Hook

One of many failures

I took the shilling at Monmouth
though a Gloucesterman I.

They say I left a wife
but then there will always be rumours.

To Africa I was sent
to teach the native the ways of his betters.
There my rifle saw service
'gainst the Zulu.

Assigned to guard the hospital
I cursed my luck for being left behind
whilst my comrades marched to the enemy
but they were cut to pieces all.
Belly’s ripped so their souls could fly free

I had no time to dwell on their fate
for soon it was our turn.
Black as hell and thick as grass the Zulu came.
I fired twice and saw two fall
for I was esteemed a marksman.

They gained the hospital
and we fought bayonet to spear
room to room
midst fire and smoke.
Many sick we rescued
though some died

And all night we fought while the hospital burned
the air thick with the screams of men
that it seemed we were more souls in torment than among the living.

And damned
And damned thirsty

Till we overcame our fear of the dark and boiled out into the night to gain fresh water.
Relief came the next day
then six long months camped midst the mud and the rain.

And the cries of the sick
And the fear
And the boredom
And then victory

My reward was a medal
and a wound which pained me
often in damp weather.

I left the army.
Came to London
to look for work.
Became a duster of books
though I could scarce read.
Then a cloakroom attendant
as befits my station.

On certain days
I would be pointed out.
They’d shake my hand
as if bravery was catching
whilst I gave them signed photographs.

I married late
and had two children.
But my lungs were bad
and my time was short.

Sometimes as I lay in bed,
my last posting,
I thought of Hook.
Not the hero but the young man who laboured in the fields
before he toiled under African skies.

But all memories are regrets.
And I died
And received a funeral
And full military honours
And left behind
A wife and two children to fend for themselves
And grieve.

Heroes all.