Post by broomy on Nov 14, 2010 10:59:51 GMT
[img src="[/img]http://i56.tinypic.com/noah6o.jpg![]()
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Hello, my name is Robert Gomersol----i served in the British army in between1979 and 1985.......i reached the rank of Sergeant.
When i returned from The Falklands to Portsmouth, it was alive and buzzing,, everybody was waving, so was I------but i had nobody to wave to, . my dad wasn’t there to welcome me back.---------He died on the streets of Belfast thirteen years earlier.
I’m standing on the side of the street in a town in the west of England, it’s called Wooton Bassett--- I’m here waiting for my son-
To the locals it’s called
WOOTON
**********************************************************************************
WOOTON
( The homecoming of Staff Seargent Frederick Gomersol)
Not much sun, but the weather’s quite mild.
There’s hundreds here,
shoulders back, breasts forward
all straight, all filed.
All quiet, as they listen to the drums’ muffled beat, as we wait for you to come down the main street.
Far from our thoughts are Bush, Brown and Blaire---- they are the ones who put you there.
Today is yours son, it’s your flags going down
today is yours, son, today it’s your town.
On tv there’s your face-------but just for today.
On TV tomorrow? back to ‘Match of the day’
Next week will bring just the same thing,
Kids being killed, blinded and maimed
Medals on cupboard, pictures framed
Shrines to sons, daughters and dads’
All this for greed and leaders fads.
Your sister called you ‘Freddy’ her children called you ‘Gom’ Your mother and me---we just called you ‘son’.
Letter from the army arrived yesterday-----cause of death, head blown away.
The sound of orders, the ruffling of colours and sharp intakes of breath---
-- all tell me you’re here, albeit in death.
There are squaddies standing upright yet trembling, wives and mothers sobbing with such verocity it is becoming contagious, flowers being thrown,with love, toward you and your mates.
There are screams.
There’s a glint fom the sun on the Cadilac black, like the flash that you saw, but heard not the crack.
The hearses still come.......and will come still.
Till the powers that be say hear the popular will.
I salute you son, then wave you goodbye.........
I’ll see you tomorrow, when with my father you’ll lie.
The cars have all passed taking you and your friends, all did the same task and met the same end
Round the corner they go for just a few miles taking coffin after coffin and child after child after child after precious child.
Hello, my name is Robert Gomersol----i served in the British army in between1979 and 1985.......i reached the rank of Sergeant.
When i returned from The Falklands to Portsmouth, it was alive and buzzing,, everybody was waving, so was I------but i had nobody to wave to, . my dad wasn’t there to welcome me back.---------He died on the streets of Belfast thirteen years earlier.
I’m standing on the side of the street in a town in the west of England, it’s called Wooton Bassett--- I’m here waiting for my son-
To the locals it’s called
WOOTON
**********************************************************************************
WOOTON
( The homecoming of Staff Seargent Frederick Gomersol)
Not much sun, but the weather’s quite mild.
There’s hundreds here,
shoulders back, breasts forward
all straight, all filed.
All quiet, as they listen to the drums’ muffled beat, as we wait for you to come down the main street.
Far from our thoughts are Bush, Brown and Blaire---- they are the ones who put you there.
Today is yours son, it’s your flags going down
today is yours, son, today it’s your town.
On tv there’s your face-------but just for today.
On TV tomorrow? back to ‘Match of the day’
Next week will bring just the same thing,
Kids being killed, blinded and maimed
Medals on cupboard, pictures framed
Shrines to sons, daughters and dads’
All this for greed and leaders fads.
Your sister called you ‘Freddy’ her children called you ‘Gom’ Your mother and me---we just called you ‘son’.
Letter from the army arrived yesterday-----cause of death, head blown away.
The sound of orders, the ruffling of colours and sharp intakes of breath---
-- all tell me you’re here, albeit in death.
There are squaddies standing upright yet trembling, wives and mothers sobbing with such verocity it is becoming contagious, flowers being thrown,with love, toward you and your mates.
There are screams.
There’s a glint fom the sun on the Cadilac black, like the flash that you saw, but heard not the crack.
The hearses still come.......and will come still.
Till the powers that be say hear the popular will.
I salute you son, then wave you goodbye.........
I’ll see you tomorrow, when with my father you’ll lie.
The cars have all passed taking you and your friends, all did the same task and met the same end
Round the corner they go for just a few miles taking coffin after coffin and child after child after child after precious child.
