Visit To Ouistreham
I gaze upon this plinth of stone
by Edward Wall
That bears silent witness
To those who passed this way,
But who ne’er returned.
Those we carried on that windswept sea,
Sick in body, sick at heart,
Buoyed with hope but laden down,
With all the trappings of their trade.
In my mind I see them still,
Plunging through the stormy waves;
Crossing a sandy, littered beach;
Fifty yards that seemed a mile.
They fell, the victims of the guns and mines.
Prone they lay, a carpet for their friends.
No time to pause and stare at them,
To stop would mean a similar end.
I would that we, who stand here now,
With bowed heads and tearful eyes,
Could bring them back for one last look,
To see the peace they had so dearly won.