William Richard Torvaney - The Cobbled Road

Now this is a tale the poplars tell
of the road to Armentiers,
where we marched right up to the gates of Hell,
off and on for a couple of years.

One weary march o'er the cobbled stones,
when we couldn't breathe for heat;
when we cursed our luck with blistering tongues,
and we cursed our blistered feet,
we passed by a little latticed house
with a creeper on the wall,
and a Flemish girl who waved her hand;
My God! how it cheered us all.

A long march o'er the cobbled stones,
through the silent poplar trees,
in the clammy mist of an autumn dawn,
and a whiff of a rancid breeze.
But the latticed house is shattered now,
and the creepers bruised and torn,
and no maid smiled us a bright good day
as we passed in the still grey morn.

There's many a tale the poplars tell
of that road of cobbled stone,
where Bill and I marched side by side
and I came back alone.

(In the vernacular of the British soldier, Armentiers is pronounced 'Armenteers')
20 October 1916

William Richard Torvaney

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