WAR
​
A sort of garbled peace war brings,
It certainly simplifies things.
When we know what we are doing
No use to grumble, baying and mooing
For higher living and better wages,
We work and fight while the conflict rages.
The depth of thinking ‘to keep alive’
Our way of living; ‘it must survive’.
And surely our rich and poor and such
Don’t hate each other quite as much.
In war there’s a common enemy,
And you, ‘Damn you’ as good as me.
Maybe the old class war will cease,
And war bring peace.
TO MY WIFE
God grant this war may leave
Unbroken still
My limbs; my spirit calm
And clear in brain.
That I may my greater privilege
May fulfil.
To live with you, and work,
For you again.
VILLIERS BOCAGE
After the Battle for Caen
These leafless woods are torn and sere,
No flowers adorn this battle plane.
No bird-song welcomes morning here,
And evening waits the thrush in vain.
In England’s meadows wild flowers grow,
That thought my heart with courage fills.
And I can wait, content to know,
That skylarks sing on England’s hills.
EMBARCATION (D Day)
​
Not for us the glamour of war
That they of the old time knew.
We shall see
No flags strung from high windows,
No crowds, no rich array.
We shall hear
No thrill of the drums; no cheering,
For us no pipes will play.
But only-
Through the grey mist of some chill
dawn a ship will move,
Secretly! Outbound! God knows where.
No last embrace from those we love.
They will not even know we are gone.
Illustration of Lawrence playing piano at the NAAFI by his comrade Matthew Holmes
Illustration by Matthew Holmes
TO A CHILD LOST IN THE MIDST OF THE NORMANDY BEACH
June 6th 1944
The horrors of this bloody strand below’
The agony of limb and mind, and so-
E’en death is justified, if it replace
The smile upon that tiny frightened face.
Worth all the carnage of this battle shore,
Worth all this human suffering and more,
Worth every sacrifice. Can we replace?
The smile upon that tiny frightened face.
MY EPITAPH
​
Oh ye that bathe in the beautiful waters of life.
Ye that have taken loveliness to wife,
Ye that feast with Gods, that.are their sons.
Ye chosen ones.
Oh ye for whom
The primrose and the poppy bloom
All that is left to do
To die for you.
NORMANDY BEACH - Revisited
People say, “weren’t you afraid”?
It comes again from so many years ago.
Afraid! My God! I was terrified.
But this didn’t matter so long as my mates didn’t know.
They probably felt the same.
Only none of us liked to give terror a name.
I think I must have died
A hundred times or more,
Just wading ashore.
I remember thinking, “What’s it like
When a bullet stops you and makes a hole in soft flesh”.
And naturally I thought of personal tender parts;
Not heads not hearts
That brings swift death,
But searing pain going on and on.
I remember that my stomach didn’t seem to be part of me,
But floating away-away.
And yet my brain held the briefing.
The briefing that was forced into me.
Word by word over and over again..
Yes I knew
Exactly what I had to do.
Contact Canadians. Find them. Get them.
Poor devils. They were brave.
First wave.
They met the hail. So many of them went down.
But they took the town.
Saving us so much.
I did not dare to touch.
The piles of clothes that were once living men.
But French children were already there,
Robing the dead and dying
Where they were lying.
I remember thinking, “ God what a place.”
Some of the dead had only half a face.
On that day nothing made much sense.
The whole thing seemed just one big pretence.