Waiting for Peace

By Dr Barrie Penhaligan Sep 30, 2022

Waiting for Peace

The soldier stamped his frozen feet upon the hard packed snow
he’d stood there guarding……..God knows what, with six more hours to go!

He’d been in Ireland just six weeks, his tour of duty new
but he’d already experienced what the IRA could do.

His two friends Privates King and Jones had both come out from ‘Brum’
and they’d sat in the pub’ as it got blown to kingdom come!

Pete’ King lost half his face that night, he’ll never be the same, and
what was left of Michael Jones, was all brushed down the drains

From out the pitch dark night once more the snow began to fall
the temperature had fallen lower than he could recall

It hurt his throat each time he breathed, the wind cut like a knife
his fingers were so cold he couldn’t have shot to save his life

His thoughts turned to his Mum and Dad, their little house in Crewe
his sister, who though twelve years old, had a mental age of two

Both parents though God Bless them had done all that they could
to feed and clothe and give them love, as only parents could

He’d write and tell them “Things are fine, you needn’t both have worried”
he didn’t say however where his two best friends were buried!

His girlfriend came into his mind, her soothing charm he missed
he longed to hold her in his arms, as longingly they kissed

Her long blond hair. her pale blue eyes, those eyes that showed the pain
that she was going through until she held him once again!

He’d calculated that he’d only three more months to go….but, as he thought
he didn’t see the sniper in the snow

He didn’t hear the short, sharp crack……he’d never hear no more
as his life’s blood pumped out quietly…and froze upon the floor!

From the anguish and the agony his soul now had release and
like Protestants and Catholics…….he’s just waiting for the peace.

Dr Barrie Penhaligan

About the author

Dr Barrie Penhaligan

33 Up Votes

Born in Devon before the outbreak of the Second World War, l have very vivid memories of the horror that war brought to the average man and woman in the village that l lived in. When l was 7 years old my parents moved up into the Peak District on the outskirts of Sheffield. This town in particular was the subject of nightly bombing raids by the Luftwaffe as it was the main supplier of majority of England's steel production. The austerity of such a life, the rationing for food, the disturbed nights when l woken up to spend many an hour in the local Air Raid Shelters listening to the sound of the bombs screaming down, and the noise of the buildings being hit by them all made an impression on my young memory. Educated at the local Grammar School, l went on to University to achieve a Ph.D. in Psychology and a Masters in Sociology and Psychiatry. My Father, who was a self-employed Dentist, had always dreamed that l would follow him into the business when l graduated. He was very upset therefore when l told him that l had decided to move on from University and join the Royal Air Force and make a career as a Fighter Pilot. This l did and soon reached the ranks of a Squadron Leader when a tragic accident cut short my flying career and the necessity to wear glasses meant that l couldn’t even stay in the Air Force as ground staff. With the compensation l received as a result of this accident, l was able to set myself up as a Psychologist taking in both Health Service referrals and private patients. Becoming, as did, a ‘workaholic’ soon increased my bank balance quite considerably but l paid the price for this in two failed marriages. Now, in retirement, l spend my days in a small cottage situated on the South Downs of Great Britain. Putting pen to paper so to speak is a new experience for me, but one l am looking forwards to very much and l hope that you like what l submit.