Pilgrimage: Being the thoughts of an ex-soldier at Ypres, 8/8/28
Me, an’ Jean, an’ the bairn;
The wee lad spierin’ an’ starin’;
Daunderin’ quiet an’ douce-like doun
The Menin road into Ypres toun.
‘Did ye kill ony Germans here?’
Man, it’s sair what a laddie’ll spier.
An’ Jean whispers ‘Wheest!’ – an’ there comes
The band wi’ its trumpets an’ drums.
There’s a glower i’ the wee laddie’s ee.
Ay, he’s ettlin’ ti sojer like me.
An’ Jean whispers low in her pain:
‘Lord, Ye’ll no lat it happen again!’
Syne the Gate whaur the weary feet trod
Like a white kind o’ promise fae God.
An’ in silence we’re spierin’ an’ starin’
– Me, an’ Jean, an’ the bairn.
Me an’ Jean
Her wi’ a saft warm licht in her een,
Thankfu’ that I am come through,
But trimlin’ a wee at the mou’,
Prood o’ the medals I wear –
The same as the Prince stan’in’ there;
Her hand grippin’ hard in mine here
– Oh Jeannie! Oh Jeannie, my dear! –
An’ I ken a’ the things she wud say
An’ Geordie was fond o’ her tae.
We saw Geordie’s bivvy yestreen,
Me an’ Jean.
Me,
Lookin’ yont ower the years juist tae see
Yon War like the ploy of a loon;
But a queer kind o’ shiver rins doon
My back as the things dribble in
– A hallikit lauch i’ the din,
The sangs, an’ the mud, an’ the claes,
An’ my buits, an’ yon glint through the haze
O’ anither lad’s bayonet, an’ lichts
Makin’ day o’ the darkest o’ nichts,
An’ the drinkin’ our tea fae ae can.
– Oh Geordie! Oh Geordie, my man!
An’ – deil tak’ this dust i’ my ee.
Me!
