O, but the racked clear tired strained frames we had!
Tumbling in the new billet on to straw bed,
Dead asleep in eye shutting. Waking as sudden
To a golden and azure roof, a golden ratcheted
Lovely web of blue seen and blue shut, and cobwebs and tiles,
And grey wood dusty with time. June’s girlish kindest smiles.
Rest at last and no danger for another week, a seven-day week.
But one Private took on himself a Company’s heart to speak,
“I wish to bloody hell I was just going to Brewer – surely
to work all day (in Stroud) and be free at tea-time – allowed
Resting when one wanted, and a joke in season,
To change clothes and take a girl to Horsepool’s turning,
Or drink a pint at ‘Travellers Rest’, and find no cloud.
Then God and man and war and Gloucestershire would have
But I get no good in France, getting killed, cleaning off mud.
He spoke the heart of all of us – the hidden thought burning,
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Comments about this poem (Billet by Ivor Gurney )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
William Carlos Williams
(17 September 1883 – 4 March 1963)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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