Sent: Wednesday, 19 September 2001 19:53 Subject: Hope you all like this one. > My dear grandfather Richard Fuller Chapman (1883-1972) was a soldier in the > Royal > East Kent Mounted Rifles and later in the New Zealand Mounted Rifles. > I came across this lovely poem which he wrote and thought that I would > pass it on to you all. > Best wishes > Annie Stuart > [email protected] > > The Trumpeter's Dream. > > I'd been polishing up the old trumpet > That hangs on the wall up there > And thinking of oftimes I'd used it > I dozed in my old armchair. > > Yes,I'd played it often to wake them, > And sometimes I'd put it to rest, > When I sounded "Last Post" at the graveside, > Of good mates of mine gone west. > > I thought of that charge at Beersheba, > When the lads galloped in to attack; > But when later I sounded the "Rally", > A lot of them didn't ride back. > > I recalled those days with the regiment, > Out there on the desert bare, > A-riding behind the Colonel, > On Lady my little bay mare. > > We'd both joined up together, > She'd been mine from the day she was foaled; > And I wouldn't have parted with her, > For all of her weight in gold. > > But I lost her that day across Jordan, > When a bullet went clean through her head; > And I thought as I said "So long Lady", > That a part of myself lay there dead. > > And while I sat musing and dozing, > In the sunshine,in my armchair, > The patron saint of all trumpeters, > Gabriel himself came there. > > "I've been sounding the "Last Trumph" all over the world, > Now I'm out of breath," said he, > "So Jacki,just do us a favour, > And sound one last call for me." > > "I thought I'd woken up everyone, > But it seems there's one lot more, > So rouse out your mates,the forgotten men, > Of The Desert Mounted Corps." > > "What call shall I sound for the Cavalry?" > "Why "Stables," he answered,"of course! > How could it be heaven for a mounted man, > Unless he was there with his horse?" > > So I put the trumpet to my lips, > The familiar call I blew, > And the horses answered it whinnying, > Just as they used to do. > > Then the tears were streaming down my face, > A lump in my throat made me choke, > For cantering up came my little bay mare, > As I grabbed for her bridle-I woke. > >

What a beautiful poem, I really enjoyed reading it. Thank you for sharing it with us Cheers, Robynne > The Trumpeter's Dream. > > I'd been polishing up the old trumpet > That hangs on the wall up there > And thinking of oftimes I'd used it > I dozed in my old armchair. > > Yes,I'd played it often to wake them, > And sometimes I'd put it to rest, > When I sounded "Last Post" at the graveside, > Of good mates of mine gone west. > > I thought of that charge at Beersheba, > When the lads galloped in to attack; > But when later I sounded the "Rally", > A lot of them didn't ride back. > > I recalled those days with the regiment, > Out there on the desert bare, > A-riding behind the Colonel, > On Lady my little bay mare. > > We'd both joined up together, > She'd been mine from the day she was foaled; > And I wouldn't have parted with her, > For all of her weight in gold. > > But I lost her that day across Jordan, > When a bullet went clean through her head; > And I thought as I said "So long Lady", > That a part of myself lay there dead. > > And while I sat musing and dozing, > In the sunshine,in my armchair, > The patron saint of all trumpeters, > Gabriel himself came there. > > "I've been sounding the "Last Trumph" all over the world, > Now I'm out of breath," said he, > "So Jacki,just do us a favour, > And sound one last call for me." > > "I thought I'd woken up everyone, > But it seems there's one lot more, > So rouse out your mates,the forgotten men, > Of The Desert Mounted Corps." > > "What call shall I sound for the Cavalry?" > "Why "Stables," he answered,"of course! > How could it be heaven for a mounted man, > Unless he was there with his horse?" > > So I put the trumpet to my lips, > The familiar call I blew, > And the horses answered it whinnying, > Just as they used to do. > > Then the tears were streaming down my face, > A lump in my throat made me choke, > For cantering up came my little bay mare, > As I grabbed for her bridle-I woke. > >