The Bairn

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The author

My first piece was inspired by my mother when she was looking through old family photos and came across this one of myself.   Apparently my father was given compassionate leave and when he arrived home and pushed my pram I just howled.   That story got me thinking about how many soldiers were on the front line, at that time, and never saw their child?  Imagining a Scottish soldier staring at his child’s photo before going over the top led me to write this poem.  I have placed it during the First World War in France, but it could be any war, anywhere, at any time!

The Bairn

You are a lucky bairn sitting in your pram,                                                                                     Dressed up sae bonny by your loving mam                                                                                                   A cheeky smile is on your face                                                                                                                        So,- welcome to the human race

Your pram is the colour of your eyes, dark blue                                                                                     And with a shining body, to me it looks brand new                                                                               Who will you look like when you grow older                                                                                         Will you be the image of your daddy gone to be a soldier?

He’s gone to fight in the Great War for Country and for King                                                     This war will end all wars, so listen for the Church bell’s ring                                                       He will be living in the mud in a rat infested trench                                                                           And in his nose the smell of death a vile and noxious stench

He will be fighting for his life and others he must kill                                                                     With comrades dying all around they must capture yonder hill                                                     The trenches are a vivid red, coloured by the young men’s blood                                             Boys of only sixteen lie dying, crying, to be buried in the mud

The battlefield is a hellish place, the guns roar out like thunder                                                 The piercing screams of dying men their souls the enemy plunder                                             “OH GOD! Have mercy on me, please save me from this sorrow                                                   Let me see my bairn just one time before you take away my tomorrow”

 

 

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