VALENCIENNES
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Y CORP’L TULLIDGE: _see_ “_The Trumpet-Major_”IN MEMORY OF S. C. (PENSIONER). DIED 184– WE trenched, we trumpeted and drummed,And from our mortars tons of iron hummedAth’art the ditch, the month we bombedThe Town o’ Valencieën. ’Twas in the June o’ Ninety-dree(The Duke o’ Yark our then Commander been)The German Legion, Guards, and weLaid siege to Valencieën. This was the first time in the warThat French and English spilled each other’s gore;—Few dreamt how far would roll the roarBegun at Valencieën! ’Twas said that we’d no business thereA-topperèn the French for disagreën;However, that’s not my affair—We were at Valencieën. Such snocks and slats, since war beganNever knew raw recruit or veteran:Stone-deaf therence went many a manWho served at Valencieën. Into the streets, ath’art the sky,A hundred thousand balls and bombs were fleën;And harmless townsfolk fell to dieEach hour at Valencieën! And, sweatèn wi’ the bombardiers,A shell was slent to shards anighst my ears:—’Twas nigh the end of hopes and fearsFor me at Valencieën! They bore my wownded frame to camp,And shut my gapèn skull, and washed en cleän,And jined en wi’ a zilver clampThik night at Valencieën. “We’ve fetched en back to quick from dead;But never more on earth while rose is redWill drum rouse Corpel!” Doctor saidO’ me at Valencieën. ’Twer true. No voice o’ friend or foeCan reach me now, or any livèn beën;And little have I power to knowSince then at Valencieën! I never hear the zummer humsO’ bees; and don’ know when the cuckoo comes;But night and day I hear the bombsWe threw at Valencieën . . . As for the Duke o’ Yark in war,There be some volk whose judgment o’ en is mean;But this I say—a was not farFrom great at Valencieën. O’ wild wet nights, when all seems sad,My wownds come back, as though new wownds I’d had;But yet—at times I’m sort o’ gladI fout at Valencieën. Well: Heaven wi’ its jasper hallsIs now the on’y Town I care to be in . . .Good Lord, if Nick should bomb the wallsAs we did Valencieën! 1878–1897.
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