The Bugle’s Call
By 'Drew Magna' - 15/10/2007
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A Mature Times reader, too young to fight for his country, is making his emotional contribution to the Poppy Appeal - in song.
Despite having no immediate forebears who fought in either of the World Wars, I have always had the greatest respect for those generations who lived through, fought and died in those wars and in other conflicts. I remember as a child being told by my grandparents that everything used to stop at 11 o’clock on the eleventh day of the eleventh month. I was truly inspired by that simple act of nationwide "rememberance" - and equally disappointed that it was moved to the nearest Sunday. I was therefore amongst its most ardent applauders when it was re-introduced a few years ago - albeit too late for my grandparents.
In November 2005 I watched a television programme called "The Last of the Tommies", about the few remaining soldiers of the First World War. It was narrated by Bernard Hill with the haunting melody of Schindler’s List weaved through its powerful memories of lost friends and devastated communities. This two-part documentary concluded with the story of two soldiers who had fought each other so bitterly in Flanders, finally overcoming the belief that they were in some way letting down their fallen comrades, and shaking hands 90 years on. Neither of those gentleman are now with us.
As I fought back the tears at the end of the programme, sitting alone in a London Hotel Room, I suddenly felt the need to write a poem that would catch my sentiments in the moment, even though I don’t write poetry. "Poppied Fields" attempts to sum up my feelings, the story and the wonderful legacy of the "Last of the Tommies":
Poppied Fields - 15th November 2005
"Five million men
Five million souls
One in five
They gave their futures -
They had them taken away.
The fathers who never knew
The children who never knew them
They endured the strife and the lice,
The shells and the smells,
The agony and the despair,
The noise and the fear.
Four Tommies remain, have laid down their pain
Age has wearied them, but the years not condemned.
The world they are leaving will remember them
And all whose generals force to follow their lead
Whether on far away sands
Or in poppied fields."
However, simply putting this down on paper wasn’t the end of it. I needed to do something more practical in recognition of the fact that wars are still being fought , and that the work of caring for and looking after those whose lives continue to be affected by conflict . It then occurred to me that if I turn my poem into a song, people might make a donation to the Royal British Legion in exchange for downloading it from the internet - so I did just that. It's called "The Bugle's Call."
One man who downloaded "The Bugle's Call" said: "I am no great fan of institutionalised acts of remembrance, but am always touched by the works of authors, poets and artists who seem to personalise and emotionalise better the meaning and the horror of war and make it more real for me than acts of remembrance can ever do.
"It is in this light that I came across "The Bugles Call". From its opening bars, which echo the footsteps of soldiers marching off to war, through to its end with its haunting questions about the nature of war and the inheritance bequeathed to us, Drew uses the lyrics and the structure of the piece to help us better think through the meaning of remembrance, and to better appreciate the significance of those who gave their lives for king and country - then and now. We know from our television screens that war is not pleasant. It was not then and it is not now and ‘The Bugle’s Call’ helps us to realise that war is not only unpleasant, but that these images can never truly ‘show what we owe’, as Drew’s words so memorably put it."
You can find "The Bugles Call" at the link below (follow the poppy click-through button). Donations are optional, greatly appreciated and all the money received goes to charity (50% to the Royal British Legion and 50% to Help the Hospices).
This year "The Bugles Call" will be a great and worthwhile complement to a red poppy in the buttonhole.