The 51st At St. Valerie Poem by Andrew Wright

We were captured at St. Valerie,
Surrounded by aircraft and tanks,
There were guns, mortars, machineguns,
Spitting death in the midst of our ranks.

There George, there Jack and Paddy,
And Taffy the Welshman too,
Fighting shoulder to shoulder,
Determined to see this fight through.

Our boys were doing their damnedest,
To stem the Jerry attack,
We were fighting a rearguard action,
To let the most of our troops get back.

The French on our flanks had weakened,
And let the enemy through,
With our tanks to the wall we were fighting,
As Britishers alone can do.

Our allies the French got the wind up,
And thought the battles was lost,
So they waved white flags in surrender,
The men we had been taught to trust.

A white flag appeared on the steeple,
It was held by a Froggie we know,
Till one of our boys aimed his rifle,
And the Froggie fell headlong below.

A dis-organised mob with no one to lead us,
The town that we'd held was in flames,
We were bombed, shelled, machine-gunned,
It was the enemy's favourite game.

We retreated into the valley,
The valley of death it was named,
Our comrades lay all around us,
Some dead, some dying, some maimed.

All through the night we stuck to our guns,
We held on as long as we could,
Hungry, tired and sleepy,
Half dead but our hearts still good.

Then came dawn and a kind of relief,
We fought to the eleventh hour,
The battle was lost but we'd done our bit,
As the bugle sounded 'cease fire'.

The hearts of our comrades were heavy,
Many an eye shed a tear,
As we smashed our machine guns and rifles,
The weapons we held so dear.

Our air force when needed was absent
Our navy was far out at sea,
With most of our guns out of action,
What little support had we.

My praise for the officers was not very high,
My comrades will tell you the same,
Only a few stayed by their men,
Yes, only a few played the game.

But when we get home to old Blighty's shore,
And his Majesty reads out the names,
It won't be the sergeants, corporals or men,
It's the officers who'll reap all the fame.

Still we boys can hold up our heads,
We did not fight for fame,
We fought for king and country,
And we'd do the same again.

Now this poem is dedicated,
To the heroes who fought and died,
With their fathers who went before them,
They are resting side by side