Thanks to Maureen Thorley


A Smile

by A. J. Sheldrick, P.O.W.


A smile is quite a funny thing

It wrinkles up your face

And when it goes you'll never find

Its secret hiding place

But far more wonderful it is

To see what smiles can do

You smile at one, he smiles at you

And so one smile makes two.


A Tear

by A. E. Henn, P. O. W


When friendship or love our sympathies move

When truth in a glance should appear

The lips may beguile with a dimple or smile

But the test of affection's a tear.


To often the smile's but the hypocrite's wife

To mask detestation or fear

Give me the soft sigh, whilst the soul telling eye

Is dimmed for a time with a tear.


Mild charity's glow to us mortals below

Shows the soul from barbarity clear

Compassion will melt where the virtue is felt

And the dew is diffused in a tear.



by Bluey Johnson


The whisper of the Austrian pine trees

Sing me songs of you.

The glory of our Austrian sunset

Breaks my heart anew.

Every star that shines, entwines

My aching heart with yours

Every bird reminds me of

The smile my heart adores.

The beauty of the sunlit mountains

Every golden hue

Tells me I'm a lonely exile

Far away from you.

But when the moonlight softly taps

Against my window pane

When the midnight brings me sleep

You're in my arms again.


Keep Smiling

'Though clouds may blot out the horizon

And the day oft' seem weary and long

Just think of the dawn of tomorrow

And cheer up your heart with a song

For if every day we keep smiling

And stick to our word "Carry on"

The shadows will break into sunshine

And right will soon triumph o'er wrong


Never Grumble

by Drum Major A. Welson, P.O.W.


Why has a man a longing for things he hasn't got?

When so many would be happy with only half his lot

So often they are wishing, if only other things they had

The use of eyes and legs and health and that precious gift to hear

Some of our comrades may have lost just one, but yet so dear

So if ever we should grumble, just think over what we've got

For those that lost what we still hold, would be happy with our lot


Simple Joys

by An Unknown P.O.W.


When I review the things I love the most

I find a catalogue of simple joys

A blazing fire with tea and buttered toast

A boiling kettle's cheerful, homely noise.

My tiny garden with two apple trees

Cloudy with fragrant blossom in the Spring

The placid midway dappled by the breeze.

Beneath the willows where the thrushes sing

When silence settles o'er the darkened room

And Slumber dulls the edge of memory's pain

These and a hundred other pictures bloom

In slow suceession in my drowsy brain.

A host of dear loved friends with whom

I sink in sleep to dream I'm home again.


Somebody O' Mine

by Norman Bright, P.O.W.


Somebody's makin my life mighty glad

Somebody's kind to me when I feel sad

Somebody's missin' me when we're apart

Precious somebody the pride o' my heart

Somebody's fair to me all the way through

Somebody's trustin' me knows I am true

Somebody's dearer than words can define

Precious somebody, Somebody o' mine..


Take Care of the Minutes

by Cpl. J.S. Henderson, P.O.W. (The Camp)


We are but minutes little things

Each one furnished with sixty wings

With which we fly on our unseen track

And not a minute ever comes back

We are but minutes yet each one bears

A little burden of youth and cares

Patiently take the minutes of pain

The worst of minutes cannot remain.

We are but minutes, when we bring

A few of the drops from pleasures Spring

Taste the sweetness while we stay

It takes but a minute to fly away.

We are but minutes, use us well

For how we are used, we must one day tell

Who uses minutes has hours to use

Who loses minutes whole years must lose.


The Journey

by Clifford Campion, P.O.W.


I travelled far but in my mind

For thoughts could range beyond my gaze

Fleet winged thought which scaled the peaks

And wended o'er the herdsman's ways

And pierced the copse of pine and larch

And knelt beside the moutain stream

Then onward yet, til' shifting sun

Revealed within its burnished gleam

The life that, and distance banned

I stood within my native land.


But sometimes thought has loaded wings

The world is filled with dull despair

The encircling mountain beauty turns

To sullen, imprisoning barriers where

The pines are torn with crackling winds

The earth emits an acrid tang

The stream turned torrent writhes and fumes.


In angry yellow spine to hang

My strident voice in anger screams

And headlong tumble o'er my life

Unreasoning sneering, childish words

But wait, Shall I my soul eclipse

That hate, deceit and weakness stand

To bar me from my native land.


Nay, laugh my soul and let me spurn

Unworthy views that I return

To all I cherish there to stand

Unashamed in my native land.


The Postman

by W. A. McAlpine, P.O.W.


Every day we look for him with longing in our hearts

The man who brings us news from home and also Stalag marks

He rides a bike of yellow here, a true and trusty steed

And once a week without default, he brings 'The Camp' to read.

He never seems to hurry, but he gets here just the same

And if there's any mail for us, we almost go insane.

Let's hope they never call him up, or take him off his job

And that his mail bag gets so big, he has to hire a cab.

For that's all we live for, news of folks at home

And if the mail comes often, you'll never hear us moan.

So do your stuff old postman, and do not let us down

And when you die and leave the earth, you'll surely get a crown.



by Tom Phillips, R.E.


Hour after hour goes slowly by

Each second loathe to go

No matter what I do or try

To make them swiftly go.


Day after day rolls sadly on

No different from the last

Each morning whilst my clothes I don

One more starts drifting past.


Week after week and still it seems

Our hopes are all in vain

And only in my nightly dreams

Do I go home again.


Month after month a prisoner

Within a foreign land

Worse treated than a homeless cat

With foes on either hand.


Year after year fading away

With nothing to be shown

No single thing that can repay

For half a second shown.


'Tis thus our empty world rotates

We watch the seasons flow

And often curse those jesting fates

That gave us to the foe.


But one day soon the war will cease

Then glad will be our cry

With "Father Time" we'll make our peace

Nor wish him to roll by.


Our days we'll spend in merriment

And banish all our woe

When we are happy and content

Among the folks we know.


So for the present we will not fret

Nor let things get us down

If coming days still harder get

We'll neither flinch nor frown.


To A Parting Comrade

by Pte. Colin Murray, P.O.W.


In this time of dreary waiting

Many happy hours we've spent

Sharing all our fun together

Taking jokes as they were meant

Now our joyful days are over

Fate decrees that we must part

But the memory of our friendship

Gives us all a cheerful heart

So where e're your travels take you

And whatever friends you make

You will know you have ten comrades

And a friendship none can break


To..........My Wife

by Jack Chisholm, P.O.W.


Throughout the lone years, since the night we parted

Deep shadowed valleys oft' my paths have known

Helpless and hurt, hopeless and despairing

Sinking, nor striving to regain my own.

Yet when life's flame within so badly burning

Flickered and dimmed as if to die away

Softly your vision came, and with its coming

New hope, new courage for the new born day.


Safe through the depths, your love alone to guide me

Back on the hill-tops manhood now regained

Sharing my triumphs, ever deep inside me

Guiding, inspiring still your love remains

Now, when my day brings happiness and laughter

Something achieved some minor victory won

Joyfully shared with love, my joys re-double

Lighting my footsteps til' our parting's done.


Unforgotten Men

by K. Cameron


Do you think they have forgotten all things you used to do?

Do you think they're not remembering, as you're remembering too?

Your sweethearts, your mothers, your fathers and your wives

Acquaintances and friends, lads, you've known for all your lives.

There's not a day that passes someone doesn't speak your name

And wonder how you're making out - if your're looking just the same

They keep your memory green, lads, from weary day to day

You'll find your place inside their world as if you've never been away

They write their stilted letters whenever they're allowed

They gaze at every soldier, "might be one of our Bill's crowd"

They send you books and parcels with a prayer they'll reach your hands

And thoughts go out in thousands to our boys in foreign lands

Don't think they're not remembering when you come home again

You'll find a marvellous welcome for our Unforgotten Men.