Chronicle Of A Forces Wife Poem by Sheena Blackhall

I was a Forces bride
In a street with a numbered name
A vow and an ache from my land of birth
And every house the same

And when the regiment marched away
The wives were left behind
To raise the kids, the roof, the rent
And face the future, blind

The bombing in the Evening News
That blew a tank apart
Did it kill Jenny's husband Jack?
Explosives have no heart
And some young wives went quietly mad
Or lay with local boys
Through missing their men, who picked them up
And set them down like toys

For out of sight and mind it's said
The husbands, too had needs
And many the fertile foreign soil
Has welcomed soldier-seeds

I watched the shadows lengthen,
The apples swell, alone
The wedding pictures yellow
Beside the silent phone

For every house was numbered
Its contents cleaned and checked
But women are not numbers
To order and inspect

The night the men marched homeward
Their bairns ran laughing, thrilled
The bars went dry of whisky
And every bed was filled

I was a Forces wife
The sheets were white and cold
I lay like a stone in a house of rain
With only regret to hold