Mousehole/Passchendaele…
She strolls gingerly on the stone at the foot of a wall
Inside Mousehole’s 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, soldiers now 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
Looking at an old Mousehole image, 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 to have been there either…
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