From Home to the Trenches

Sonny, it seems like twenty year,
     The while that you’ve been gone,
And left me lonesome for you here
Trying to do my bit — oh, dear! —
     By keeping steady on.

I promised and I’ve meant to do,
     But now and then at night
I’ve been to blame, the times it blew
Like guns that answered guns, with you —
     My you — amongst the fight.

But in the morning “Dear old fool”
     I’ve seemed to hear you say;
“Mother, no need to fuss, keep cool,”
Just like the cheeky brat from school
     You was the other day.

You wasn’t always quite so grand;
     Once you was mighty glad,
Chased by a puppy-dog, to stand
Behind your Mummy, slip your hand
     In hers, the way you had.

Small son turned big, now that you’re grown
     And in a real war,
And set to face it all alone,
I’m wild to run and guard my own
     Same as I did before.

You’d laugh at that; but keep your fun
     Till fighting’s through, and then
Hurry off back to where there’s one
All of a fuss to hear her son
     Say “Dear old fool” again.

This poem appeared in Punch, 19th May 1915.