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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365799" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>No Man's Land</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'd been cleaning out the attic<br>And the gables in the roof, <br>Which were dusty, full of cobwebs<br>And a horror, tell the truth, <br>There were boxes, wooden chests<br>And mouldy papers overall, <br>'Til the ceiling couldn't take it, <br>It was bowed, about to fall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So we shunted all this detritus<br>Until it filled the space<br>We had cleared on the landing<br>To gain access to the place, <br>'What on earth are we to do with it? '<br>My wife said in despair, <br>'We'll have to burn the lot, ' I said, <br>'Except that old box chair.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I remembered the old box chair<br>From my Grandad's, Arthur Oates, <br>It was taken from a hallstand<br>Where we'd hung our hats and coats, <br>It was made of polished oak, and sat<br>So proudly, just inside, <br>My father must have brought it home<br>When my Grandfather died.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Later, when we'd finished sorting, <br>Burning, and so on, <br>I lifted up the lid to see<br>What treasures I had won, <br>My gas mask from the second war<br>That looked like Mickey Mouse, <br>Was sitting still within that box, <br>So many years had passed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I tipped out scarves and ancient gloves<br>That still lay buried there, <br>My sister's broken China Doll<br>The type that had no hair, <br>And at the bottom, going brown<br>And brittle, somewhat dank, <br>My Grandad's faded diary, <br>With Number, Name and Rank.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I read it through that very night, <br>I sat there in the gloom, <br>And there the 'War to End all Wars'<br>Unfolded in my room, <br>It left me pensive, sitting there<br>For now I understood, <br>Those many journeys made to France, <br>My Grandad's bitter moods.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In 1914, Christmastime<br>He'd lain there in his trench, <br>The ground was hard and white that morn, <br>The atmosphere was tense, <br>The Germans in their trenches were<br>Just fifty yards away, <br>He heard them bursting into song, <br>They Caroled forth that day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The strip that they called 'No Man's Land'<br>Lay under recent snow, <br>The bodies of the slain lay there, <br>No Christmas would they know! <br>A note came from the German side<br>A ceasefire, honour pledged, <br>Allowing each to venture out<br>Unharmed, bury their dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My grandfather had watched in awe<br>As slowly, German heads, <br>Rose up above their parapets, <br>Dispersed their fear and dread, <br>He climbed on out himself, and wandered<br>Over No Man's Land, <br>When the advancing Boche had smiled, <br>He shook a German's hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They wished a Merry Christmas each<br>These soldiers who were foes, <br>They were just men in uniforms<br>That day, as Jesus knows, <br>'We have no wish to kill you now, '<br>One said, 'nor you kill us, <br>So why shoot on this Christmas Day, <br>I'm you - you're one of us! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They all exchanged small gifts that day, <br>Cigars, chocolate, tobacco, <br>They spoke in English, and in French<br>In accents loud, staccato, <br>They laughed and joked and passed around<br>Snapshots, from hand to hand, <br>They even played scratch football<br>Cheered and laughed, in No Man's Land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My grandfather then wrote at length<br>Of one young lad, a Hun, <br>Blonde haired, blued eyed, his name was Franz<br>He seemed a friendly one, <br>They promised, they would find each other<br>When the war was done, <br>And drink to peace with Schnapps and Gin, <br>Scotch Whiskey, one for one.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That day the guns lay silent, then<br>They filed back to each trench, <br>Catcalled and whistled, bandied jokes, <br>Those soldiers were just men, <br>At midnight the ceasefire was off, <br>They all fired in the air, <br>No-one was hitting anyone<br>Across that land - 'Despair! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But then the 'War to End all Wars'<br>Went grimly back on course, <br>The Officers made threats, and soon<br>Their orders lent them force, <br>My grandfather fired at a head<br>That bobbed in No Man's Land, <br>The Boche had fallen dead before<br>He recognised him - Franz.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I always thought my grandfather<br>Was grim, there was no light, <br>That animated him by day, <br>Or cheered his soul by night, <br>He spoke just once about the war<br>And said - 'War should be banned! <br>You'll never understand the horror, <br>There, in No Man's Land.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">6 January 2009</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+Lewis+Paget">David Lewis Paget</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365799" data-title="No Man's Land de David Lewis Paget" data-description="I'd been cleaning out the attic
And the gables in the roof, 
Which were dusty, full of cobwebs
And a horror, tell the truth, 
There were boxes, wooden chests
And mouldy papers overall, 
'Til the ceiling couldn't take it, 
It was bowed, about to fa..."></div>
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