Memorial Tablet by Siegfried Sassoon
Squire nagged and bullied till I went to fight,
(Under Lord Derbyâ€™s Scheme). I died in hellâ€”
(They called it Passchendaele). My wound was slight,
And I was hobbling back; and then a shell
Burst slick upon the duck-boards: so I fell
Into the bottomless mud, and lost the light.
At sermon-time, while Squire is in his pew,
He gives my gilded name a thoughtful stare:
For, though low down upon the list, Iâ€™m there;
â€˜In proud and glorious memoryâ€™ ... thatâ€™s my due.
Two bleeding years I fought in France, for Squire:
I suffered anguish that heâ€™s never guessed.
Once I came home on leave: and then went west...
What greater glory could a man desire?