Mousehole/Passchendaele
She strolls gingerly on the stone at the foot of a wall
Inside the Mousehole harbour,
Wearing a soft, white hat,
Carrying her handbag,
Looking trim in a white summer dress,
And her incongruous white shoes…
She steps over the weed, the slime, the ropes and the chain,
Passes men in uniform, who offer a smile,
As she casts a wary eye upon the dank sea
And soft sand, her glances avoiding the gulls,
Yet she is totally devoid of stress…
He walks gingerly on duck-boards at the foot of a wall
Inside a Passchendaele trench,
Wearing a scarred metal helmet,
Heaving his kit-bag,
Looking gaunt in a khaki battle-dress
And his inappropriate muddied boots…
He steps over the muck, the slime, the ropes and the slain,
Passes death in uniform, who have been defiled,
As he casts a weary eye upon the rank pools
And soft mire, his glances avoiding the rats,
Yet he is completely devoid of distress…
Pete Ray
October 2016
Looking at the old Mousehole image above, I couldn’t help feeling that the young woman on the slippery water’s edge shouldn’t really have been there at all.
And then I thought of a fellow in a World War One trench, treading the duck-boards at Passchendaele, who really ought not have been there either…
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