Silent Witness

I came home from Ypres, knocked on the door

Down beaten, dishevelled, but they knew the score,

Mum cuddled me close when she heard my voice

I told her my uniform’s crawling with lice.

She took a step back and said ‘it’s alright,

I’ll get them boiled up, wear civvies tonight,

So, out came the tin bath, hard brush and all

The suit from the wardrobe reeked of mothballs.

They pressed me with questions, was it as bad

As they’d heard off the next door neighbours lad,

I didn’t say much, said it wasn’t very nice

Mum knew I was lying from the quake in my voice.

Father decided we’d all have a ball

We went to a show down the Music hall,

Back in my civvies I felt really grand

Till a girl pressed a white feather into my hand.

I felt so embarrassed, I wished I had died!

Civilian clothes had battered my pride,

If she’d only known what I had been through

But I remained silent and didn’t argue.

Then, in the foyer, an officer said

‘You should be in uniform – hold up your head!’

He called me a coward, a maggot, a worm

His words were hurtful, making me squirm.

My parents had disappeared into the crowd

I’d killed for my country – but I wasn’t proud,

I looked at their faces, pompous and smug

Dress in my civvies I felt like a thug!

I stormed out of the hall, walked home alone

When suddenly, I was hit by a stone,

A group of young kids shouted ‘Coward’ at me

Went running away down a dark alley.

Soldiers in uniform spat at my feet

Old people snubbed me on my own street,

Had I changed so much, that they couldn’t see

How hard I had fought to keep them free.

I arrived back home, put my uniform on

returned to the hall – passed everyone,

Including the kids who’d thrown that stone

got smiles from the old people going home.

The girl with the feather stood on the street

I held out my hand as if to greet,

Then pressed the white feather back into her hand

the shock on her face was really quite grand.

I saw that officer stood on the path

His laughter and gaiety filled me with wrath,

I crossed the road told him what I thought

about the commission he’d probably bought.

Asked him if he’d ever been to war

Did he know, what we were fighting for,

Not to be ridiculed by lesser men

but so we could all have our freedom again.

I walked away having stated my cause

I could hear behind me rapturous applause,

There are no truer words spoken than

the words of Shakespeare,’ Clothes maketh the man’

Next day I returned – back to the mayhem

Where men are men, not so quick to condemn.

It wasn’t the outcome I would prefer

But at least I knew who my enemy were!