# Memorial Tablet

(Great War)

Squire nagged and bullied till I went to fight

(Under Lord Derby’s scheme). I died in hell—

(They called it Passchendaele); my wound was slight,

And I was hobbling back, and then a shell

Burst slick upon the duck-boards; so I fell

Into the bottomless mud, and lost the light.

In sermon-time, while Squire is in his pew,

He gives my gilded name a thoughtful stare;

For though low down upon the list, I’m there:

“In proud and glorious memory”—that’s my due.

Two bleeding years I fought in France for Squire;

I suffered anguish that he’s never guessed;

Once I came home on leave; and then went west.

What greater glory could a man desire?

77