No Angels In Foxholes

There aint any angels in foxholes, Jock Grey once said to me. He was looking at a different scene Than what we could both then see. Just tension and maybe boredom And expectation among the boys, Just waiting for the action, Waiting for the noise That soaks into your being Once it all kicks off again; Then it’s all action and panic Shouting and screaming men. There’s no glory down in foxholes Ask any man who’s been there God and King and Country, no Let me live is all you care And whether it’s hot or cold Dry or wallowing in mud Only one thing is certain You’ll see lots of blood. There ain’t no pride and glory Just a sense of desolation; If there is a god he aint gonna Just back one lot of nations. He’s probably packed his bags Closed heaven down in haste, Sickened by the carnage; The awful bloody waste. Perhaps that awful god Hangs his head in shame That they dare to do this killing In his honour and his name. Let the fountain pen warriors write Of war’s glory and war’s pride How many have seen a foxhole Let alone been down inside I could see his shoulders heave See the blankness in his gaze Feel the raw emotion before He came back from those days. No there aint no angels in foxholes. I wish they’d get that right. Now whose round is it lads? The beer’s bloody slow tonight. R.I.P. Jock - survived WW2, died in a train crash late 1960's. We enjoyed many Mess Nights and beers together.