#britisharmy
The road stretched out before us
like it had a grudge to settle —
mile after mile of mud,
rain that couldn’t take a hint,
and boots that swore at you
with every step.
But we walked it anyway,
because that’s what gunners do.
No fuss, no drama,
just a steady plod
and the occasional complaint
to keep morale at the correct level
of cheerful misery.
The gun rattled behind us,
its wheels clattering like an old aunt
who never approved of anything
but insisted on coming along.
We shared the weight,
shared the jokes,
shared the aches that settled in
like unwelcome lodgers.
And somewhere along that endless road,
between the blisters and the banter,
we found a kind of peace —
the simple truth
that you’re never alone
when you’re walking with gunners.
At the end of the day,
when the boots came off
and the brew went on,
we’d look back at the road
and laugh at how far we’d come.
And tomorrow,
we’d do it all again —
because the road never ends,
and neither does the regiment.
May 18
May 18, 2026 at 9:23 AM UTC
You never really know a hill
until you’ve dragged a gun up it —
rope biting your palms,
sweat stinging your eyes,
and some lad behind you muttering
that this was never in the brochure.
The mules had more sense than we did,
planting their hooves
like they were arguing with the mountain.
But we coaxed them on,
one curse, one pat, one promise at a time.
Up there, the air thins
and the world goes quiet,
as if waiting to see
whether you’ve got the grit
to finish what you started.
And when the gun finally settles
on the ridge like a stubborn old king,
you feel it —
that small, private pride
that no medal ever captures.
Because it wasn’t glory
that got the gun up there.
It was lads with aching backs,
bad jokes,
and the simple belief
that the job needed doing
and we were the poor sods to do it.
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 4:54 AM UTC
Where the Guns First Called
***
Orders lead me on.
A boy where shop lights flicker,
dreams stitched into dawn.
Fourteen, slight of frame,
boots too big in borrowed thought,
yet steady his aim.
Past butcher and bank,
familiar voices fade low—
the world tilts, half-known.
A door, plain and still.
“Army Careers” in quiet print,
yet loud with his will.
The sergeant looks through—
not at years, but something set,
a resolve half-new.
“Harrogate,” he says,
“Selection—see where you fit,
find the path you’ll take.”
A place yet unseen,
cold platforms and waiting trains,
northbound into change.
Measured step by step,
eyes judged, questions weighed in turn,
a boy tested clean.
Guns speak without voice,
distance, patience, iron breath—
the choice finds the boy.
Royal Artillery—
not glory, but weight and fire,
a calling of ground.
No turning of head,
no glance back to childhood’s street,
just forward instead.
Orders lead me on.
Roads I never thought to walk—
a life taking form.
May 9
May 9, 2026 at 4:40 AM UTC
“The Ninety-Nine Remembered”
***
In the quiet of Ver-sur-Mer’s embrace,
Where waves whisper tales of valour and grace,
Ninety-nine names, once lost in the mist,
Now rise to the roll—no longer dismissed.
On Gold Beach’s edge, where history was sown,
They stand with their comrades, the known and unknown;
From blood-soaked sands their courage still calls,
Each name now remembered on honour’s proud walls.
Through darkness and storm, through fire and fear,
They gave all they had so others stand here;
A tribute to those who fate could not spare,
Their stories now carried on Normandy’s air.
Now families walk where their loved ones are named,
No longer forgotten, no longer unnamed;
With flowers and whispers, with pride and with tears,
They honour their memory across the years.
A memorial standing in silence and light,
We hold to your legacy, steadfast and bright;
Your names shall endure, your sacrifice true—
Forever remembered. We stand here for you.
Apr 19
Apr 19, 2026 at 3:34 AM UTC
***
Barbed Wire Sunset
By Paul Baldry
Brick dust in the air,
A setting sun, bloodied sky,
Boys behind the wire.
Hope hangs, a tattered flag, torn
By a wind of weary grief.
Petrol Rain
By Paul Baldry
Cobblestones slicked black,
A sudden downpour of rage,
Molotov's fiery kiss.
Faces masked, fear is a shroud,
Whispers lost in siren's wail.
Mothers' Vigil
By Paul Baldry
Empty chairs at home,
While daughters search shadowed streets,
Seeking missing sons.
A rosary, clutched tight, beads
Telling tales of silent loss.
On Patrol
By Paul Baldry
Green hills watch us pass,
Boots heavy on cobbled street,
Eyes scan every face.
A child's glare, a whispered word,
Peace feels a world away now.
Soldier's Silence
By Paul Baldry
Young man, far from home,
Gun held tight, heart full of fear,
Orders must be kept.
A scream echoes in the night,
Silence becomes a burden.
Aftermath
By Paul Baldry
Walls still bear the scars,
Of anger etched deep in stone,
Flags flutter defiant.
The guns are quiet, they say,
But memory still echoes.
Bandit Country
By Paul Baldry
Green hills watch us pass,
Crossmaglen's heart, a silent
Glower in the fog.
Boots heavy on the cold stone,
Whispers follow in the air.
Armoured Patrol
By Paul Baldry
Saracen's rumble,
Cutting through the silent streets,
Eyes search every door.
A child stares, face filled with fear,
Lost innocence in the grey.
Border Patrol
By Paul Baldry
Borderland is tense,
A rifle held, a strained gaze,
Waiting for the blast.
Another day the same fear,
Will peace ever come to stay?
Checkpoint Dusk
By Paul Baldry
Grey stone, shadowed walls,
A checkpoint's cold, watchful eye,
Halts a weary road.
Whispers of the past linger,
Fear hangs heavy in the air.
Border Vigil
By Paul Baldry
Green hills, sliced by line,
A patrol's slow, measured tread,
Each step tense and brief.
The land, a battleground deep,
Peace a fragile, distant hope.
Eyes on the Corner
By Paul Baldry
Stone cottages still,
Eyes watch from behind the lace,
Every move we take.
Suspicion is bred in the soil,
Crossmaglen waits, hushed and dark.
Apr 7
Apr 7, 2026 at 5:49 AM UTC
Ode to the Fallen
***
Seventy’s summer cracked the dawn,
Crossmaglen woke to Troubles drawn.
August eleven—silence broke,
Two officers lost to a hidden stroke.
And from that spark, the shadows grew,
A darker sky the whole town knew.
Seventy-two, July burned through,
A land mine tore the stillness blue.
James and Terence, standing fast,
Names now etched in memory’s cast.
September laid its colder claim,
Edmund Woolsey—another name.
Seventy-three, the air stood still,
Three more lives on that same hill.
A ***** trap, no warning cry,
Another mark where men would die.
Each loss rewrote the road they knew,
In greys of grief and broken blue.
March winds carried a sniper’s breath,
Bedford, James—drawn into death.
August heat on quiet ground,
Dennis, Michael—duty bound.
November pulled the daylight thin,
Windsor, Allen—lost within.
Seventy-five in winter’s grip,
An ambush sealed a fatal script.
Duncan, McDonald, Sampson fell,
Names that history won’t dispel.
December closed with sorrow’s bridge,
Civilians lost at Silverbridge.
Seventy-eight, the long road bends,
Turbitt, McConnell—final ends.
A priest entangled in the fray,
Where right and wrong had blurred to grey.
December winds returned once more,
Duggan, Johnson—gone to war.
Seventy-nine, the pattern stayed,
Hanna, Thompson—lives betrayed.
Cullaville watched, still and wide,
As sacrifice walked side by side.
July again, the silence broke,
Mackin, McMahon—smoke and smoke.
Glassdrumman held its breath that day,
As shadows passed but chose to stay.
Eighty-six brought grief anew,
French, McBride, Smyth—lost from view.
A hidden blast, no time to run,
Another tally, never done.
July returned with the same refrain,
Davies, Bertram—counted again.
The nineties came with a colder aim,
A sniper’s patience, a distant flame.
Reid, Pullin, Blinco fell,
Each name a story history tells.
Crossmaglen still bears the trace,
Of every loss, each haunted place.
Not just numbers, not just war—
But echoes that remain… and more.
By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)
Apr 3
Apr 3, 2026 at 3:07 AM UTC
With each step he took cautiously
Eyes peeled ears listening
Out In the open
Hands firmly on his rifle
As he patrols through the land
His brothers beside him
Rounds popping from left to right
Dashing for cover
I have your back my brother
Side by side we stand
Together on this land
Home we’ll be soon enough
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 4:33 AM UTC