Queen's Royal Regiment

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Today’s Poem


I'm just a British Soldier, Tommy Atkins

is my name, I'm dressed in khaki denims

and i've never yearned for fame.

I do the job they pay me for,

The best way that I can,

And that's to see that someone,

Doesn't kill his fellow man,

We fought the commie threat,

Out in Malaya's steaming heat,

I've seen my mates shot down,

By gunmen in a Cyprus street.

We're sent to all parts of the world,

We've got no ifs or buts,

Yet it doesn't matter where you are,

Both sides still hate your guts.

In Korea too, at least you knew,

A good job had been done,

But in Palestine and Aden,

We were policemen with guns.

Then we were stuck in Ulster,

That's the worst job of the lot,

With petrol bombs and riots,

And your mates kept getting shot.

A soldier's trained to fight his foe,

To a certain set of rules,

But how to deal with civvies,

And kids fresh from school?

Then we had the Falklands,

As we yomped down to Goose Green,

And quickly cleaned the islands,

of all things Argentine.

Then after that, the Balkans,

And threats of genocide,

We really did our very best,

But sadly thousands died.

Always heading off to war,

We were soon deep in Iraq,

A threat, real or imagined,

Once more, no turning back.

Then we were stuck in Helmand,

the longest of the lot,

Fierce Taliban and IEDs,

Yet another deadly spot.

Our job, it seems is endless,

We just keep battling on,

We're squaddies, doing what we do-

And then we'll be long gone.

Jone Hyde,


  ... and Limerick

Dave Beckham's

tattoos decorate,

His torso in manner ornate.

So better then, is it,

To pay him a visit,

Than spending a day at the Tate?

Robert Ben-Nathan,

Denham, Bucks.

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