william arthur (ludgate hill) 1894 - 1940

"When lions were being led by donkeys, I led the donkey"

William Arthur (sometimes known as Ludgate Hill), was a Manchester born poet who died in the blitz. He was a stretcher bearer during the First World War and ended up in Rampton Mental Institution in the 1930's. He was also part of a firing squad (see 'The Coward).

When everyone goes on about 'Help the Heroes' nowadays, I think it's the ordinary people like William Arthur that were conscripted in the past who are the real embodiment of heroes. At least the soldiers today are going off to fight through choice, as nobody forces them to join up now (although I do realise it's often the poorer and less well educated members of society that choose to do so).

Here's some of William Arthur's work.

We Gassed Fritz Today (The Somme 1916)

We dropped mustard gas on Fritz today

The wind blew it back in our faces

Mother of God we murdered our own

Lined up dead in old munition cases

And the Padre he blessed all of the bodies

The General he addressed all of the men

Tomorrow the wind would be turning

And we’ll be gassing the Hun again

Mud There Was (The Somme 1916)

Mud there was and more mud to see

Mud there was for the 22’s and me

Mud there was on July the bloody first

And it’s the mud I remember the worst

Mud there was when the whistle blew

Mud there was when cannon shell flew

Mud there was when little Nobby died

Mud there was when he fell by my side

Mud there was and more mud to see

Mud from the front to the infirmary

Mud there was on July the bloody first

And it’s the mud I remember the worst

The Coward (Etaples base camp 1916)

We Shot Harry for cowardice

But I never met a braver man

But I was on the hill that morning

And I saw that Harry ran

They picked a shooting party

They chose at random by lot

And I was chosen to shoot Harry

For something that he was not

And he refused his last cigarette

And he refused his blindfold too

And we shivered behind our rifles

But we aimed them straight and true

And one of the six had a blank

And a target fixed to Harry’s chest

And each man discharged his rifle

And each man earned one day’s rest

We Shot Harry for cowardice

But I never met a braver man

And I sent home all his possessions

And a letter to his Mam

This article would not have been possible without the research of Mike Duff (and United We Stand)

toodle pip

mowgli

I loved my cat

Just lying there

With his pointed ears

And his greying hair

He was sometimes ignored

As he was often demanding

And sometimes he stank

While he slept on the landing

When you went to the shops

He’d walk by your side

And while you were shopping

In the bushes he’s hide

He’d been shot with an airgun

And had a hole in his side

That caused trouble weeing

And he very nearly died

His breath, well it smelt

And his walk wasn't straight

When you tried to call him in

Well he'd always be late

You see his hearing it went

And his eyes they got dim

His mind it got muddled

And his body got thin

His nose became dry

And his eyes became glazed

And when he got scared

His hackles got raised

His persistent meows

They kept me awake

He was always after water

Which l'd give and he'd take

And he sometimes had seizures

And often he'd wet

Be distressed when he woke

But calmed down with a pet

And l treated him bad

Which l really regret

And spent a small fortune

On trips to the vet

But He was a mate

For twenty odd years

When l think of him now

l can't hold back the tears

We grew up together

And l got old too

I even miss his breath

That stank of his poo

He was sometimes demanding

And sometimes a pain

But l would give anything

To stroke him again

JD AUG 2010 (with thanxs to James Stewart)

toodle pip

whispering I love you

Echoes of your voice are calling still through my dreams, softening the chill of the breeze.

Through my window, I can see the moonglow painting silver shadows on a rose-colored land;

A world that we walk hand in hand in a day of gold colored by the glow of new love.

Oh, Woman, I can feel your warm face ever close to my lips and the scent of you invades the cool evening air.

I can close my eyes and you´re there in my arms still and I know your soft kiss,

turning into music every beat of my heart,

When I hold you close to my heart and I hear your voice whispering I love you.

I can feel your warm face ever close to my lips and the scent of you invades the cool evening air

I can close my eyes and you're there

I can close my eyes and you're always there

Whispering I love you

toodle pip

killer and gran torino

Ticked off two more films today, the newish Clint Eastwood one (2008), and a 1996 film based on a journal by Carl Panzram, a killer who was hanged in 1930.

Both were OK, the Clint one was better, but not too sure about all the racism in it and the message it is trying to put across (even a grumpy old racist can have a heart of gold?). The killer one also had a message that a nasty murderer could have been a nice person if he had been given the chance (or a different backstory).

I actually agree with both points, but just think it was not presented in a believable way.

I have got to get round to putting Nasty Nick's poems up. He is an example of someone who comes across as a nasty racist, but has a soft spot somewhere (it's just hard to find!)

toodle pip

beeswax

Brown hair zig-zag around her face
And a look of half-surprise
Like a fox caught in the headlights
There was animal in her eyes

Oh she was a rare thing
Fine as a bee's wing
And I miss her more than words could ever say
If I could just taste all of her wildness now
If I could hold her in my arms today
Well .....I wouldn't want her any other way