Greatcoat

I'm my day the Army Was very frugal with our kit. Whenever possible if seemed They recycled every bit. My Greatcoat had certainly Been around for a while; It was of a different cloth And of a different style. With it back at the Billet I just couldn't wait To check the label for The manufacturers date. It read nineteen fourteen, From the Great War. I wondered how many Had worn it before. Had it seen combat, Endured the trenches' hell; If there'd been any bullet holes They'd been repaired well. Hanging from my spare frame I looked rather rum, And, being for those days tall Stood out like a sore thumb. It fitted where it touched And it was far too big Bringing down the wrath Of many a drill pig, In truth it looked like I'd been graciously lent A quite unique version of My own one man tent. I carried it with me Until my demob day When the QM staff Carefully folded it away. In truth I thought As I left it there It looked good enough for Many more years wear. At nearly fifty years old I wondered How many others would have it on Before it reached its retirement And was finally gone. I hoped the next owners, For I was sure there'd be more, Realised with respect it was A piece of history that they wore.