There were no heroes here
Amongst the men who tramped through
Rutted, quaking moor
Or crawled, cat-silent,
Over skittering scree
To prove the way.
No heroes fought the blazing fires
Which sucked the very blood from
Ship and man alike.
Or braved knife cold
Without a thought
To save a life.
No heroes they, but ones who loved
Sweet life and children's laugh,
And dreamt of home
When war allowed.
They were but men.
SHAR dinner 9th July 1982