BEASTLY TALES

DOING ONE’S BIT

Orville Ackminster was on the firing line,
Nobody asked him, so he didn’t opine.
Was he scared? Of course he was,
Why was this so? Because, because.
It had been quiet, most of the morn,
But never-the-less, Orville was forlorn.
Any minute the firing would start,
Severe enough to stress his heart.
Artillery would start things off.
Then the machine guns dreaded cough,
Eruptions of dirt along the trench top,
But those machine guns just didn’t stop.
In the distance he heard a whistle,
Some were advancing, guns abristle.

Overhead an aircraft roared past,
It’s cannon strafing amazingly fast.
So many ways to maim and kill,
Over the top? Chances are nil.
Officers say, “You’re doing your bit!”
But higher rankers keep out of it.
They do their bit behind the firing line,
Creature comforts plenty, but not much spine.
Do what I say, not what I do.
And we’ll make a hero out of you.
That is, if we find your body,
This is war, things are shoddy.
But if you’re lucky, you could groom,
Yourself to be in the Unknown Soldier tomb!

The firing eased for a little while,
Yesterday, they had advanced a mile,
But then only to be beaten right back,
Those fearsome guns, never slack.
Do your bit for country and king,
But wait a moment, here’s the thing.
When the really stupid war has passed,
When there is, again peace at last.
The very governments that sent you to be killed,
Will be best of friends with enemy country, so billed.

Orville had so very much to say,
But, sadly, he was killed that very day!