They Never Went To War

They never went to war; they stayed at home The young, the old, the unwell and the dead The women who were not allowed to roam The men who tilled the fields and baked the bread Some sat in darkness waiting for the rap Of letterbox, and soft white feather fall The silence broken by a dripping tap Dark shadows cast by street lamps on the wall The little lads who ran behind the train That took their fathers off to certain death Who waved until their arms ached in the rain Who ran until their lungs ran out of breath Old men who yearned for youth; just one more chance To feel the blood flow, hear the battle cry To wear the uniform and take a stance To stand with other men, to fight and die The crippled and the mad, the deaf, the blind Escaped the fate of many thousand men Some angry that they had been left behind Some thankful that they’d never fight again Women, who with their sleeves rolled ploughed the land Lit candles, raised the children, hid their tears Made ammunitions with a careful hand Kept watch and saved the night time for their fears So many stayed at home, and stayed alive And suffered pain and loss, regret and guilt That they were left, that they were to survive Within the house such sacrifice had built Their many names are not inscribed on stone Those sorrowed souls, so haunted by war’s ghost Were left to stand and mourn the dead alone Listening to the trumpet sound the post by Gail