A skilled craftsman of twenty nine,
Secure on his dependent yet
Self governed island, closer far
To regions held by foes than friends,
Frank left his daughter, son and wife,
For monarch, cause and country's sake
And foremost in the press of peers
He chose to risk both life and limb.
Once he had joined the ranks he crossed
The Channel four times that last year,
To train, for leave, for quick dispatch
To staunch a never-ending drain
Of wounded, missing or the dead.
Was his last formal family group
Commissioned by enlistment's pride,
Or far more sombre circumstance,
His end of leave's return via
Base-camp straight to the Western Front,
Replacement for the ravage wrought
On recent slaughterous battle-grounds
That failed to break through to Cambrai?
There set to hold the line beyond
L'Escaut's Canal, near Masnières
The lethal blast of ceaseless guns
And numbers far superior
He faced with courage and cold steel.
Enforced withdrawal to the Canal
Left not the slightest trace of him.
Though shells destroyed his body, yet
Still he is master of his soul.
Too late the rains their stalemate forced.

Roger Newton
6th December, 2013