Spudtater's Journal

Beach Burial

Softly and humbly to the Gulf of Arabs
The convoys of dead sailors come;
At night they sway and wander in the waters far under,
But morning rolls them in the foam.

Between the sob and clubbing of gunfire
Someone, it seems, has time for this,
To pluck them from the shallows and bury them in burrows
And tread the sand upon their nakedness;

And each cross, the driven stake of tidewood,
Bears the last signature of men,
Written with such perplexity, with such bewildered pity,
The words choke as they begin -

"Unknown seaman" - the ghostly pencil
Wavers and fades, the purple drips,
The breath of wet season has washed their inscriptions
As blue as drowned men's lips,

Dead seamen, gone in search of the same landfall,
Whether as ememies they fought,
Or fought with us, or neither; the sand joins them together,
Enlisted on the other front.

— Kenneth Slessor

Base Details

If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath,
I'd live with scarlet Majors at the Base,
And speed glum heroes up the line to death.
You'd see me with my puffy petulant face,
Guzzling and gulping in the best hotel,
Reading the Roll of Honour.
'Poor young chap,' I'd say–'
I used to know his father well;
Yes, we've lost heavily in this last scrap.'
And when the war is done and youth stone dead,
I'd toddle safely home and die – in bed.

— Siegfried Sassoon

I've noticed that this year celebrities and politicians are wearing the poppies more and earlier than ever, and the public less. This is somewhat sad. Maybe the poppy has become too politicised. But when it comes down to it, perhaps it would help to remember that a poppy is merely a poppy. It's the people that we should be remembering on this day.

I missed the 2 minutes' silence this morning. Perhaps I shall do so now.

Can't remember if I posted this on LJ some time ago or not:

So have another one as well. (And forgive me my copyright infringements on both of these.)