Poems by Rifleman Harry Wheeler

Rifleman Harry Wheeler of the 17th Battn of the London Regiment

Two poems

Two poems written by Rifleman Harry Wheeler of the 17th Battn of the London Regiment to the contributor's grandmother, Eileen Young, when she was a nurse at the Bevan Hospital in Kent.

UP YOU GO
Up you go with the best of luck
When you said "goodbye" to the ward,
Back you go to the mud and muck
When you are passed fit by the "Board",
You have to go and your eyes are wet
Your "swallers" choked and your teeth are set,
"Goodbye" my mates, you ain't dead yet
So up you go with the best of luck.

Up you go with the best of luck
Your lucky to have the chance,
You're bustled into a cattle truck
And back to the boys in France
Cold quay sides are a dreary sight,
Your pals look pale in the cold 'arf light
Press on your butts and dress by the right,
And up you go with the best of luck.

Up you go with the best of luck
To do your bit once more
Chance you luck because you have the pluck
As you've always shown before
For when you've done a spell out there,
You're a better man to do and dare
Than a chap whose asleep in a slacker's chair,
So up you go with the best of luck.

Up you go with the best of luck
And here's to a safe return,
Lucky for us you ain't struck
Like the men, whose bread you earn,
Back to the fighting, back to the "line",
While dodgers hide and cowards whine,
The sun is bright and the weather's fine
So up you go with the best of luck.

YPRES 1917
On 16th May I was injured at Ypres,
There were others too - wounded and killed,
But to tell you all would give you the creeps,
And you would with horror be filled.

So I lay on the ground and looked up at Heaven,
And a vision came to me,
I could see my dear wife and children at home,
But I am glad they could not see me.

But now I'm alright, in Blighty again,
And I'm getting on quite fine,
This hospital is named Bevan, and its like being in Heaven
After what I've been through up the line.

I often think of days gone by,
When all the world was at peace,
But now things are changed and I often sigh,
And wonder when this war will cease.

The sights I have seen I shall never forget,
Nor the noise of the shrapnel shell,
The terrible gas and the liquid fire, yet
It cannot be worse in hell.

There are many sad hearts in England today,
And in our Allies homes as well,
But when peace is declared - that longed for day,
There will be terrible tales to tell.

I've been in the "line", had enough of it too,
To last me for many a day,
The horrible scenes which were only too true,
Have taught many a man to pray.

1914-18

Western Front

James Cooper, grandson