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Edith Louisa CAVELL was a British nurse. She is celebrated for saving the lives of soldiers from both sides in the Great War. She did this without discrimination. She also helped over 200 allied soldiers escape over the Belgian border, from German troops, a truly brave and compassionate lady who was betrayed by a man named QUIEN, a German collaborator.
Edith Louisa CAVELL
Drawn into conflict, no fault of her own,
compassion her forte, to her, never shown.
Soldiers of all nations, were treated as equals,
betrayed in the end, by a collaborator evil.
Edith Cavell was her name, a woman so brave,
in that futile war, many lives she did save.
Not only by nursing, many others concealed,
she gave them safe passage, as was later revealed.
Many brave soldiers, to her, owed their lives,
conveyed to the border, a miracle to survive.
'Quien' the collaborator, brought this to an end,
Edith later arrested, a firing squad condemned.
Her time finally came, 'blindfolded', to the wall,
a patriotic heroine, angelic mercy to all,
With no hatred inside, bitterness cast aside,
heavenly dispatched, with passion and pride.
Even facing death, no hatred in her heart,
a woman of substance, a breed set apart.
Dying for her country, her soul was released,
though ravages of war, they never ceased.
WAR HORSE
I remember it well, as if yesterday,
my master cried, but he had to obey.
Uniformed men, they stole me that day,
my future now destined, a land far away.
Down to the port with thousands like me,
winched on a ship, our fate history.
We landed in France, not knowing our worth,
paddocked together, no peace on earth.
Shell blasts I hear, far away in the distance,
all new to me, the night sky it glistens.
That is the night, death hit home to me,
a War horse my fate, that's how it would be.
The following day, a task I was given,
pulling a gun, it was so unforgiving.
Mile after mile, slowly and tiring,
shells bursting overhead, brave men lay dying.
Once at the front, harness undone,
back down the line, a hero unsung,
Fed and watered, I lay down to rest,
this foreign field, would be my bequest.
Four years I toiled, carnage abounding,
pulling the canon, gunfire resounding.
I lost many friends to gas and shell,
the smell of death, made heaven a hell.
Peace came at last, it had taken its toll,
horses and men, many lost souls.
The stench of death, with me forever,
brave men and horse in heaven together.
We played our part in that abhorrent war,
while enemy soldiers, spilled each other's gore.
I was taken by men to follow this course,
home I am now, a strong proud War horse.
MAMETZ WOOD REMEMBERED
That futile war, never forgotten.
the Somme a hundred years on.
Battle lines drawn, no man's land,
brave men preparing to die.
Birdsong fell silent, that fateful day,
slaughter, it surely did follow.
Machine guns nesting, deep in the wood,
barbed wire protecting the enemy.
The 38th Welsh led that fatal charge,
their orders to take Mametz wood.
Chaos abounded, their lives sacrificed,
like lemmings, to their holy maker.
The mortars rained down,
a shell hole, one's only safe haven,
Bodies piled high, deep in the mud,
as blood flowed, a deep poppy red.
Although stripped bare, by bullet and mortar,
Mametz wood will live on forever.
A graveyard for heroes, all Welsh to a man,
their sacrifice, never forgotten.
Welsh dragon today, faces the wood,
tearing at wire, where heroes blood flowed.
A memorial now guarding their souls,
its colour a deep poppy red.
"This poem is dedicated to the brave men of the 39th Welsh
who fought at the disastrous battle of Mametz wood during the
First World War. R.I.P"
At 8.20am an explosion occurred at the Parc Slip Colliery, Aberkenfig, near Tondu. One hundred and twelve men and young boys lost their lives, may they all R.I.P.
PARC SLIP REMEMBERED
One hundred and twelve, at peace in heaven,
in their day the heartbeat of Cefn.
Parc Slip the mine where they all worked,
way down below, their destiny lurked.
Men and boys taken that day,
firedamp and flame, the usual way.
Generations lost, without any say,
deadly fire and gas, took all air away.
Two miners were rescued, after the blast,
no hope for the rest, the future now past.
Hampered by falls, the rescue continued,
the following day, hope came to the village.
Voices were heard, deep in the mine,
a miracle, rescued, at least thirty-nine.
Some solace for those that were weeping,
heart break for those, loved ones sleeping.
Still to this day, Cefn mourns the begotten,
those lost souls, never forgotten.
Descendents reflect, heartache and sorrow,
their relatives felt on that sad 'morrow.
Parc Slip is now a nature reserve,
a memorial, those heroes deserved,
Birdsong is heard each single day,
lost souls at last finding their way.
PIT PONIES
I was four when I started, my life underground,
stabled below, coal dust would abound.
Miners my friends, they treated me well,
for one, oh so young, the face was like hell.
The dust and the gas, the air putrified,
the miners would crawl on their bellies and sides.
After pulling the journeys for eight hours a day,
I lay in my stable, on soft and warm hay.
Fifty weeks of the year we'd work together,
think what I'd give for fresh air, fine weather.
Then it would come, two weeks on top,
roaming the fields, a nice gentle trot.
The air I took in, so fresh and clean,
the weeks would fly by, then back to the seam.
Ten years I would work, with the brave men below,
but my time it did come, up top I would go.
Up in the cage, to the top of the pit,
they patted my head, you deserve it.
Checked by the vet, then down to the field,
where for two weeks a year, always spring heeled.
A pit ponys life was hard and so tough,
I made many friends, took the smooth with the rough.
Life in the field, is the way it should be,
for ponies who started out young, just like me.
'Pen-Y-Fan'
She's a jewel in the crown, a snow covered peak,
a stairway to heaven, though in winter so bleak.
An everlasting reminder, of a glacial past,
formed out of sandstone, dark shadows cast.
A Bronze age cairn, on her summit stands proud,
elements defied, mystical views they astound.
'Ashes of the dead' long ago there entombed,
meadowsweet flowers, now sadly exhumed.
She's a sight to behold, when shrouded in mist,
when covered by snow, she's a peak to resist.
She's a taker of life, when her spirits are stirred,
hail, rain and snow, killer elements converge.
To modern day pilgrims, a muse she's become,
a bucket list challenge, erosion succumbed.
'The Beacons' she rules, such a majestic sight,
on a fine summer's day, one of pure delight.
My Coal Mining Poetry book 'An Industry Now Lost'
