TWO OF MY POEMS ABOUT CHRISTMAS EVE AND WORLD WAR ONE...

 Christmas Eve, 1914, Western Front:

Solace In The Trench…

There was a lull.

A truce. An acceptance

As the filthy sky

Hovered black and sullen,

Leering over his trench.

And silence.

And a sense

That the God he had been urged

To fear,

Was for him no longer near,

For his faith had been purged.

And his chest wept.

Yet the tears

Failed to wrench 

From eyes smarting and dull…

There was a melody.

A hymn. An incongruence

As the smoky air

Lurked like a maladie,

Peering over his trench.

And innocence.

And a sense

Of peace was being merged

 With fear

Sung by the enemy near.

And his faith, severely purged,

Into his chest crept.

And his tears

Fell on the stench

Of battle. Such a sweet tragedy…

And Stille Nacht haunted

No Man’s Land

And all was calm

Although not bright.

And then more voices, undaunted,

Rose, as infantrymen began to stand,

The beauty a balm,

The battle a blight… 

Pete Ray

MY PATERNAL GRANDFATHER...

MY MATERNAL GRANDFATHER, SEATED ON A CHAIR BEHIND THE GUY ON THE GROUND...

The Icon…

A simple enough icon:

Carved hands gripped in strife’s peace,

Sleeves confirming an equality,

An understanding, a tension’s release…

A simple enough meaning:

Carved hands shake on a mere truce,

Grasp knowing the reality,

When the next shells will cut death loose…

Pete Ray

This memorial at the National Arboretum was special, for I believe that my paternal grandfather was posted to the region in December 1914, with the Royal Warwickshires. 

I have no idea whether he witnessed any of the handshakes, or the alleged football match…

The badge on the memorial’s British sleeve is a Royal Warwickshire emblem.

I didn't meet either of my grandfathers…