(A respectful, solemn echo of Milligan’s grief and witness)
“The Battery at Dawn” — after Spike Milligan’s The Soldiers at Lauro. By LongJohn, in honour of Spike Milligan
The morning came slow,
as if it already knew
what names would not be spoken again.
Smoke drifted where the lads had stood,
and the guns — usually loud,
full of swagger —
seemed ashamed of their silence.
I walked the line alone,
boots crunching through the memory
of men who’d laughed with me
only yesterday.
There’s no poetry in loss,
only the duty of remembering —
and I carry them still,
each one a steady weight
that keeps my heart from drifting.
Feb 9
Feb 9, 2026 at 5:58 AM UTC
(A respectful, solemn echo of Milligan’s grief and witness)
“The Battery at Dawn” — after Spike Milligan’s The Soldiers at Lauro. By LongJohn, in honour of Spike Milligan
The morning came slow,
as if it already knew
what names would not be spoken again.
Smoke drifted where the lads had stood,
and the guns — usually loud,
full of swagger —
seemed ashamed of their silence.
I walked the line alone,
boots crunching through the memory
of men who’d laughed with me
only yesterday.
There’s no poetry in loss,
only the duty of remembering —
and I carry them still,
each one a steady weight
that keeps my heart from drifting.
This poem stands as a quiet salute to Spike Milligans witness at Lauro a continuation of that hard, necessary duty to remember. The Battery at Dawn reflects the weight carried by those who walked away when others could not, honouring the silence, the lads, and the unspoken names that stay with us long after the guns fall still.
