Through the long ward the gramophone
Grinds out its nasal melodies:
“Where did you get that girl?” it shrills.
The patients listen at their ease,
Through clouds of strong tobacco smoke:
The gramophone can always please.
The Welsh boy has it by his bed,
(He’s lame – one leg blown away -
He’ll lie propped up with pillows there,
And wind the handle half the day.
His neighbour, with the shattered arm,
Picks out the records he must play.
Jock with his crutches beats the time;
The gunner, with his head close-bound,
Listen with puzzled, patient smile:
(Shell shocked-he cannot hear a sound).
The others join in from their beds,
And send the chorus rolling round.
Somehow for me these common tunes
Can never sound the same again:
They’ve magic now to thrill my heart
And bring before me, clear and plain,
Man that is master of his flesh,
And has the laugh of death and pain.
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From guest Adam (contact)
She focuses on aspects of the War that Sassoon and Owen cannot because she was a nurse. -
Treatment for troops should still be separate and not in civilian hospitals, their needs are still the same now as they were then. They need each other to recover, only they understand. Such a tender write but with such hope for the broken young men. Such a privilege to read these works. Sheila/LittleMoon
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