Back to Album of 100 photos including documents and press cuttings compiled by a 9L officer attached to Sherwood Yeomanry c1940-1941
Photographs
Item 0012
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Image details
| Accession number | 912L : 2090/32 |
|---|---|
| Transcription |
the morning after Charles Ponchsuer . 94 Guy Perstar . Stug Perrez . аш Telf . air raid at 97 92 C. G. legadasia . Irbuary 1941 . C.C. Thowas . Sauglasteplen williams . Darling . Seth . 95 93 96 Gue Peyton . Self . Sick Bertraus . 98 November 25 1942 Libyan Memories ( These lines , which were sent home by an officer serving in the R.F.A. with the Eighth Army , were suggested to him by various scenes and incidents during the present year previous to General Montgomery's victory . ) OUR WAR TRUCKS on the desert Rudely The yellow sand swirling behind and before , Bully and biscuits For breakfast and dinner That's our war . Aircraft with black crosses Swiftly diving . The stillness shattered by deafening roar : Another raid over Thank God we're still living That's our war . Unshaven and scruffy , Inert with boredom ; The " mediums " mumbling down by the shore , Precious days passing Seemingly wasted That's our war . Shivering in leaguer Counting the blessings . Another day nearer the end of the war And the deep , deep yearning There to remind us What it's all for . DANDELION SEED PUNCH or The London Charivari of white Against blue void , A man - made dandelion in seed Puts forth its wispy parachute , Black - stemmed , dainty , swaying in the wind , Floating serenely down , Encircling . Fa ated , we watched , Remarked the flickering flame First at the rim - a tiny golden point Then spreading , ever spreading , Consuming , licking into a fierce blaze Heading faster , ever faster Into a down - rush . Now earth - bound fleeting flash , Now indiscernible , Now doom . LIBYAN LANDSCAPE Shabby , shapeless , Silhouetted Against the sky : The startled gazelle , White - eyed , leaping Not knowing which way To fly . Grey clouds flying Over still blue water White sands glistening Across the bay : Grey scrub reaching Down to the foreshore , A sand - devil swirling Away . Escarpment towering Over the salt - marsh , A white pass picking Its intricate way : Deep wadis scarring Its rugged countenance Like lines in a face Once gay . Limitless , lifeless , Sandy desert ; Still and arid Wilderness Watching us fighting , Smiling so smugly At our great Foolishness . NIGHT MARCH RETREAT A GREY , grey road And a grey , grey sky The lumbering vehicles Rumbling by : An icy blast And a bitter storm Oh ! for a halt , Oh ! for a warm . A steep , steep pass And a deep , sheer drop , Three long miles To reach the top . Lorries stuck On the hairpin bend When will they move , When will it end ? A long , long trail And a black , black void , All thoughts and feelings Long destroyed . Numb in limb And numb in mind , Trundling forever Along behind . At last the moon To light our way And not many hours Ere break of day A final halt ... To bed we creep To fitful Apprehensive sleep . THE DESERT IMAGINE White snails heaped , clustered and flung Far and wide .. 441 Imagine - Every single pebble with its sun - down shadow There beside . Imagine Sand in sweeping dunes and hills Little ripples , too . Imagine In the vastness solitary , tiny , purple flowers Bestrayed with dew . Imagine Lakes there , in the mirage , glistening , inviting , Ships a - sailing . Imagine Violent dust - storms ; beating stinging sand Prevailing . Imagine Petrifaction , great volcanic slabs ; deep - cleft cliffs Ascending . Imagine The solitariness ; my sweet and tender thoughts of you Never - ending . MY MIRAGE SOLITARY seat on windswept heath , Tall swaying The deep black shadows darting ' neath Their serried lines . Soughing boughs and sweet pine scented air , A glorious view , Freedom and freshness - every day I share These things with you . No fool imagination could convey Such sweet reality As I find in the mirage every day Your gift to me . THEIR SPRING THREE crosses black against the blinding sand , Three war - scarred helmets resting at their hand , Three lances , leant against the azure sky , From which three fluttering pennants proudly fly , A single brilliant - red , sweet - scented flower This was their Spring - and this their finest hour . |
