Written by Sally Dalby of the Market Rasen Writers Club
It’s the mud, mother, it’s in my nose,
It’s in my mouth and caked in my clothes.
I can’t feel my feet, mother,
They’re as cold as ice,
My body’s so wet and covered in lice.
I’ve laid in this hole, mother, for hours it seems,
I try to sleep, but I can’t for the screams.
Can you remember young Billy, the lad from next door?
He enlisted with me, mother,
We were eager for war,
He screamed for hours, mother, as he lay by my side,
His legs were all gone,
I was glad when he died.
When the whistle blew, mother, we went over the top,
I kept running, as other lads dropped.
Oh! The screams and the bombs mother,
A vision of Hell,
Young lads, swallowed by mud, Wherever they fell.
It’s quieter now, mother, the screams faded away,
I am alone here now, mother, all I can do is pray.
I can see your sweet smile, mother, you beckon to me,
I’m coming, mother,
Is it time for tea?
Please take my hand, mother, don’t let it go,
I never did tell you, that I do love you sooooooh.