Mass

by D. Rudd-Mitchell

Frosted trench.
Sound of ‘We’ll meet again.’
Sound of a bullet.

I heard a story about a private in the first world war:
a young man who removed his own boot and sock in the trench;
he put his rifle in his mouth, pressed his toe against his rifle’s wet, icy trigger and ended his war;
he did it because of bad news from home; later, as his body grew stiff, he was, twice, chastised for ignoring orders.

They say suicides were not always reported.
Death was disagreeable enough, any talk of suicide in trenches would be bad for morale;
It was feared, quite rightly, that it would weaken home support for the War.

So families received the same letters whether their sons died in battle, shot themselves or were shot by their own side for desertion or cowardliness.

Once come cruel tidings,
News or taint,
Stern Brits would
only show restraint.

Men sometimes hoped for injuries.
The joked when they knew death was coming. “He got a Cushy.”
“Bloody skive”.

My Great Grandad made it back from the First War,
he’d lost three fingers and could still play the piano.
When my Dad was little, he’d lift him up with one hand.

My Dad’s Dad, my Grandad, didn’t make it back from the second World War.
He was shot in Burma.
My Dad had a letter that said so and a medal.

‘Hitler has only got one ball, the other is in the Al…’

Once War-torn Brits
Knew form could dip,
met tyrants with
disarming quip,

Tamed foes with wit
and raucous jest,
And felt a high
morale was best.

I knew my other grandparents had lived during the Second World War.
My Dad had been little, he remembered being carried to a bomb shelter during an air raid; he was not evacuated to the countryside.
Old people didn’t talk about the wars, not guns or tanks or anything.
We watched black and white war films with John Wayne,
Or it Ain’t half hot Mum, Dad’s Army, Allo Allo.
Old people talked more about rationing,
We knew about the battle of Britain and spitfires from school.
Grandad told me off for asking if he’d killed anyone.
He said people had ‘fought for peace and quiet.’

Once news was simple to digest,
And England never second best.
And fact was something that one took,
verbatim from a history book.

After the Second War, my Dad said there was a new religion called commerce, and we were all converts.
We welcomed labour-saving machines and household appliances that they called white goods.
We lived in a kind country with a welfare state.

Church attendances dwindled, and there came new forms of mass:
Mass Consumerism and Mass Production.
Television sets were soon in every home, our first one was black and white and rented.
The new service was customer service,
Adverts and Politicians became economical in all things, including truth.
They said ‘you have never had it so good.’
Credit was the penance,
We would inherit the world now
…and pay later.