THE ESCAPE TO A WORSE FATE... (A poem about volunteering during the Great War...)

 The Escape To A Worse Fate…

It hadn’t been his fault.

Born into Victorian Birmingham’s squalor, his schooling

Had been somewhat sparse and at fourteen

He had been shovelled into a factory

To learn a trade. In his case

It would be metal polishing in conditions grim and repetitive.

The war hadn’t been his fault.

The threat to his homeland had been caused by the ruling

Classes and politicians unseen.

Yet still he volunteered to secure victory

Over the Germans, depicted as an evil race.

It promised an escape from the back-to-backs and an incentive.

The choice though had been his fault.

Like his pals, he found the training gruelling

And the strict, cruel discipline often obscene.

A troop ship took him with his comrades uncomfortably

Across the English Channel to France, apace.

The Hun would be forced to retreat with every crude expletive.

The debacle hadn’t been his fault.

It was the gas. It was criminal, appalling.

Horror. Mire. Fear. Death. All inescapably routine.  

Boredom, lice, sleeplessness and loss invariably

Filled his excruciating hours with feelings of dishonour and disgrace.

And the longing for his workplace ached with a sadness intrusive…

Pete Ray

5th February 2023 

My paternal grandfather was actually a polisher of handlebars in a bicycle factory and the combination of breathing in the polish over a number of years and being affected by gas in the Great War trenches meant that he had died years before I was born…

Escaping from a factory job in an industrial city and living in back-to-back homes offered many Brummies a chance to experience what appeared to be a different kind of life, whilst serving their country.

Returning to a factory existence was likely a dream for many, which for a good number of those didn’t turn into reality…