Hate and Greed

How many times must people kill?

Another body's blood to spill,

time ticks away,a deadly fuse,

eventually both sides will lose.


Great hunger spreads and kills the land,

refused, the ever open hand,

eating hot dust that cuts and blinds,

eroded souls, cold callous minds,


death does not sanction life's rewinds.


© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved

Tuesday 16 March 2010


The dust never settles in Musa Qal'ah

another explosion ends the life

of a son who was brother, uncle and partner,

and a family weeps


his name was Scott

but they called him a 'Viking'

'soaking up hardship getting on with the job'


Twenty-six years old

a ready smile

big heart

a leader in morale

much loved by his men


snatched from the world

his life before him

now sleeps

not like the dust in Musa Qal'ah.


© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved



NB.Scott grew up with Matt and Dan-my sisters sons- I never knew him personally-but after reading the tributes to him and reading about his character I felt I did know him-if only slightly. May he rest in peace with all those other Vikings who died serving their country in the name of peace. © 8 years ago,


He was a giant of a man

with ice blue eyes

and hands as big as dinner plates


He went away to fight

and returned still wanting to

he never stopped fighting


Hate filled his restless heart

the weight of the rock he carried

pierced his soul


Jagged edged memories

could never heal

he wouldn't let them


He used to shake his head at me


'I don't know about you...'


For one moment he smiled

For one moment he stopped fighting


Now there is peace in his heart.


© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved


They used to walk there hand in hand,

where shadow touched the grassy knolls,

through that perculiar wonderland,

cold mists engulfed forgotten souls.


And in that old and silent land,

no blue sky smiled or offered hope,

no sunbeam touched the leafy strand,

or ripened buds which broke the slope.


So dark and deathly quiet then,

grey shadows they could barely see,

the two would sit and count again,

how many more with you and me.


Beyond each shadow stood a stone,

each bathed in white they stood alone.


© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved


What ceased to be, can still be real,

for inside, it is what you feel,

when things you learnt in history books,

can twist and turn in silent looks,

and even though I was not born,

before that sudden ugly storm,

when death came quick, a murderous flame,

I pray, will never come again...


© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved

Man's Mirror

Take a look at man's mirror, can you see all the pain?

Try to find out the answers, smooth things out and explain,

there's a face in the darkness, someone's hand holds a gun,

take a look at man's mirror and run.


In the air hangs a bad scent, full of blood ridden tears,

and they gave up escaping thick rot of the years,

as the world turns to desert, with no water, just sand,

and the people just don't understand.


Take a look at the future, feel your heart fold in shame,

there'll be no time for searching, it will all be in vain,

grey clouds block out the clean air, there will be no more sun,

take a look at man's mirror and run.


I see mist on the hillside, all our faces grow cold,

precious love is just something, that is bought and then sold,

no more reason to fight now, yet the fighting goes on,

take a look through man's mirror it's gone.


© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved

Henry John "Harry" Patch 1898-2009.

Our regal flag drapes over dampened wood,

slow solemn march guides to a place of rest,

quiet faces young and old watch England's 'best',

remembering a gentle face so good.

Proud now the heart that beats a slow retreat,

whose eyes are closed, but open to the sun,

old thoughts sleep now, the battele has been won,

while many line the quiet rainsoaked street.

His comrades wait beyond the poppy field,

where new shoots grow and battle with the rain,

a silent earth beneath still buries pain,

will live once more, to bring a richer yield.

They take his hand and pull him to their hearts,

a gentle wind reminds them they must go, embracing,

hands on shoulders, moving slow, over the top,

a brand new dawning starts.

Pray that we shall remember such a man,

and many more young souls who went to war,

not to forget the sacrifice they bore,

live on for them and do the best we can.




©HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved

I Wish

I wish there was something that I could create,

I wish for a world filled with love and not hate,

I wish I could own every star up in space,

and I wish that a smile would appear on your face.

But you will not smile, there is sadness you feel,

and troubles around you are turning out real,

and your fighting it hard, but you just do not see,

that the poeple you are hurting are the people you need.

Go on, turn your back, when there is true help to give,

you are making it all such a misery to live,

you won't even see, you won't stop to think,

you will push reason out, and not feel the love sink.

And those who are blameless, are the ones who are blamed,

you will never feel guilt, you will never be tamed,

I wish that some miracle would come along,

I wish for a world where the weak become strong.


© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved

A Woman's War

My dearest one has gone to war, he wears my heart upon his sleeve,

and like so many times before, this poor heart breaks to see him leave,

he goes to fight the foreign foe, a hundred million miles away,

an enemy he does not know, will he return?-I cannot say.


With pipe and drum he led the way, the steady pound of marching feet,

I watched the coloured ribbons play, a rainbow strewn across the street,

so many faces filled with hope, such foolish souls to even dream,

my heart is twisted by a rope that tightens, then I want to scream.


Each day brings fear not knowing when I’ll ever see my love again…


This wretched war has come between a life that was so very sweet;

I ponder on what might have been and label it the vilest cheat,

for cheat it does, and steals away loved ones of those who need them most,

and every time I kneel to pray I swear I’ve seen my loved ones ghost.


Our children cry themselves to sleep, I read to them to ease their pain,

inside my room I hide and weep, oh please God bring him home again,

my face is such a sorry sight, I know he’d scold me if he saw,

my bravest face has taken flight, my eyes are tired, defeated, raw.


Each day brings fear not knowing when I’ll ever see my love again…


Experienced hands that toiled the field, would also stroke my face at night, they hold a gun that does not yield, believing every action right,

my love is gone away from me, I have not seen him this past year,

I watch the moon pull at the sea and view it with a sudden fear.


My dearest he has gone to war, he wears my flower upon his breast,

and like so many times before, I watch the sun sink in the west,

cold space beside me in our bed, I hug our pillow to my heart,

to quell the nightmares in my head, and stem the tears that try to start.


Each day brings fear not knowing when I’ll ever see my love again…



© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved

Alf Remembered

I know I never knew you, but I love you just the same,

someone before my time, which I regret.

You went to fight, my gunner, in a painful drawn out game,

a war that took your life, I won't forget.

The photo shows you smiling, a young man of twenty-one,

all buckled up, prepared to face the foe.

My dearest first class gunner, and a young life just begun,

across the channel you would shortly go.

May 1940 you took off towards the coast of France,

housed in the tail of some gigantic craft.

Mist closing in around you, threatening flack began to dance,

sharp eyes perused the skies both front and aft.

I look upon your photo as I have done every year,

I know I never knew you but I wish that you were here.



© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved


Bob Doe DSO DFC 1920-2010

A gentle peace resides now in these skies,

above old ‘Blighty’ clouds have come to rest,

as memories flood back through tired eyes,

remembering too well who stood the test.

A fighter ace has left us and so wise,

wings skimmed the bluest blue and came to rest,

no happy grin or pat on back disguise,

the time is called to withdraw to the nest.

A man who fought and won in battle, lies,

brave heart that gave so much is laid to rest,

as dormant Spitfires quell their battle cries;

remember that he was one of the best.



© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved


Who has the right to take a life without a thought or consequence? Unthinking finger pulls the pin that shatters life of innocence.

How can such evil minds exist to torture maim and render dead

man, woman, child, who breathe the air found lifeless, bullet to the head?

Do evil thoughts start in the womb or brainwash into infancy,

to skip true studies of the mind and descend into truancy?

Far easier to follow those who live like kings and wave their guns,

to jeer and yell and scare their prey, to see how fast their quarry runs.

Such mindless acts we do perceive, unwilling to confront the truth,

to see the rotten canker grow within the promised minds of youth.

How pitiful and helpless too, that we stand traumatised and lost,

to witness lives blown into bits and never realise the cost.

We cry at scenes that belie faith and wonder when it all will end,

still needing to believe one day, we can become each other's friend.

Until that time much blood will flow, continue into rivers wide,

I am convinced that much is true and from this fact we cannot hide.





© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved


Tarry not beneath old oaks, lest you should lose your heart to love,

witness blue sky transform to grey as gases choke the sun above,

nor lean against the creaking door to watch the gentle moon awake,

while youthful souls with hearts on fire, in craters float, their lives forsake.


Tarry not in meadows sweet, watch false reflections in a stream,

where fickle coins of fate are tossed and lovers drown within a dream,

or linger at the local inn, where old boys sing and quaff their beer,

far better to pass round the jar, remembering the lads not here.


Tarry not upon green hills, now bearing scars of battle shell,

the flower of youth lay crushed beneath, in mud are clothed,

a peace from hell

wander not beyond the wall where you once kissed the fairest maid,

so soon to hear the eerie call of bugles echo through the glade.


Tarry not strong fearless heart, lest from this world you would depart...



© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved

Dead Vine

How come you here within the ground?

Blind to the sunlight, deaf to sound.

No more to hear the thud of shell,

which carved the deepest, darkest well.

How come you here in this dark place?

On which you fell, bereft of grace,

No more to see her soft blue eyes,

reflections of warm summer skies.

How come you here in this dank tomb?

Where earth would shake and guns would boom.

No more to taste the rarest wine,

fresh blood would kill the youngest vine.

How came I here, why do you ask?

Red wine flows bitter from the cask.

No more to walk upon healed ground,

blind to the sunlight, deaf to sound.




© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved



What is this place, a living hell surrounded by a sea of mud?

With bodies smashed as scattered wrecks, the distant guns a hollow thud. How came I here into this place, where lives are wrecked by single shot?

To disappear into the mire, so very soon to be forgot.

My comrades all smiled yesterday as we sat laughing playing cards,

forgetting in fond revelry, death lie in wait a hundred yards.

A match was struck, a sudden glow, as cigarettes were passed around,

I watched smoke curl into the sky and lay back on the sodden ground.

Why am I here, hard to believe my life could ever end this way,

to feel such loathing, feel such hate, when did my other self-betray?

If God exists where is He now, to leave me here to die alone?

All I can do is look askance as hungry rats devour dead bone.


Oh just to dream of home in May, where buds hang heavy from the trees,

my love would spin around and laugh, pink flowers dance about her knees.

To smell sweet grass so rich and green, silk ringlets stroke against my arm,

so safe within our world of peace, our world of innocence and calm.


A flaming madness fills my head, eyes blinded by a sea of gas,

I wish to leave this evil place, not disappear into the mass.

Dear God do not desert me now, I cannot face another day

of screaming shells and strangled cries, that in my head are want to stay.



© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved

Fleet Air Arm -a tribute.

The peaceful skies no longer bear the scars of cannon flack,

wings of silver that cut through scudding clouds

bobbed and weaved,

straws drawn- who would make it safely back to ship,

or choose a watery grave,

fathoms deep both kite and ship dwell,


at rest.

So many times to challenge fate and hit the target

ploughing waves,

bring the enemy to its end,

ducked and dived, with thumbs aloft and one last wave to say ‘okay’ or maybe not-

a final check then press the button- now-

courageous souls who gave their all,


at rest.

Reflected in the waves that pulled them home and safe,

with voices cheering, hats spinning skyward,

skimmed and teased

at the biting foam and froth of salt that touched the brow,

torpedoes found their mark-a hit-

the Bismarck gone and more besides,


at rest.

Forget we not the Hurricanes, Hellcats, Corsairs, Martlets,


Ark Royal, ‘Crash’ Evans, Ronnie Hay- so many victories by so few, ‘Gladiators of Scapa Flow’

seeking Graf Spey, Scharnhorst, Tirpitz,

gone to watery graves in pieces, barely whole,

a sky no longer smeared by dispersing smoke,


at rest.

Forget we not those bravest of the brave defending our skies,

who tipped their wings at danger,

back and forth,

tilting together, soaring ravaged skies,

firing into the toy-like ships floating beneath,

risking the burst of flame that hit their wings,


at rest.



© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved

Fragile Friendship

No bugle rang to wake the sleeping soldier from his dream;

it lay at rest against a muddy wall.

No heavy gun to shatter earth and muffle endless scream,

I watched the virgin feathered snowflakes fall.

Four Germans left their trenches bearing Turkish cigarettes;

they came towards us unarmed, as we were.

One hundred yards and closing, had the gods revoked all bets, was this a chance to hang up sword and spur?

They called out 'Happy Christmas' trusting us to keep the truce.

Strange meeting this, who'd thought it, would occur?

Maybe the bonds of warring souls decided to come loose,

through ice cold breath our forms a ghostly blur.

Beside barbed wire we traded tales of home and distant loves;

we stood and talked on every kind of thing.

They took me for a corporal in my stocking cap and gloves,

and we forgot the threat of wars' harsh sting.

Soft strains of 'Tipperary' floated gently on the breeze,

with 'Deutschland Uber Alles' in reply.

These men from different countries

huddled close to beat the freeze,

not thinking that tomorrow they might die.

The Scot and Hun with souvenirs were given and received,

addresses swapped, more family tales retold.

Our finest men lay frozen, slowly one by one retrieved;

‘Fritz’ helped us move them in the bitter cold.

A football kicked in fun upon the solid frozen ground,

as Turkish cigarette smoke curled and danced.

How fragile were these friendships we had stumbled on and found,

in such short time our boundaries had advanced.

For that one day opposing sides laid down their gun and blade,

to share a moment’s peace upon the earth.

We sung our favourite carols in the craters guns had made,

endeavouring to praise our Saviours birth.



© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved


The First World War put paid to any bond,

on Flanders field he watched his comrade’s fall.

A daughter prayed her father to be fond,

but long years brought no healing after all.

With lips sealed fast, no mention of the war,

strong arms would never hold her against his heart.

A man with strong beliefs would close the door

on all who knocked, an evil poisoned dart

that wormed its way into a stolen life,

a life that could not see the way to live.

So turned he from a gentle loving wife,

and solace to the daughter she did give.

A father and a daughter held apart,

when she was born, for war he did depart.



© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved


Highland Laddie 'D Day' (Bill Millin 1922-2010)

A heart beats hard and fast beneath his chest,

the beach ahead still seems too far away,

his eyes skim round a craft deprived of rest,

while stinging bullets hit and ricochet.

All thought of home must now be pushed aside,

as slowly they approach the witching hour,

where bravery at last must override,

release a land that others would devour.

No gun is carried in this Scottish hand,

no knife to aid him in his hour of need,

he knows his job – to rally up the band,

who sit and pray to God that they’ll succeed.

He lifts his pipes and looks up to the sky,

the wind is keen as treacherous waves attack,

no cover here with many sure to die,

it’s time to march, there is no turning back.

The ramp is lowered into restless waves,

then forward as the bullets splash and spurt,

these fearless few, some going to their graves,

yet thousands more to glory in the dirt.

He wades through bodies floating- as in sleep,

strikes up the tune his comrades want to hear,

no time to gaze on lost souls and to weep,

the sea takes them away, the path is clear.

They leave the shadow of their iron ark,

and head towards the goal they know as Sword,

with spirits high at last they disembark,

and cry out loud in honour of their lord.

With bagpipes calling through the salt lashed air,

no bullets penetrate his trusty friend;

no enemy would even try to dare,

to Pegasus and that bridge to defend!




© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved

HYmn To A Soldier

The road ahead is dark the clouds above are grey,

I used to see the sun and sky, now both have gone away.

My hands are cold and numb, wrapped in this mist and smoke,

I may not last another day, so heavy is my yolk.

The pounding sound of war, the unrelenting fire,

yet still I must not give up hope, for peace is my desire.

Oh God, if you are here, watch o’er all friend and foe,

stay with me til’ the sun returns to melt the blood stained snow.



© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved


No Disgrace

He could not feel his legs that wretched dismal day,

his ears were deaf to sound, the bullets stuttered spray,

he could not feel his legs, they had been blown away.


His blood pumped red and warm, cast rivers in the sand,

the gun that was his friend lay dormant in his hand,

his blood pumped red and warm, it soaked into the land.


Why must it end this way? A youthful heart struck down,

to stare into the sky and see a bloodied frown,

why must it end this way- he did not seek a crown.


A hand beneath his neck, some water on his face,

just time to say a prayer, forget 'return to base',

a hand beneath his neck, his death is no disgrace.




© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved


Once, bugles rang within these soaring oaks,

when aching feet dragged through the endless mud.

Cold rain speared down and spattered blood-stained cloaks,

earth trembled as relentless shells did thud.

Now in the stillness we do gaze in shame,

beneath each hallowed mound, there sleeps a star.

No marble cross to bear a missing name,

once youthful hearts are scattered near and far.

Not to be touched, but to remain unfound,

kept safe by these, the gentle towering oaks.

Interred, at peace, protected 'neath the ground,

the morning dew each new born flower soaks.

A sudden chill wind wakes my sleeping hair;

I kneel upon soft moss in silent prayer.



© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved


Polish Graves of the Warsaw Uprising

Are you not from far away?

Cattle graze on the lush green hill,

sun holds court day after day,

eagles fly and the lark sings shrill.

Mother moon wanders back and forth,

watching over as you try to sleep,

moving due south then the icy north,

drying the tears of those who weep.

Come you not my silent friend,

where tears fall still from every stone,

from a land that fought right to the end,

and there was once a happy home.

Is it true you tell to me,

was it right or was it wrong,

a people died to be set free,

were we weak while they were strong?

Are you not then from long ago?

Before this life before they lost,

where I did never think to roam,

and why, because of such a cost.




© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved

Rose and Mae

They stand and smile, a friendship forged in years,

bonded by love, together warring fears,

against these hearts, young wounded souls have leant,

heard mournful voices, in last hours repent.

Held hands in prayer, when sheer fatigue would win,

far from beloved home, their kith and kin,

together for a while, one fragile hour,

duty bound, by an unforgiving power.

To seek companionship, among lost souls,

to fill the gaps left, by the huge shell holes,

sad memories of dying soldiers' eyes,

returning home to peace, but now so wise.

Lost touch, as like the tide, memories fade,

two spinsters walking silently in shade,

come face to face, one lovely springtime day,

chance meeting, in the park of Rose and Mae.



© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved


How silent lay the fields in France,

where blood red poppies gently dance,

beneath the skies-unblemished blue,

beneath the sun a scarlet hue.

Those sons and fathers rest in peace,

as wave on wave new buds increase,

above them dawns another day,

above their heads the poppies sway.

This was no dream, no fancy thought,

with musket raised men stood and fought,

beneath their boots the heavy clay,

beneath the mud young bodies lay.

No thought to grab a claim to fame,

no sudden whim, no children's game,

above the ground men yelled and cried,

above the ground they fell and died.

We stand to gaze upon a cross,

another life, another loss,

beneath tired roots are souls at rest,

beneath warm sun they have been blessed.

Beneath the earth old buds lie still,

beneath blue sky new poppies spill.



© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved


Where go the boats that brave the treacherous seas,

a cargo filled with heartbeats- but from where?

So many tossed in sleep upon their knees,

all sacrifices fuelled by despair...

Fierce battles rage throughout the ruined lands,

cruel hate and fear, these masters reign supreme.

There stands the gunman, blood upon his hands,

gone is the hope of peace, a fading dream.

So many sacrificed, strapped to a bomb,

where children used as covers- like a shield.

Left for the mourners, no sign of a tomb,

not buried peacefully within a field.

God gave His sacrifice, the truth unfurled,

our only one true Saviour Jesus Christ.

How many more in this poor wounded world,

how many more who must be sacrificed?

What of these boats, each small fragile device,

holding a life endeavouring to be free?

A bargaining chip the ultimate sacrifice,

it makes no rational sense at all to me.

No, not one soul deserves to die in vain,

upon a life you cannot put a price.

When Jesus Christ returns once more to reign,

then there will be the final sacrifice.


The table heaped with bargaining chips again is overturned,

as in the days of Jesus Christ all lessons will be learned.



© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved


All week she planned this moment, her thoughts locked deep within,

push back the guilty secret and overlook the sin.

Resolved to do her utmost, protect her land and King,

pretending just like always,another spy to wing.

Reflected in her compact the face of- God knows who?

So calm, cool and collected,she knows just what to do.

Pass on false information in casual gossip form,

indulge her fated quarry, with smiles, seductive, warm.

Her hand shakes for a moment, the lipstick is replaced,

so many years of fighting, interrogations faced.

But she must do her utmost; protect her land and King,

to save her blessed country, she would do anything.

He sees her in the doorway, cold eyes a steely blue,

so calm, cool and collected, he knows just what to do...



© HILLY KENDRICK. All rights reserved