The Boy, The Man, The Soldier

A northern seaside town was where he lived,
a boy neglected, badly shod and hungry,
last in a litter of children, fighting
for comfort beneath a grubby blanket.
Workless parents, feckless, without hope,
carelessly treading on their children’s dreams.

His brothers, famed for threats and vengeful fights,
were dreaded on the streets where people lived
in fear. No cat o’nine tails spoilt their dreams,
nor threat of Borstal quelled their wolfish hunger
for destruction. Muffled beneath the blanket
their young brother nurtured his future hopes.

With school behind him, he was free to dream,
of future fortune—catalogue of hopes.
A soldier’s life, a uniform, own blanket;
good leather boots, the honour of fighting
for King and country; earn a good living,
build a reputation—end the hunger.

At seventeen, he throws aside the blanket,
Enlisting as a medic, lives the dream.
No strict routine nor hardship curbs his hunger
to care for wounded men. Then—crushed hopes,
lost in a Singapore hospital where fights
with bayonet and gun leave few to live.

The boy, the man, the soldier minus hope,
now caring for the dead, lets go the fight
for freedom. Only five are left alive
to tend cohorts of dead who cannot dream
of home. The enemy waits, while hungry
and cold the boy longs for a shared blanket.

The railway—sweat, exhaustion, fear, hunger.
The swampy heat like saturated blanket.
The lashing sword of captors wrecking hopes
of home and freedom. Only the will to live
endures the pain. The medic kills his dreams
while care of dying men, becomes his fight.

A bomb blankets the world in flimsy freedom.
Fighting over, lives restored, less hunger.
The man disturbs the dust and hopes for dreams.