Poem around my late grand-uncle in Dublin
A poem retrieved from memories of my teenage years listening to tales of The Great War from my grand-uncle, Paddy Caffrey, who remained affected by it decades afterwards.
PADDY IN THE SHED
Paddy’s gone into the shed again
Shivering from his war
Till he fell down the stairs in Gardiner Street
And died behind the door
My grand-uncle was a dapper lad
Even in later years
A handkerchief in the breast pocket
He was fond of his few beers
He’d had a few when he tumbled
Down the tenement stairs
He’d survived his war and made it home
But he fought on for fifty years
I was a raw teenager then
The same age, more or less
He’d scuttled off to Flanders fields
On the Kitchener Express
He had some great yarns of courage
And a few about losing your nerve
And one of a young lad tied to a post
And shot for refusing to serve
He rode on a two-horse and limber
And one day while standing at ease
Came the whack of an Albrecht mortar
And blew one horse into the trees
My Granny would tell him to shut it
His stories were gory and rough
Too nasty and brutal and bloody by far
For young lads to hear, shocking stuff
As if we didn’t see him
Shivering in the back yard shed
When he reckoned that no one would miss him
If he popped out to chat with the dead.
FRED JOHNSTON