Forgotten Hero

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This is a poem written by my son about 15 years ago - as a result of seeing a homeless person outside the ChCh Cathedral one evening. I believe it's worth a read.

Alone on a dark night as the fog saunters in
He retreats in himself as he sups on his gin
He should be away getting care that he needs
Not alone in the dark contemplating his deeds.
His demons are there inside his own mind
He follows their lead as if he were blind.

His story he'd tell if anyone would stop
But it's a bum they see as they continue to shop
Not an interesting man with an interesting story
Who had an interest in life and his moment of glory
They can't see past the dirt, the rags and the gin
To the fellow inside and the heart that's within.

Of the days long ago and the battles he's fought
Of the sacrifices he's made and rewards they have brought
He was there at the Somme and on D Day as well
And young folk think they have lived through some hell
Slept with the dead and the dying and gave them last rites
But who gives a damn about the war he now fights

His mind may be there but it's altered somehow
With images of mates lying dead where they fell
He came home a hero - or so they had said
But forgotten since then - they only remember the dead.

There's medals he wears underneath his old clothes
But who to pass them to when he finally goes
It was his moment of glory over fifty years past
The medals are still there but the glory didn't last.

He's just another old timer who gave so much
That he now looks to gin as some form of a crutch.
Maybe tonight he'll reach the pearly gates
And finally lie to rest with the souls of his mates.... In peace.

In memory of my dad, Reginald Roy Pellew who served in Egypt and Italy, 1940 to 1945 and my deceased husband Wayne Newman, Whisky 1, Sth Vietnam, 1967 to 1968.

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