tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840834060143140472024-02-20T14:20:54.865-08:00Poems From My Navy Days WWIIMike Wedgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10837816781157145744noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884083406014314047.post-46111081393453039712013-08-01T03:45:00.000-07:002014-07-13T03:26:43.105-07:00Action Stations“Action Stations ! “ -- Tin hats and apprehension<br />
Rush to guns and hoses, engine room<br />
And wireless office - Air of tension.<br />
Eyes uplifted, and some seawards gazing.<br />
Ears are straining for a distant “boom”<br />
Or sound of engines. Lips are phrasing<br />
Prayers maybe, or curse upon the Hun.<br />
Friendly aircraft in the distance loom<br />
And are gone. Minutes pass. - “Carry On”.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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H.M.T.Norse<br />
17 July 1940 <br />
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First Published 1943 - More Poems from the Forces {Routledge]John Wedgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15756073149336428998noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884083406014314047.post-4124726647426535152013-07-29T03:51:00.000-07:002014-07-13T03:27:41.842-07:00Night PatrolNo moon tonight. Nor cloud to hide<br />
That sparkling, silv’ry spray of stars<br />
Splashed carelessly upon the wide,<br />
Black-marbled dome we know as night.<br />
Ashore, the wigwammed searchlights trace<br />
The path of hostile aircraft bent<br />
On murder, while some other place<br />
Is canopied by bursting shell.<br />
A winking buoy-light speeds us on<br />
Our course. The lightship watch<br />
Responds to greetings. Once there shone<br />
A guiding beam .. Now there is none.<br />
<br />
We turn, two trawlers hand-in-hand.<br />
Untiring waves give way to our<br />
Proud bows, assaulting as they stand<br />
The gun’s crew. This a damp rebuke<br />
For having been disturbed so.<br />
<br />
The sky gives birth to dawn’s great show<br />
Of gold. Triumphant, we return<br />
To harbour. Anchored comrades wake<br />
And greet us, reassured to learn<br />
All’s well with us. Our job is done.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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H.M.T.Norse, 1940<br />
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First Published “Poems from the Forces” [Routledge] 1941John Wedgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15756073149336428998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884083406014314047.post-76828999338406855162010-12-01T02:52:00.000-08:002010-12-08T05:49:19.072-08:00Convoy EpisodeNo sound save swishing sea is heard<br /> Above the throb of engines. Ships<br /> To starboard silently pursue<br /> Their course; a single seagull dips<br /> Astern, and dusk and the grey gloom<br /> Steal ever closer from the dim<br /> Horizon…..Mute, be-duffeled men<br /> Stand grouped around their guns, as grim<br /> As gravestones, peering eastward for<br /> That shape which spells a welcome chance<br /> Of action. . .Heroes ? . . No - beneath <br /> Each muffled frame a heart a-dance<br /> And stomach sickly strained<br /> With apprehensive tension . . .<br /> Then…<br /> “Aircraft in sight !” The air at once<br /> Is full of sound, alive again,<br /> The pom-poms pumping death, swift red<br /> Tracked tracer tears the sky -<br /> Staccato clatter marks the quick-<br /> Fed Bren. Green beaded streams let fly<br /> From other guns. Ship shakes as shells<br /> Are hurled from major armament,<br /> Exhilarating cordite fumes<br /> Escape as every charge is spent . . .<br /> The Heinkel hesitates, then twists<br /> And disappears beneath the swell…<br /> A cheer…<br /> “Cease fire !”…<br /> A happy crew<br /> Collects the case of every shell<br /> Expended - souvenirs, as were<br /> The boxing programmes years ago,<br /> The thrill of victory the same,<br /> And joy of contest. Well they know<br /> The penalty for aiming low. <br /><br />1943<br /><br />Published 1985 - Poems of the Second World WarJohn Wedgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15756073149336428998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884083406014314047.post-18617282913005398742010-12-01T02:50:00.000-08:002011-03-20T04:19:09.770-07:00Wasted“Wasted ! “<br />
Despairingly you sip your tea<br />
And sigh for me. <br />
<br />
But, aunt, you do not know,<br />
Do not understand.<br />
Just think –<br />
If I had always been a bank clerk<br />
Behind a grille,<br />
Talking weather<br />
Counting up the till.<br />
Weekend tennis<br />
Drinking beer with Tom and Bill<br />
Yearly to Devon,<br />
Dreaming of France<br />
{Book at the boarding house<br />
Well in advance} –<br />
A cabbage !<br />
<br />
“But what is wrong with that ?”<br />
<br />
Now listen, aunt –<br />
I have lived with fishermen<br />
A chorus boy, solicitors,<br />
Paperhanger, journalist,<br />
Drunk a Pimms with barristers,<br />
Scrubbed decks with a coalminer,<br />
And seen their homes.<br />
Watched a darting flying fish<br />
Been right up a skyscraper,<br />
Seen bananas growing green,<br />
And eaten real hamburger,<br />
Danced to Teddy Wilson’s band,<br />
Dinner at a consulate.<br />
<br />
Yes, aunt,<br />
And I have known the royal sea<br />
And seen the myriad northern lights,<br />
St Elmo’s fire, the coral reefs.<br />
I’ve felt the wind, the snow, the heat,<br />
And known two meanings of cold feet.<br />
Oh, yes,<br />
And spewed my guts clean out<br />
And felt my knees give way with fright<br />
Wished I were home again<br />
Instead of keeping watch all night,<br />
Seen men fight and laugh and sing –<br />
And I wouldn’t have missed a single thing.<br />
<br />
Wasted, aunt ?<br />
No.John Wedgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15756073149336428998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884083406014314047.post-73411700580595706332010-12-01T02:49:00.000-08:002010-12-01T02:52:03.246-08:00Still No LetterThere's still no letter.......<br /> In my troubled mind<br /> I seek a reason, and quickly reasons find -<br /> Indeed they tumble in, to be discarded<br /> Each as it comes.... It could be that<br /> You're very busy; missed the evening post;<br /> Or else it's held up in the mail. A host<br /> Of explanations....... Yet that gnawing fear<br /> O'errides them - still keeps dunning at me that<br /> You just don't want to write. And vainly I<br /> Attempt to thrust aside the thought, deny<br /> It with your last note and the one before.<br /> But no. I must resign myself to wait<br /> Until tomorrow, or the next day and<br /> A day. Surely then I see your hand-<br /> Writing and envelope. And life is sweet, until<br /> A week or so, when....<br /> Still no letter.....<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[First published in “Poems of the Second World War, J.M.Dent/Salamander Oasis Trust]John Wedgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15756073149336428998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884083406014314047.post-12170743415768870052010-12-01T02:42:00.000-08:002010-12-01T02:49:32.969-08:00Escort DutyFive nights of hell in which<br /> Five ships went down. The gale<br /> Rose quick and lasted, hail<br /> Bit into wind-stung flesh<br /> Near blinding those on watch,<br /> And endless, endless swell<br /> Rose, trembling, hung and fell<br /> With stomach-sickening strength.<br /><br /> And still they were groping blindfold for the U-boat<br /> And still the depth-charges roared out at each find.<br /> Tired eyes were kept striving to pierce through the darkness<br /> While strain and the sleeplessness battered their mind.<br /> The whole soul cried out for a puff at a Woodbine<br /> But such was denied them for fear that a spark<br /> Would show their position - and tea wasn’t easy<br /> To make in a galley awash in the dark.<br /> Each brain was near bursting protecting that convoy<br /> And endless the struggle twixt tension and wit<br /> When - Climax ! A thunderous flash and explosion<br /> Flung hell into Hades.<br /> The ship had been hit.John Wedgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15756073149336428998noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884083406014314047.post-50437599500353405512010-11-30T06:50:00.000-08:002010-11-30T07:06:13.144-08:00To RalphMunich time, and you eighteen<br /> I a year less.<br /> “I just want to fly”<br /> You said,<br /> “Not die”<br /> And we were quiet<br /> In anxious contemplation..<br /><br /> For a year<br /> You flew in peace<br /> Each weekend.<br /> Then Danzig came.<br /> We changed our office suits<br /> For blue<br /> Of different hues.<br /><br /> Two years, nine months<br /> Have passed since then -<br /> Norway, Poland, Rhine -<br /> Scharnhorst [our mutual friend]<br /> Tirpitz, Brest,<br /> You knew them all<br /> [Once a trawler picked you up<br /> As you swam].<br /> And still you flew.<br /><br /> D.F.M.<br /> [God ! How you deserved it !]<br /> A thin blue ring<br /> Replaced the stripes.<br /> You volunteered<br /> To go abroad -<br /> We joked about the snow<br /> On Russian boots,<br /> And bears.<br /> Then one day, Malta !<br /> You wrote<br /> “The country’s grand<br /> And bathing fine”<br /> {The BBC filled in the gaps}<br /> Soon, M.E.F.<br /> “There’s too much sand”<br /> I read.<br /> “But the bathing’s grand” <br /> {Tobruk was falling}<br /> Still the battle rages<br /> And you are there. <br /> Oh, Ralph ! God bless.<br /><br />{Flight Lieut.R.E.Walker, D.F,M.was a photo-reconnaissance Spitfire pilot and<br />was killed over Italy in July 1943 ].John Wedgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15756073149336428998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884083406014314047.post-77446413279413060952010-11-30T05:55:00.000-08:002010-11-30T06:01:16.478-08:00Evening in Dumbarton RoadDrab capped, drab suited, booted men<br /> Surge on to crowded trams,<br /> The Citizen or Evening Times<br /> Thrust under weary arms.<br /> With hands in pockets, three or four abreast,<br /> Some amble quick<br /> To dreary tenements hard by.<br /> Less hasty, Jock and Dick<br /> Join in the queue for cigarettes,<br /> Disinterested, mute…<br /> And still they come, flood through the gates<br /> To take their chosen route<br /> With clinking hobs and tips<br /> To supplement the sound<br /> Of traffic moving slowly through<br /> The mob now homeward bound.<br /> Their thoughts ? Who knows ? Tea, perhaps<br /> Then whisky [what a price !]<br /> A little later with the boys.<br /> Or, will the Rangers twice<br /> Defeat the Papes this season ? Dogs ?<br /> Or shall we dance at Green’s ?<br /> That ruddy foreman. Jean’s new frock…<br /> The shipyard walls entreat<br /> A Second Front, or [odd!]<br /> Ask youth to join the A.T.C….<br /> And on the workers plod.<br /><br /> These are the men who wield the tools<br /> Ensuring that Britannia Rules. <br /> <br /><br />(written in HMS Mistral, in John Brown’s shipyard, 14th June 1942}John Wedgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15756073149336428998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884083406014314047.post-65125431929133443042010-11-30T04:02:00.000-08:002010-11-30T04:06:04.887-08:00H.M.S.WorcesterTwo anxious hours to contemplate bleak death<br /> At thirty knots consuming cold grey seas.<br /> Action Stations, duffel coats, tin hats -<br /> Below, a throbbing engine room reprise.<br /><br /> Junkers aircraft bombing from the clouds<br /> Brought urgency, then "Enemy in Sight! "<br /> The forward four point sevens bellowed out<br /> Their challenge to the battlecruisers' might.<br /> Tall shell-spouts cased her as she turned to fire<br /> Torpedoes. As they leapt, cacophony<br /> Erupted, brute bombardment wrenched apart<br /> The bridge, chewed steel in vicious gluttony.<br /><br /> Five minutes’ devastation. Sudden peace,<br /> Uncanny, as she wallowed without power.<br /> Miraculously the lower hull survived<br /> But Gibson, Dow and Grant, and twenty more<br /> Lay dead. Doc Jackson's needle eased the pain<br /> Of others. Pom-poms warned the RAF away.<br /> Bizarrely, Junkers' recognition flares<br /> Confirmed the wild confusion of that day.<br /><br /> So, vulnerable, rolling helplessly<br /> She lay for seeming hours. Then nervous ears<br /> Rejoiced at turning screws. By fits and starts<br /> She staggered home, a frozen fifteen hours.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[Published “Memories of War “[Sahara Publications] 2007John Wedgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15756073149336428998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884083406014314047.post-4839831574693391442010-11-30T04:01:00.000-08:002010-11-30T04:02:17.525-08:00MinedShe had no chance, a blow which shook<br />Our hull and made the watch below<br />Run up on deck, to see a surge<br />Of water first engulf, then lay her low,<br />Whilst all around were men and wood.<br /><br />We manned our boat. No gala, this,<br />Of picking up survivors, cold<br />And hurt, we half afraid to miss<br />A head among the bobbing casks.<br /><br />Nine men we saved of twenty two<br />Who but an hour before had left<br />The quay. They left a promise to<br />Return next day, a promise that<br />For thirteen will be unfulfilled,<br />And thirteen families will mourn<br />A son, a brother, father killed<br />At sea. Such things we don’t forget.<br /><br />And some day, sipping tea, you’ll read<br />“The Board of Admiralty regret …..”<br /><br />1943John Wedgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15756073149336428998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884083406014314047.post-11596920489529275982009-12-23T14:04:00.000-08:002014-07-13T03:28:20.428-07:00PassingToday I passed a khaki hearse<br />
And scarce restrained an urge to doff my cap.<br />
Odd was the sight which moved me so -<br />
A shot-up aircraft on its way to scrap.<br />
<br />
1944Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-884083406014314047.post-90583591366138528272009-09-08T14:03:00.000-07:002014-07-13T03:28:38.769-07:00AftermathAs I sat here in my armchair<br />
And listened to a dreamy tune<br />
The wireless gave, and smoked my pipe,<br />
Content, I used to think of you.<br />
<br />
While walking when ashore, the air<br />
Exhilarating me, the moon<br />
Set pale in fragile blue, a curlew<br />
Calling, I would sing of you.<br />
<br />
And sometimes, reading, there would be<br />
A page, a paragraph, a phrase<br />
Which conjured up a memory<br />
Of happy moments spent with you<br />
<br />
And I would smile. A word maybe,<br />
A soft perfume, the sun's glad rays,<br />
A haunting song - these came to me<br />
And made me dream. And I still do.<br />
<br />
1943Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0