Nameless Fears - Alan Marquis

1st Btn Essex Rgt. Patrol report, Feb 1917, Boom Ravine, Somme.
Outpost sentry not named.

Nameless Fears - Alan Marquis

Waiting, waiting, in still of night, almost drowning in a sea of black,
my thumping heart a candle, flickering to welcome them back.
As emptiness cloaks the earth, a bitter wind blows from the north,
I’m forbidden to leave my post, I cannot go back nor forth.
So alone I wait, only part prepared, for duty I half understand,
watching a rat attracted by warmth, hesitate near my hand.

I hear sighing sounds in darkness, from friends or foe I enquire,
or gas erupting from rag-dolls, hanging limply on the wire.
Then dull metallic clinking, my nerves are wearing quite thin,
is that someone creeping near me or a wind-blown empty tin.
And sudden, protesting squeals of anguish, what the hell is that,
perhaps the foe who test me, or just another loathsome rat.

Ice is forming around my boots, `O Dear Lord with me abide.`
I cannot even feel, do they still have my feet inside.
No glorious thoughts in mind, of fighting to make men free,
I only want to bugger-off home, for a steaming mug of tea.
But I’m losing my grip, I must focus on a ghastly plot,
or risk that final difference, between living a life, or not.

Soon I know they’ll come at me, those mud-men from the night,
expecting me to challenge them, though not to fire in fright.
So I try to hold my courage, every minute growing older,
knowing friends are out there, is comfort to make me bolder.
Though shivering in my misery, as my throat fills-up with phlegm,
a cough could make me vulnerable and be greater risk for them.

A machine gun rattles hatefully, somewhere far-off along the line,
punctuating someone’s death, thankfully this time at least, not mine.
And I’m not a bloody General, I cannot see the greater plan,
nor anything much at all in fact, I’m just a bewildered man.
Waiting for mates to appear, or someone to rush from the gloom,
wondering how soon till relief, or how sudden might be my doom.

Duty to mates is clearly defined, I know perfectly well what to be,
though not so clear is Flanders night through which I cannot see.
As awful sounds assault my ears, sudden threatening noises of night,
I hold my rifle closer, for love of life squeeze it tight.
I’m waiting, must not leave my post, it seems I wait for years,
nerves on edge, heart racing fast, forgive me for nameless fears.

Alan Marquis