The Signaller
By: Soloman Entwistle | Merthyr Tydfil Writing Squad
“Oh God, not again”, are my thoughts. I hate my job. Laying signal cables, sprinting across no man’s land with only my reel of cable, a jack knife and a pair of pliers.
When it’s pitch black, I run laying cables, saving people’s lives but the Huns, oh no, I’m their special target. Snipers and machine guns alike aim for me. They even shell me but I carry on using tunnels and shell holes for cover.
Dan Davies got his head blown off, a shell to the neck. I can hear screams of agony from dying soldiers but I ignore them and run on. I feel horrible but I run on, laying cables and repairing them. I hardly get “rest”, oh I’m too valuable. When I get rest, I hardly enjoy it.
All I hear now is the ear splitting screams of my comrades, I am scarred for life. I will never forget the fallen.
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Pack up your troubles / It's a long way to Tipperary
Blaenau Gwent Rhythm & Ukes
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