A Wartime Log by British Prisoners
by Tom Biggart
Tom Biggart was a member of the Royal Air Force Regiment and was captured on the Greek island of Kos in October 1943. He spent the remainder of the War in the following camps, Stalag Lufts IV and VI, and Stalag 357, during which time he kept a log book, containing a variety of items, including poetry written by members of the camps. These are included below.
Lest We Forget
by D. Sykes
When twilight falls, the Earth reflects beneath the heavens til dawn
And pays a silent tribute to the ones we find have gone,
Lost but still thro'out the years they are treasured by us all
God rest their souls for he alone knows why they had to fall.
Those eager faces full of life they loved their neighbours dear,
Intelligent, athletic, honest, faithful, and sincere
In foreign lands where'ere they went to prove that right is might
They gave themselves wholeheartedly for you - is might Britain's delight.
What might have been, for what is now, we often wish it so
Yet history repeats itself, our heroes come and go,
Just wishful thinking seems to be essence of the day
But England lives forever, will forever and a day.
Homeland, how fortunate once more you were in times of war breeding those lads so true
Who fought thro' toil and strife and tears so you could live anew
Immortality divine worshipped in a golden shrine a monuments to truce
Who gave their youth, their love, their live to fight their country's foes.
A Memory
by Danny Hill, 1944
In days to come, when I am free,
On looking back I'll sometimes see,
The "Instaberg" by Memel Quay,
That borders on the Baltic Sea.
I'll smell again the stifling hold,
Where near a thousand prisoner bold,
Were stowed as slaves in days of old,
In transport to another fold.
Three nights I spent there sick and sore,
Huddling round the dirty floor,
Wondering if I evermore,
Would again see Scotland's shores.
But such is life in many ways,
Tempt not the Fates it never pays,
"Roll on the boat" a common phrase,
I'll say no more in all my days.
Oh! Lord!
by a POW of Stalag Luft IV
I'm tired of bullets, guns, and war
I'm tired of plane's and engines roar.
Of seeing my friends who try to hide,
Their fear of going on that awful ride
I'm tired of seeing the unfilled bed
And knowing the last occupant is dead
I'm tired of all this war and all its strife
I'm tired of all the senseless waste of life
And when the toll is paid, and peace, is bought
Will it all again come to naught
Oh! Lord! Let tomorrow's peace endure
Let our sons and daughters feel secure.
Thy will be done, thou knowest best
But Oh! Lord! I'm tired please let me rest.
About a Year Ago
Here in Stalag when day is through
My thoughts oft wander to home and you
My eyes then close, dear vision do appear
Of all those things we held so dear.
About a year ago.
And in my mind the vision seem
One of hope and plans and dreams
No thoughts of war, and strife and such
No those things didn't bother us much.
About a year ago.
Still here I am my dreaming done
Till peace bells chime and the war is won
And I return to be with you
The home, the plans, the life we knew.
About a year ago.
The Kriegies Lament
Bloody times is bloody hard
Bloody wire for bloody guard
Bloody dogs in bloody yard
Bloody, Bloody, Bloody
Bloody tea is bloody vile
Bloody coffee makes you smile
Cocoa made in bloody style
Bloody, Bloody, Bloody
Bloody ice rink, bloody mud
Bloody skates no bloody good
Sat where once I bloody stood
Bloody, Bloody, Bloody
Bloody salmon's bloody queer
Looks at you with bloody leer
Is it good, no bloody fear
Bloody, Bloody, Bloody
Bloody bridge all bloody day
Learning how to bloody play
Bloody Blackwoods Bloody way
Bloody, Bloody, Bloody
Now and then, tho' bloody stale
Censor hands out bloody mail
Better draw the bloody veil
Bloody, Bloody, Bloody
Bloody sawdust in the bread
Must have come from bloody bed
Better all be bloody dead
Bloody, Bloody, Bloody
Bloody girlfriend drops me flat
Like a dog on bloody mat
Get's a Yank like bloody that!
Bloody, Bloody, Bloody
Don't it get your bloody goat
Was it Shaw who bloody wrote
Where the hells that bloody boat
Bloody, Bloody, Bloody
Now I've reached the bloody end
Nearly round the Bloody bend
That's the general bloody trend
Bloody, Bloody, Bloody
Grace
Her name was Grace, she was one of the best,
But then came the night, I gave her the test,
I looked at her with joy and delight,
For she was mine, for the whole of the night,
She looked so pretty, so sweet, so slim,
The night was dark, and the lights were dim,
I was so excited my heart missed a beat,
For I knew that night I was in for a treat,
I had seen her stripped I had seen her bare,
I had felt all round her I had felt everywhere,
But this was the night I liked her the best,
We started off, she screamed with joy,
For this was her first night out with a boy,
I got as high as quick as I could,
I handled her well, and the response was good,
I turned her over, then right on her side,
Then on her back, all ways I tried,
It was one great thrill, she the best in the land,
That four engined "Stirling" of Bomber Command.
Draft Dodger
I'm writing this short letter
And every word is true,
Don't look away Draft Dodger
For this is meant for you.
You feel at ease, and in no danger
Back in the old home town.
You cooked up some pitiful story
So the Draft Board would turn you down.
You never think of real men
Who leave their homes each day
You think only of their
girl friends
That you take while they're away
You sit at home and read the papers,
You jump and yell "we'll win",
Just where do you get that "we" stuff,
This war will be won by men.
What do you think Draft Dodger
That this free nation would do,
If all her men were like you.
I guess that's all Mr Slacker
I suppose your face is red
Britain is no place for your kind
I mean every word I've said.
So I'm closing now Draft Dodger
Just remember what I've said,
Stay away from my girl friend, slacker
For I'm far from being dead.
Out in the Blue
by a Prisoner of War, 1944
The city throbs with the pulse of life,
With commerce and industry ever at strife,
With hustle and bustle and traffic roar
Far from the distant sounds of war.
The parks all dressed in their floral gowns,
And peace prevails in the old home towns,
The bombers roar, and sirens moan
And things thank God that are unknown.
When you're back home where peace prevails,
And bagged by all for thrilling tales
Tales of folks you've seen and met
And incidents you'll never forget.
Tales of things the fliers do
And the prices they pay in winning through
Refer them to, out in the blue.
Way out there in the distant blue
There's a living hell that men go through
As day by day and night by night
They savagely locked in the world's worst fight
courageously striving, they stagger and reel
To ward off the menacing enemy heel
To spare all loved one's they left behind
The toil and bondage the foe have in mind.
Yet down in the city seek and you'll find
Men who have chosen to stay home behind,
Men who enjoy all the comforts of home
While their fellow men endure all the hardships known
Each night they sleep in warm cosy beds
While their fellow men crash down to earth, some dead.
Out on an Op, with a target in mind
The enemy meets you he loses no time
Reaping the harvest so awful and grim,
Which his leaders long ago promised him
The harvest of youth on the threshold of life
All trapped in the grid of titanic strife
Your sweethearts, your husband, your brothers, your sons,
Gallantly fight and manning the guns.
Yet down in the city seek and you'll find
Men who have chosen to stay home behind
Where there's sport each week and lovely fine clothes
And a movie show, or maybe a dance
At which, holding you close in un-uniformed arms
They whisper nice things and tell you your charms
They speak of their loving loyalty to you
As long as it keeps them out of the blue
While riding our kites in an altitude glide
Death goes around us with arrogant stride
We whisper the name of someone we love
As fighters scream down from the sky above
To shower with murderous aim
Our men who they've been sent to kill and maim
Leaving them falling in flame and smoke
To bleed and cry out, to die and to choke.
Still in the city seek and you'll find
Men who have chosen to stay home behind
Stout hearted fellows with hearts of pure gold
Gold that is yellow which we well know
Eager to share in the peace victory brings
Claiming their rights to life's precious things.
Proud of the fact they had nothing to lose
Theirs was the choice and thus did they choose.
When the battle is over victory is won
When the hell and the misery and gunfire is done
When home they march those fortunate few
To pick up the threads of the life they once knew
How well will they know as they march down the street
Which echo's to the tramp of the passing feet
That the value they placed on their homeland and you
Was settled and paid for out in the blue.
Settled and proved far beyond doubt
By them and their comrades who proudly set out
Who suffered the agonies the fears the pains
Of war in the sky and bombed scarred plains
Of prop wash and coldness each man at his gun
Who grimly and doggedly stuck and won
To prove to the world and God high above
That it's you above all on this Earth that they love
Still down in the city seek and you'll find
Men who have chosen to stay home behind.
Alone
One day in November,
I can well remember,
I walked around with alcoholic pride,
Without a murmur or a mutter,
I sat down in the gutter,
And a little pig he sat down by my side,
Just then a lady passed that way,
And I chanced to hear her say,
You can tell a man who boozes,
By the company he chooses,
And the little pig got up and walked away.
Prisoner of War
We prisoners count the desolate, dreary days
Within a year or with tomorrow's dawn
Escape may come, as with monotonous ways
We do fatigues, argue, and sleep, and yawn.
It would be something just to be alone
And oh, what joy to hear a certain voice!
Sometimes you almost catch it in the tune of distant music.
But we have no choice.