I suvuvide me wounds, most of me sitche, goone, now a push, so they needs me! The Barsteds! I'd dear to hope I'd never go back, to all that fooking shit!
Spent me time in Blighty - FOOKING HAIGE!
Sent back to France
I'd lost me hope of remaining, sent back to - France - oh bollox!
Sent back to France - part of a new draft!
My platoon, dead, legle, armless, blind, mindles!
As raw as they come! - Shit! The new draft!
One little basted - attached em self ter me! Like a lice!
Fore an halfpence - I'd of run a candle over em - get rid of the sprog!

But no mater what I said - no matter how many times I told 'im to fook off!
He'd just grin back at me!
Keep asking what it were like - had I met any Germans? How many I'd killed.
Shot many - bayoneted any , 'e were driving me - fooking - mad!

I told 'em - the , front were - cushy enough - when ask me about the front!

I made sure I never get up close - to use me bayonet! Or get one in me own guts!
On and on the sprog went on - had I ever met any Bosh? What are they like?
How I wonted to hit the little basted - with me rifle but!
Even when we went up the line - to the trenches - on and on 'e went - fooking Twat - perishing little - sprog!

We got into our part of the line - 'e was - still asking stuff - how far away are
The Fritz's - oh about 'undred yards - there abouts , I tell , 'im!
So we can see them like? Amazing - that! JUST DON'T STICK YOUR FOOKING HEAD UP! '' , I told the , little git
''I'll be fine '' - before I know it - the stupid - fooking sprog - stuck his nut up!
BANG! His brain - came out of the back of his 'ead - all over me face and in to
The platoons, stew! The little shit! On 'is face - 'e, we'r, showing a fooking - grin!

Stupid born bastard!

* Later changde name to Hearson couty secondrey school - now pullde down
I was pupil there -1964 - 1968.

ken d williams

The Dyslexic Wordsmith