Charles Causley(1917–2003)
Armistice Day
I stood with three comrades in Parliament Square
November her freights of grey fire unloading,
No sound from the city upon the pale air,
Above us the sea-bell eleven exploding.
Down by the bands and the burning memorial
Beats all the brass in a royal array,
But at our end we are not so sartorial:
Out of (as usual) the rig of the day.
Starry is wearing a split pusser's flannel2
Rubbed, as he is, by the regular tide;
Oxo the ducks3 that he ditched in the Channel
In June, 1940 (when he was inside).
Kitty recalls his abandon-ship station,
Running below at the Old Man's salute
And (with a deck-watch) going down for duration
Wearing his oppo's pneumonia-suit.4
Comrades, for you the black captain of carracks
Writes in Whitehall5 his appalling decisions,
But as was often the case in the Barracks
Several ratings are not at Divisions.6
Into my eyes the stiff sea-horses stare,
Over my head sweeps the sun like a swan.
As I stand alone in Parliament Square
A cold bugle calls, and the city moves on.