Football Poets

The First World War football truce

Paul McCartney once
Immortalised the
Conciliatory shake
Of hands when
Football reached
The First World War
Truce, a sigh of rapprochement
Amid the shrieking shells
And bombs, the crashing,
Smashing, exploding
Pandemonium of it all
Screaming with fury
While the Germans
And the English slowly
Wearily moved
Towards each other
In Pipes of Peace
Paul McCartney
Smiled and reached
Out the hand of
Pacifism,
Then another shuddering
Jolt to the system
Before the mud caked
Medicine ball could
Be dropped into the
Muddy maelstrom
Thick, cloying acres
Of anonymity
The soldiers must have
Thought they’d never
Kick off and just vanish
Into a misty land of
Death, pain, finality
But then it all came to
Life, vibrantly so
The football match
Of them all, the one
That signified the dignity
Of Peace or a suggestion
Of being here and now
And so it came to be
That hundreds of men
Thick trench coated
Rifles and then boots
On feet clung onto life
They meet on common
Ground, united by
Football, kick off
Half time quite possibly
But no semblance of corners
Or free kicks simply
The camaraderie of
War torn men, hellish scars
Of conflict, stumbling towards
The potentiality of friendship
Reconciled for a while, love
Letters from sweethearts
From a Beatle’s coat pocket
Then the match proceeds
With the white flag of spontaneity
Ball lands in perhaps neutral soil
Men gleefully kick the ball
In no particular
Direction, soiled from head
To foot but moving and then
Leaving their markers before
Turning on a sixpence
Quite literally
Shooting from another bunker
But this time on good, amicable
Terms, Hearts together playing
For fun,
But on Christmas Day
There were no dodgy
Debatable penalties
But the Germans and
English playing in historic
Colours, no sparks of bitterness
Or rage, just happy go lucky
Moods. Glad to be seen
On fields of
Mutual appreciation,
Stop the fighting, feuding,
The killing grounds
Where finally they
Saw reason and hope
An orange sun, no time
To waste, let’s play
The Beautiful Game
Because the world is
And always be so
Now let’s see
The English can
Attack with
Two sweepers to mop
Up at the back
Sweepers but not
Mine sweepers
They’ll do even
More damage
So let the great
Christmas Day
Match proceed
Without intervention
From fussy, bossy
Referees
We know exactly
How to play
In the warm
Embrace of
Sportsmanship
Let the game
Begin

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Rodborough Robin Trail ~ It Came Upon A Midnight Clear

It came upon a midnight clear, 
That glorious song of old, 
When angels bent down to the earth, 
And changed machine guns into harps,  
And turned leaden bullets into golden carols 
That drifted across no man’s land. 
And choirs of soldiers joined the angels 
In a cease-fire of exultation, 
While all the bloodied uniformed citizens 
Of heaven above watched as silent knights,
As helmets and caps and whisky and schnapps 
Were passed from frozen side to frightened side.
A robin trilled a winter song of peace;
A soldier kicked a ball into the air,  
And there it stayed, suspended high up in the sky, 
Shining forever in a continent’s memory;  
A star of peace in a bleak midwinter’s century.

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One Christmas in the Trenches ~ Centenary

one Christmas in the trenches
they stood in mud and sand
their loved ones and their football
a distant far off land –
the snow lay thick as thick could be
a bitter chill did spread
behind the sand bags and the wire
they stood among the dead

their sweethearts faces locked inside
their tins and bits of things
along with resignation
of all that fighting brings
on backs of Woodbine packets
around some cold tinned stew
like texts and up-dates of their day
the scores would still get through

December Nineteen Fourteen
upon that Christmas morn
when to a man an act un-planned
and instant truce was born –
behind the barbed wire barricades
all scorched and bleak and bare
a distant sound grew all around
a song hung on the air

that Christmas in the trenches
a hope blew on the wind
a carol in another tongue
from far off did begin –
we’ll never know who made the call
to move in such a way
but something somehow lifted them
upon that Christmas Day

forbidden breach of orders
we call it what we will
but hearts were stirred and greetings heard
the air grew calm and still –
from burrows then on either side
they met in no-man’s land
as enemy met enemy
with gifts and outstrethed hands

a football thrown between the guns
from nowhere did appear
and in that silence voices rang
and echoed loud and clear –
we’ll never ever know the scores
or just how many games
when Tommy Atkins challenged Fritz
upon that Christmas Day –

how can we dare to comment
what use these simple lines
if none of us can dream or feel
the horror of those times
as for a moment time stood still
when arms were left aside
the bayonet the rifle
the cannon hate and pride –

but one result is certain
as game and friendship ceased
the sudden opportunity
for peace was never seized –
and still we wonder how a man
can laugh and play with men
to then return like sheep to fold
to kill and kill again

one Christmas in that first Great War
of stench and blood and grime
their football brought them closer
for one brief day in time
and though commanders drove them back
their orders to obey
between the lines a match was played
upon that Christmas Day

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