Silent Witness

If you were seen in the street not wearing a uniform you were ridiculed and women would press a white feather into your hand, the mark of a coward. Came home from Ypres, knocked on my front doorDown beaten, dishevelled, but they knew the score.Mum kissed me all over when she heard my voiceI quietly said ‘I’m crawling with lice’. She stood back in horror, then said ‘It’s alrightI’ll get them boiled up, wear civvies tonight’,So, out came the tin bath, hard brush and allThe suit from the closet – smelled of mothballs. They pressed me with questions, was it as bad?As they’d heard from the next door neighbours lad,I didn’t say much, said it wasn’t very niceThey knew I was lying from the shake in my voice. Father decided we’d all have a ballWe went to a show down the Music Hall,In civilian suit I felt really grandTill a girl pressed a white feather in my hand. I felt so embarrassed I could have diedThese civilian clothes had dented my pride,If she’d only known what I had gone throughBut I remained silent and didn’t argue. Then, in the foyer an officer said‘You should be in uniform – hold up your head!’His words were hurtful making me squirmHe called me a skunk, a maggot, a worm. My parents had disappeared into the crowdI’d killed for my country, but I didn’t feel proud,I looked round at the faces so pompous, so smugIn civilian clothes I felt like a thug. I stormed out of that hall and walked home aloneWhen suddenly I was hit by a stone,A gang of young kids shouted ‘Coward’ at meAnd fast disappeared down a dark alley. Soldiers in uniform spat at my feetOld people snubbed me in my own street,Had I changed that much that they couldn’t seeThe heartache they’d caused to a young man like me. I arrived back home, put my uniform onReturned to the hall passed everyone,Including the kids who’d thrown that stoneHad smiles from the old uns, going home alone. The girl with the feather looking discreetI held out my hand – as if to greet,Then pressed the feather back into her palmWhispered ‘be careful, before you do harm’ I spotted the officer stood on the pathHis laughing and gaiety filled me with wrath,I crossed the road told him what I thoughtAbout the commission he’d probably bought. Asked him if he’d ever been to warDid he even know what we were fighting for,Not to be ridiculed by other menBut so we could all have our freedom again. I walked calmly away with my head held highThinking how could some folk justifyThere is no truer saying spoken thanThose words of Shakespeare, ‘clothes make the man’..Two days later I was back in the mayhemWhere men were soldiers – not quick to condemn,It wasn’t the place that I would preferBut at least I knew who the enemy were!