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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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These pages were researched and written by Brian Lee Massey & are Copyright © 1997 - 2007. This site may be freely linked to but not duplicated in any fashion without my consent.	Poppy graphic and poppybar graphic designed by Brian L. Massey and may not be used on other sites The Poppy is a ™Trademark of Dominion Command, Royal Canadian Legion, and is used on The Canadian Great War Homepage with their permission
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