Beaumont Hamel, Somme 1916 - Alan Marquis

This poem is my interpretation of an event which took place in November 1916. My source was a conversation with the son of a veteran of 51st ( Highland ) Division, Bob Duncan. 7th Btn Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders. His service record from WW1 and a sketch-book, were presented to the Museum at Sterling Castle in June of this year. - Alan

The Battle of the Somme began early on the morning of July 1, 1916, near the town of Beaumont-Hamel. In less than half an hour, the fighting was over. That one day remains the bloodiest day in the history of the British Army. 57,470 British soldiers were killed or wounded. For the next 3 months the Beaumont-Hamel front remained relatively quiet; while the great battles of the Somme raged to the South. Then, on November 13, 1916, Beaumont-Hamel was assaulted by the 51st (Highland) Division in what was to be the final act of the Somme battles. Within a day, all the 29th Division objectives of July 1 had been taken; along with a great many German prisoners. - John

Beaumont Hamel, Somme 1916 - Alan Marquis

We buried him there beside a track, in a shallow grave of mud,
where we found him lying obscenely, stained by his own dark blood.
Just another bloated corpse, yet another shell without soul,
not worthy of special mention, nor effort of making a hole.

No noble act of compassion, we barely stopped to think,
only needing to cover him over, to curtail an awful stink.
Yet we felt compelled for some reason, to search him for a name,
perhaps in hope for ourselves, that someone might do the same.

We found a silver pocket-watch and wedding-band of gold,
both inscribed with a single word, in Gothic letters clear and bold.
`Elona.` Such a pretty name, and then we found her smiles,
in battered, faded photographs he’d carried along his miles.

Our hearts returned to us, in sorrow for a lady and a foe,
he’d never see her face again, his fate she’d never know.
For we found no name nor number, nothing to give a clue,
though across one crumpled image, she’d written, `Ich Liebe Du.`

In sombre mood we laid him down, in shell-torn wilderness, by a track,
his treasured things of course, all of them were given back.
A burial brief and without fuss,
little enough for the journey, of a man after all, like us.

Alan Marquis