He worked at the War Department,
in the Munitions Ministry,
for the Bureau of Cannon Fodder
on the Condolence Committee.

“On behalf of George, our king,
and the grieving British nation
We regret to have to share with you
the following information….”

Passchendaele was at its height,
he’d written letters by the score.
On the Altars of Incompetence,
what’s a hundred thousand more?

It was the sort of sinecure
in which he took a certain pride:
Informing British parents
that their darling boys had died.

His department heads approved
of his selfless dedication,
recording for posterity
each man’s final destination.

Thus it was they failed to notice
when he received a telegram.
That day he went back to his flat
a changed and broken man..

When next day, his chair was empty,
and they received a  telegram,
they were grieved to be informed:
He’d died by his own hand.

“On behalf of George, our king,
and the grieving British nation
I regret to have to share with you
the following information….”