I am just a stretcher bearer
They say I don't have to fight,
But we follow them over the top
And work until the coming night.
We pick up all the pieces
Of the wounded and the dead,
And the threat of the German snipers
We have all come to dread.
Out there in No Man's Land
We search every bomb crater and deep hole,
Crawling through deep mud
Looking for corpses or unlucky souls.
We oil our calloused hands
Also the strap marks on our backs,
And the Generals get it wrong
For they don't know the facts.
I might be just a stretcher bearer
But we are still playing our parts,
Working from dawn to dusk
Although it breaks our hearts.
Bringing back the wounded
Or just a body or arm or leg,
Lord please hear my plea
And let it stop soon, to you I beg.
In last week's Bugle we said the poem entitled Under the fields of Flanders was by Mick Morris. It was by Mercy Jackson. Our sincere apology for our mistake - Editor