Poetry

In the Cavalry

By 1st January 2006December 9th, 2019No Comments

I thought that I would like to be
A soldier in the cavalry.
But not a glamour boy, of course,
That sits upon a real horse.
I wanted this, and I’ll be frank,
To ride inside a battle tank.

The sergeant said, “To get those toys,
It means, the Death or Glory Boys.
Son; do not take reckless chances,
Go and join the 17th Lancers.”
That week, and feeling slightly sick,
I got the train for Catterick.

The guardroom door was open wide,
I wiped my feet and strolled inside.
“Oh hiya mate!” I boldly said,
The Provost’s face went cherry red.
As I told him that I’d come to be,
A soldier, in the cavalry.

“YOU NEVER COME UP! NEVER COME DOWN!
YER FEET WON’T ‘ARDLY TOUCH THE GROUN’
YOU JUMPED UP SPROG
YOU CHEEKY SON OF A NOTTINGHAM DOG!”
Then I somehow sensed it would not be,
A picnic, in the cavalry.

But, I learned about marching and driving a tank,
And bulling, and pontoon, and forming a rank
For each Thursday’s parade,
When we lined up to get paid.
Then I could tell, it was going to be
A great life, in the cavalry.

Then posted to Aden’s barren plain,
And by Landing Ship Tank, off the port of Bahrain,
Where we slept on the decks
Of those obsolete wrecks.
And I wondered, how many could claim to be,
A sailor, in the cavalry.

Paddy Slevin

Author Paddy Slevin

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