Poems from the Great War Copyright © Karl Sack
The following poems and story are extracted from a family history of my maternal grandfather Robert Osborne Dorman, that my cousin and brother created, when he was enlisted in the army during WWI.
Robert Dorman was born on the 6th of January 1900 in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. The son of an Irish artistic designer, James W Dorman and his Welsh wife Isobella Fackrell. He was one of seven children, five brothers and one sister. It appears that his childhood was quite normal for people of his class at the turn of the century.
He never advanced further in school than grade three, and by the age of nine he was working full time at Borden’s Dairy, where he was still that day, when war came to call him.
He joined the Canadian Army in the fall of 1914. His mother Isobella was horrified, and managed to have him discharged by Christmas of that same year. He was fourteen years old. However on June 13, 1915, after what we can imagine was quite the battle at home, he rejoined the army enlisting in the 75th division of the Canadian Expeditionary Force (CEF), and was shipped to Horsham, England.
Within months he would be fighting in the drowning muds of France and Belgium. It was about that time that he began to write the following poems. His poetry is a first hand account, sometimes humorous, sometimes tragic, of his life in the trenches as a Canadian soldier during “The war that was to end all wars!”.
My grandfather was among the first Canadians to be gassed at the battle for Passchendaele. Inhaling it was like thrusting your face into a vat of vinegar, then opening your eyes and breathing deeply. Only worse. He nearly died. Robert was sent back to England to recover from his gassing, and it was there that he married the young girl that he had met and fallen in love with, Florence Cowley. Their marriage certificate states that Robert was 21 and Florence was 19, though in reality he was 17 and she was 16!
Following his discharge from the army, Robert held many different jobs, one of which was a cook for the Canadian Pacific Railway. He travelled Canada from coast to coast many times, and was never less than awed by the power and the beauty of the land. In 1933, with never more than a grade three education, Robert began working for the Immigration Department as a deportation officer. On September 13, 1947, the now defunct Montreal Standard newspaper, published an article dealing with Robert and his many exploits. He retired from I.C. with full honor in 1949.
I have copied the poems word for word as he wrote them. I hope you enjoy them as much as I have (and still do). If you have any comments please send me an email to Karl Sack.
Enjoy the poems…Karl Sack
VERSE AND WORSE BY R.O. (BOB) DORMAN
THE ARGUMENT
Hello Mother, what do you know
I enlisted to day I said I’d go
Yes, I mean to do my little bit
Afraid “Why Mum never thought of it
Oh I know it’s true all that you say
Only fifteen and going away
But age dont count it’s the heart within
The courage to lose the faith to win
So come now Mother you Must’nt cry
Other boys have joined so why not I
It wont last long please understand
Then I’ll come Home to the things we planned
Remember Mum, what you have often said
The little house all painted red
A garden filled with lovely flowers
Where we planned to spend such happy hours
I know how much it all means to you dear
But really I could’nt be happy here
When I know that every Mothers son
Is badly needed to man the guns
So cheer up Mother dont take it so hard
You would’nt have your son branded a coward
Come smile thru your tears and think of the day
When I’ll return Home to be with you always
A PARODY WHEN YOU PLAY IN THE GAME OF WAR
Sometimes a shell
Sometimes it’s hell
Sometimes a bullet or two
Sometimes the gas is sneaking
Trying to catch you sleeping
Sometimes a bomb or trench mortar
Sometimes a whiz bang or two
Sometimes it’s mud
Sometimes it’s blood
When you play in the game
Called WAR
ENGLAND
Once more the hun is at the gate
Once more he shouts his hymn of hate
Against you England
Ah, could they have understood you right
Your love of peace not fear of might
Caused you so long to stay your hand
But fools are made to understand
And so the task is yours once more
To teach them, all they gain from war
Is pain, suffering, and misery
Once more your colors are unfurled
Once more to assure a weary world
That England still is England
Your call has sounded from ocean to ocean
Your Sons stand by in loyal devotion
Stand by for all the world to see
Our flag’s the symbol of liberty
So humbly in God we place our trust
Our fate in his hands and if we must
We’ll die for England
SOMEWHERE
Somewhere in France dear mother
Somewhere mid’st shot and shell
Somewhere your boy is fighting
Somewhere I dare not tell
Somewhere my comrades dying
Somewhere they fight and fall
Somewhere their hearts are sighing
Somewhere God sees it all
DIRTY
Stand up ye sons of Britain
And face the dirty hun
Take the place of brothers smitten
Shoulder both the pack and gun
Never let a dirty german
Say he beat you like a hound
‘Cause They’re just a pack of vermin
From the dirty Kaiser down
The Kaiser and his dirty son
They call the clown prince
Said it was a victory won
Before they had commenced
But good old Foch and Marshal Haig
Have spoiled their little plans
And we’ll go thru em like a plague
And wipe them off the land
So come on boys and join the fun
And with pride our tales we’ll tell
Of how we beat the dirty hun
And blew em all to hell
WHEN ALL THE GUNS ARE ROARING
When all the guns are roaring
Sure it’s just a living hell
With the noise of bursting shrapnel
Or a nearby H.E. shell
They make you feel like running
To your home across the sea
But when all the guns are roaring
Currie’s dug out’s good enough for me
THE YPRES MENNEN ROAD
I have travelled France from east to west
And thought it very fine
Waded in mud knee deep with the rest
Of the boys in the old front line
I did not mind the tramp’s in mud
Nor my pack which was such a load
But I hated one place it smelled of blood
T’was the Ypres Mennen road
But we had to tramp it to reach our line
In weather rough or fair
And many a comrade we left behind
Cause the enemy did not spare
man or beast you were all the same
Whether you walked or rode
As every shell bore someone’s name
That hit the Ypres Mennen road
So I cursed that road both night and day
In my billet on up the line
And every night I used to pray
For Fritz to give me mine
I was getting you know a bit fed up
That’s why I wanted to be na-pooed
So I would never again see pack and mud
And the Ypres Mennin road
Now I need not worry any more
I’m away from all the strife
And landed safe on England’s shore
T’is the happiest day of my life
I have said good bye to mud and slime
And to my pack which was such a load
But I thank the Lord ’cause I got mine
On the Ypres Mennen road
A PARODY – JUST A LITTLE BIT OF SHRAPNEL
Just a little bit of shrapnel
Fell from out the sky one day
And it nestled on my shoulder
In a kind and loving way
And when the M.O. saw it
Sure it looked so sweet and fair
He said I’ll send you home to Blighty
And they’ll fix you jake there
So he painted it with iodine
To keep the germs away
It’s the only thing that stops’em
No matter what you say
But before I left his office
‘Sure he changed his fickle mind
And he marked me fit for duty
So they shipped me up the line
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