T’was the night before Christmas
T'WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE,
MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE.
I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY,
WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO,
IN THIS HOME, DID LIVE.
I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,
A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS,
NOT EVEN A TREE.
NO STOCKING BY MANTLE,
JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES,
OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.
WITH MEDALS AND BADGES,
AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT,
CAME THROUGH MY MIND.
FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,
IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.
THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING,
SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR,
IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.
THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE,
THE ROOM IN DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED,
A BRITISH SOLDIER.
WAS THIS THE HERO,
OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO,
THE FLOOR FOR A BED?
I REALIZED THE FAMILIES,
THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS,
WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.
SOON ROUND THE WORLD,
THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE,
A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.
THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM,
EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS,
LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.
I COULDN'T HELP WONDER,
HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE,
IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.
THE VERY THOUGHT BROUGHT,
A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES,
AND STARTED TO CRY.
THE SOLDIER AWAKENED,
AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
"SANTA DON'T CRY,
THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;
I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM,
I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD,
MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS."
THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT,
I CONTINUED TO WEEP.
I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS,
SO SILENT AND STILL,
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED,
FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL.
I DID NOT WANT TO LEAVE,
ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR,
SO WILLING TO FIGHT.
THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA,
IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE."
ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH,
AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND,
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT."
The Abandonded Soldier
The Abandoned Soldier
A youthful face
With innocent cares,
Wide eyed child
With infant stares.
The child grew up
Played soldier games,
With sticks for guns
Pretending to maim.
Young boy left school
Sought to be a man,
To render peace
In Afghanistan.
But all too soon
The decision made,
Some years of his life
With the Army he’d trade.
Once training done
And off he flew,
To fight a war
In pastures new.
Soon a mortar attack,
Killed, outright four,
But ‘lucky’ for him
He was blown to the floor.
Though injuries sustained
Were incidental,
Not so physical
More like mental.
The cuts and bruises
Would heal away,
But the mental scars
With him they’d stay.
The career he’d wanted
As a child,
Became a curse
It drove him wild.
With visions of battle
That never would end,
He’d witnessed the death
Of his closest friend.
So he had to leave
The new family he trusted
With a broken head,
Psychologically busted.
He hoped they’d help
To resettle him.
Instead discarded,
Thrown in a bin.
Abandoned and left
To his own devices,
Thoughts of suicide
And similar vices.
So look what has happened
There is no one bolder
Than the man we call,
‘The Abandoned Soldier’.
Who fought for his Country
Over hundreds of years,
Did not die,
but is left,
With a wounded man’s tears.
© Mark Christmas
Poem above sent to us by Mark Christmas.
Why did my son die?
On Monday evening ITV showed a documentary following Richard's mother Hazel. The mother of the 200th UK soldier to die in Afghanistan investigates whether enough is being done to protect our troops on the battlefield, and what care is offered to the injured.
During the making of the documentary there were other pertinent questions asked by Hazel but the powers to be did not want these aired, we are looking into whether we can air these to the public domain or not. The film is linked to below take 30 minutes to watch as Hazel asks the questions we all want answers to.
http://www.itv.com/ITVPlayer/Video/default.html?ViewType=5&Filter=104033