn't do
Whilst he and his pals had a good drink or two,
But then the singsong would hush as his humour grew colder
As blankets were rolled and the cold contents pushed,
As deep as they could, under salient slush.
