Remember the Old Contemptibles

They were the old regular army, wiped out at the beginning of WW1. They bravely fought until the last soldier left. Their legend is eternal! 

Remember the Old Contemptibles

By Alan.Clark@WW1POET

It was in the fields of Belgium, that they made their final stand,
As they boldly fought with brazen will, to the very last man.
Loyal to the regiment — the only family they knew —
A rough-hewn band of fighting men, steadfast, brave, and true.
For they were the career soldiers, and the army was their trade,
And this — the bloody battle — that ended the Contemptible Brigade.

Recklessly bidden to the wicked wrath of war, lost heroes made,
Felled before the westward sun, their lives in honour laid.
Among their dearest comrades, they did not die alone,
They took up sword and rifle and cast the everlasting stone.
For they were the career soldiers, and the army was their trade,
And this — the bloody battle — that ended the Contemptible Brigade.

With fearless hearts they stood their ground, and had a final crack,
Against unyielding odds — they knew there’d be no turning back.
They sensed what grimness waited, what thunder would be hurled,
Yet dug in deep with iron will, to face a darkening world.
For they were the career soldiers, and the army was their trade,
And this — the bloody battle — that ended the Contemptible Brigade.

As German ranks came marching from the treeline far away,
The Old Contemptibles made ready to face the sea of grey.
Grimly they waited, till that tide was well within their range,
They knew the odds of living on were far beyond their change.
For they were the career soldiers, and the army was their trade,
And this — the bloody battle — that ended the Contemptible Brigade.

At last, the order sounded; the riflemen took their aim,
Their “mad minute” of fire began — precise, relentless flame.
Fifteen rounds each minute rang, the grey tide checked in fright,
As the storm of lead and thunder fell upon them through the night.
For they were the career soldiers, and the army was their trade,
And this — the bloody battle — that ended the Contemptible Brigade.

When the first wave broke and fled, the regulars held fast,
Knowing well another storm would follow on the last.
Then came the pounding guns, the screaming shrapnel rain,
Still, they held their shattered line, through agony and pain.
For they were the career soldiers, and the army was their trade,
And this — the bloody battle — that ended the Contemptible Brigade.

Behind the smoke, the sea of grey surged forward once again,
Into that field of death where so many would remain.
The force grew ever greater — wave on wave they came,
Marching on to Paris, to stake their mortal claim.
Through the Old Contemptibles, whose army was their trade,
And this — the bloody battle — that ended the Contemptible Brigade.

Once more they held their fire until the moment dire,
Then the field erupted — the “mad minute” in fire.
But the tide kept surging onward, no matter how they tried,
Till they knew at last the flood would not be turned aside.
For they were the career soldiers, and the army was their trade,
And this — the bloody battle — that ended the Contemptible Brigade.

The big guns thundered onward, as the Contemptibles fell away,
As more and more were swallowed in the smoke of death’s decay.
Their orders were plain and simple — to hold the line they must,
But the sea of grey poured over them and trampled them to dust.
Even though they were the soldiers, and the army was their trade,
This bloody battle was the one that ended the Contemptible Brigade.

And as they lay there dying — still loyal, unafraid —
Some raised their rifles one last time and fired through the shade.
When the final shot was spent, and their time on earth was done,
The field fell still in silence, beneath the setting sun.
For they were the career soldiers, and the army was their trade,
They died a soldier’s death — along with the Old Contemptible Brigade.