It occurred to me, during the Armistice commemorations this year, that the death, destruction and pain caused by the World wars could so easily have been overshadowed amid the joy of the end of it all.

So, I wrote this poem about the celebrations at the end of World war One.

Hidden grief

At last the war is over

Celebrations can begin

We’ve been saving all our bunting

For just this sort of thing

There’s dancing in the main street

We’ve got no need to hide

There’ll be no Zeppelins dropping bombs

So let’s not stay inside.

We have to ring the church bells

So send for sexton Fred.

“Poor Fred was lost at Paschendale

And all his mates are dead.”

No-one to ring the church bells?

They’ve been silent these long years,

But the celebrations must go on Hiding all these tears.

Dick Heath