Tanks a lot..

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Fury is a cracking good war film.

I do know a lot about tanks of the second world war.

Which is why i watched Fury. Ready, Willing.

And thats true say, cards on the table.

Battle of The Bulge however remains for me, top of the war film tree.

When the might of the i think it was the 2nd on the rigqhht? Asked for the surrender of … amblev?

Nuts.

Well that was true say they say, and they say it took guts! And those men were cold, and bold.

Kelly’s hero’s however, well the film that made me want to be in a war.

Was a good film with a good score.

If i had to be in a war film though, i’d stick with Cary Grant like glue.

That would be me Tony Curtis and you.

I’d still cry for Sinatra as Montgomary Clift played the bugle, fatso was always gonna win that one.

And who would trust Ernest Borgnine after Ice Station Zebra?

Besides Rock Hudson?

And in his defence you try comming out of a closset in a submarine!

Fury is a cracking good war film, but it was a bit too serious and Brad Pit needs to lighten up.

Afterall, It was only a war, a mother beautiful war and it will always be there.

pauliepaul

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Suicide in the trenches by Siegfried Sassoon

Brilliant writer
Brilliant writer

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

Siegfried Sassoon

To any Dead officer by Siegfried Sassoon x

Brilliant writer
Brilliant writer

Well, how are things in Heaven? I wish you’d say,
Because I’d like to know that you’re alright.
Tell me, have you found everlasting day,
Or been sucked in by everlasting night?
For when I shut my eyes your face shows plain;
I hear you make some cheery old remark—
I can rebuild you in my brain,
Though you’ve gone out patrolling in the dark.

You hated tours of trenches; you were proud
Of nothing more than having good years to spend;
Longed to get home and join the careless crowd
Of chaps who work in peace with Time for friend.
That’s all washed out now. You’re beyond the wire:
No earthly chance can send you crawling back;
You’ve finished with machine-gun fire—
Knocked over in a hopeless dud-attack.

Somehow I always thought you’d get done in,
Because you were so desperate keen to live:
You were all out to try and save your skin,
Well knowing how much the world had got to give.
You joked at shells and talked the usual ‘shop,’
Stuck to your dirty job and did it fine:
With ‘Jesus Christ! when will it stop?
Three years … It’s hell unless we break their line.’

So when they told me you’d been left for dead
I wouldn’t believe them, feeling it must be true.
Next week the bloody Roll of Honour said
‘Wounded and missing’—(That’s the thing to do
When lads are left in shell-holes dying slow,
With nothing but blank sky and wounds that ache,
Moaning for water till they know
It’s night, and then it’s not worth while to wake!)

Good-bye, old lad! Remember me to God,
And tell Him that our Politicians swear
They won’t give in till Prussian Rule’s been trod
Under the Heel of England … Are you there?…
Yes … and the War won’t end for at least two years;
But we’ve got stacks of men … I’m blind with tears,
Staring into the dark. Cheerio!
I wish they’d killed you in a decent show.

Siegfried Sassoon

To Any Dead officer by Siegfried Sassoon

Brilliant!
Brilliant!

Well, how are things in Heaven? I wish you’d say,
Because I’d like to know that you’re all right.
Tell me, have you found everlasting day,
Or been sucked in by everlasting night?
For when I shut my eyes your face shows plain;
I hear you make some cheery old remark—
I can rebuild you in my brain,
Though you’ve gone out patrolling in the dark.

You hated tours of trenches; you were proud
Of nothing more than having good years to spend;
Longed to get home and join the careless crowd
Of chaps who work in peace with Time for friend.
That’s all washed out now. You’re beyond the wire:
No earthly chance can send you crawling back;
You’ve finished with machine-gun fire—
Knocked over in a hopeless dud-attack.

Somehow I always thought you’d get done in,
Because you were so desperate keen to live:
You were all out to try and save your skin,
Well knowing how much the world had got to give.
You joked at shells and talked the usual ‘shop,’
Stuck to your dirty job and did it fine:
With ‘Jesus Christ! when will it stop?
Three years … It’s hell unless we break their line.’

So when they told me you’d been left for dead
I wouldn’t believe them, feeling it must be true.
Next week the bloody Roll of Honour said
‘Wounded and missing’—(That’s the thing to do
When lads are left in shell-holes dying slow,
With nothing but blank sky and wounds that ache,
Moaning for water till they know
It’s night, and then it’s not worth while to wake!)

. . . .
Good-bye, old lad! Remember me to God,
And tell Him that our Politicians swear
They won’t give in till Prussian Rule’s been trod
Under the Heel of England … Are you there?…
Yes … and the War won’t end for at least two years;
But we’ve got stacks of men … I’m blind with tears,
Staring into the dark. Cheerio!
I wish they’d killed you in a decent show.

Siegfried Sassoon

For the love of my Grandad x

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My Grandad Adkin, my Mum”s Dad is in an urn on the top of a tall coat closit in the hall way at my parents house.
My Mum seems to like him there.
None of us mind, because we all loved him.
He lived with Mum and Dad before he died.
My Brother was still at home and after bringing his
friends home discovered Eric Grandad in the kitchen,
cooking a whole onion in the microwave dressed only in baggy Y fronts.
Grandad Eric told me tales of war, trying to get back to his regiment after armistice using abandened motorbikes and cars, to travel north through France and giving frightend German soldiers water as they became human beings like him.
Grandad Eric would come camping with us when I was a boy. I remember he was always mending his car.
At family meals Vanetta my sister gets Grandad down sometimes, she put him at the table once, my Mum was fine and we joked.
And we thought of him because we loved him.
I wish I could have taken him to France to visit his fallen friends.
But I think his resting place is fine.
Just fine.

pauliepaul

Getting up early for The War

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My Grandad said when he was in bed that the Second World War could have been over sooner if his alarm had gone off.
My friend Ashley said his Grandad said General Patton was a shithouse, but he always got up in the morning.
None of the soldiers seemed to oversleep on the day of the battle. I wonder if they said make sure you wake me up in time for the battle to their friends.

I wonder if a soldier looked really tired his captain would say let him have a lie in he looks so peaceful and I really wonder most if General Patton was a shithouse and who woke him up so he could get changed ready for the battle.

“Come on sleepy heads time for war.”
“Can we just have another ten minutes Sarge.”

“Alright ten minutes but the Germans are washed and dressed and Patton is on his porridge.”

pauliepaul

World war Words without Rhyme or Treason

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Writing a poem in the mud as the whistle says over the top!

He shouted “Stop!”

“Stop being stupid you’ll all die they mean to shoot you now what’s this all about?”

“My feet are freezing will you shoot me if I want to go home?”

“Yes.”

“Right let’s crack on then, how do you spell decorum est? Rhymes with vest, or Jest, or taking the Piss try it now you Mugs!”

“You murdering Officer Scum rhyme that with hate.”

Yet hate is a broad brush to paint with as well I know, but for this, this is what it is.

A poem for your stupidity for murdering your Sons who followed past you and smelt death.

As you read about it in your dispatches Bastard Officer Bastard Officer.

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 Contempt I feel for you stupid Men, and when in despair as the shells shocked their sanity and they held out a hand

for you to help.

You murdered them against a wall with military bravado as I would do each and every Bastard One of you. Who failed to see sense and failed to pity a poor Private soldier who gave up the fight because he no longer knew what was wrong or what was right.

And No Mans Land was right.

pauliepaul

What?

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Why are we fighting again?

We’re fighting for King and Country.

Oh right, why is he shouting the orders?

Because he’s an Officer and in charge.

Who said he is?

He just is, he’s an Officer and a Gentleman and wealthy.

Why is he wealthy?

Because he has land and property.

How did he get that?

He probably inherited it from his Father.

So that’s why he’s giving orders?

Well yes.

And what are we fighting about again?

pauliepaul

Tweet From an Unknown Soldier

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It’s rubbish here, but you need to read my letter really, to get to know the real me, and how I’m feeling.
Sorry I haven’t written more, writing takes time.

Too much time but you do know it’s muddy?
And it’s rubbish here.

Sergeant says that letter writing is something more thought about than time allows.
Say it in a tweet, he said.

You might be dead before the letter revealing your inner thoughts
Is opened and read and  cherished forever and a tweet is twice as quick.

Than a loving letter, touched by you and felt by them your loving family.

As they remember you forever.

pauliepaul

Corned beef

War memories

I remember my Dad saying that the Argentines had changed all the locks on the corned beef tins, he wasn’t afraid I remember.
I thought to myself that means no more corned beef and pickle sandwiches?
My Dad said it was war and we all have to make sacrifices
But he was a locksmith or a safe cracker. Mum was in charge though, she wore the trousers, she said he was good if they locked themself’s out.
Of even other peoples houses

Because of this I grew up thinking that war was petty
And I told my Dad
He said but you haven’t been in a war yet
Have you Son
I said no Dad, you know that

He said well put the kettle on then.

pauliepaul