The Last Walk

The Cenotaph, St. Benedicts, Wombourne

At the Eleventh hour, of the Eleventh Month of 1977. I stood for the last time with my adopted father and great friend, William Oscar Williams at the Cenotaph in Wombourne.

Born on the 14th of October 1893, he survived five years as a dispatch rider in the great war only to lose a leg later in a road accident.

Bill (rear far right) pictured with some fellow comrades sometime between 1914 – 1918

A sad morning in September 1978, when Bill passed away, ended for me a wonderful fifteen-year friendship with a man I never once heard complain, although he suffered greatly throughout his 84 years. 

Besides my own father, Bill Williams was certainly the most easy to like, and the most contented man I ever knew.

I will always recall Bill on this sad anniversary.

A Tribute to Bill and his fellow comrades


A Soldiers Poem

We didn’t go for glory,
we didn’t go for fame

We went to be with our mates,
when the country called our name

We had to do what we were told,
and attack that nameless hill

My mates, they fell around me,
I remember each one still

And now I’m climbing this last hill,
I quietly speak each name

We didn’t go for glory,
we didn’t go for fame

So when I finally reach the top,
older and slightly lame 

I think I’m very lucky,
that people don’t read my name


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