Brother of Joseph Moore

Sammy

Each year at the war memorial

They huddled to hear your bugle,

Watching your cold-tipped fingers

Squeeze notes from reluctant brass,

Breathing life into the past

Some said your notes were bullets,

Fired off in undiminished rage

For a dead brother:

Salvoes sprayed over bowed heads

Lest they forget

Some said your notes were doves,

Kissing the air above the crowd,

Soaring over rooftops,

Settling softly on shoulders

Lest we forget

You never said:

Closing your eyes you

Coaxed the Last Post from pursed lips,

Walked slowly past the wreaths

And off through the crowd

by Ian Mills, grandson

17 years old at outbreak of war. Was assigned to the 2nd Line Battalion of the 5th Argylls but was invalided out.