It occurred to me, during the Armistice commemorations this year, that the death, destruction and pain caused by the World wars could so easily have been overshadowed amid the joy of the end of it all.
So, I wrote this poem about the celebrations at the end of World war One.
At last the war is over
Celebrations can begin
We’ve been saving all our bunting
For just this sort of thing
There’s dancing in the main street
We’ve got no need to hide
There’ll be no Zeppelins dropping bombs
So let’s not stay inside.
We have to ring the church bells
So send for sexton Fred.
“Poor Fred was lost at Paschendale
And all his mates are dead.”
No-one to ring the church bells?
They’ve been silent these long years,
But the celebrations must go on Hiding all these tears.