The Home Front
Every dreary day seems just the same,
Getting through the housework or the shopping,
Passing the time, anxiously waiting,
The clock is ticking, yet never stopping.
Answering her children’s questions,
About their father who’s far away,
Counting down the lonely hours,
Until the longed-for coming-home day.
Life must go on, keeping things together,
Maintaining home, things of that kind,
Wondering what’s happening out there -
It’s always hard on those left behind.
The not knowing works upon the nerves,
Never hearing anything that’s clear,
Always imagining the very worst,
Ever feeling that dreadful, creeping fear.
He’s probably out on patrol right now,
Through the dusty landscape, on the tramp,
Never knowing what might happen next,
Before reaching the safety of the camp.
Helicopters screaming overhead,
Dealing with the heat, the dust and the sun,
Hoping not to be caught in a fire-fight,
Trying to stay alive till day is done.
Back at home, the picture’s different,
Although it’s no less of a strain.
The weather’s cold and ever dreary,
There’s fog and ice and driving rain.
But the harder part is something else,
Watching news reports on the TV,
Hearing of recent enemy actions,
Dear God, there’s been another IED.
Not knowing what’s exactly happened,
But the truth has very slowly dawned,
Hearing those dreaded words again,
“The family has been informed”.
There’s been no knocking at her door,
No unwanted news to be heard,
Which means he’s probably still OK,
Nothing dreadful to him has yet occurred.
But there can be no rest, no easy sleep,
Whilst her husband remains away.
Alert to every news bulletin,
Watching every repatriation day.
That it’s not her husband who’s carried,
Is a comfort and a private relief,
But she’s truly sorry for the others she sees,
Feeling fully part of their tearful grief.
She wants all of it to be over,
She longs to lead a normal life.
It’s so hard to keep on a brave face,
But she knows her man looks to his wife.
She’s the commander of the Home Front,
Doing her bit, doing her own share.
He needs something to come home to,
And it’s her job to make sure that it’s there.
Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2011
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