An Only Son's Dying Lament
I'm not a soldier born and bred
I hate the sound of guns,
I joined because they told me
England needs all her sons.
I love old England's country scenes,
The old cliffs by the sea,
The peaceful, mist-clad Devon moors,
'Tis there that I would be.
I love the gentle English girls,
I love their graceful ways,
I love to watch the sheepdog's work,
And the lazy cattle graze.
They used to give me all I asked,
In those dear days of old,
They gave me wine, they gave me love,
And never asked for gold.
But now I do not ask for love,
For riches, wine, or song,
They tell me that I'll soon be well,
But I know they are wrong.
A stretcher party brought me here,
My left leg hurt like sin,
They sent my pay-book and my gold
Back to my next of kin.
It is not much for which I ask,
I know my knell has rung,
But they will not give me anything
To cool my burning tongue.
Capt Vivian Pemberton MC
KIA - 7th October 1918
Age 24