At 11am the guns were mute, a calm was in the air

After four long years, the dogs of war, were banished from their lair

A two minute silence was invoked, to ponder on those lost

But for all who stood there in their grief, it came at too great a cost


It was the war to end all wars, when the carnage did finally cease

But for every soul who gave their life, one died during the peace

They lie not by the Dardanelles, or under Europe’s blood soaked loam

Some called them the lucky ones, for they had made it home


They’d not escaped the reaper’s scythe, as he still had their name

For within a generation, he would make his claim

The gas that scarred their fragile lungs, aged them in their prime

Till they finally succumbed, well before their time


Their names are not on honour rolls, in city or in town

And they are not remembered, when the sun goes down

For duty and for country, they made the sacrifice

As with their fellow fallen, they paid the highest price


I still recall a special one, whose photo is on the wall

Gazing from eternity, through death’s sombre pall

When I bow my head in proud respect, and pledge “LEST WE FORGET”

I see again my Grandad’s ghost, THE MAN I NEVER MET!



By Tomas ‘Paddy’ Hamilton
27 September 2014



In honour of Captain William Henry Hamilton, who was born in Scotland and joined the British Army as a boy musician in 1885, aged fifteen. As a member of the 11th Hussars, he served the entire length of World War One in France, as a dispatch rider. He later became a well-known identity in the Irish Aviation industry.





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