Let the living answer the roll call of the dead:
Walter Tull of Spurs and Northampton Town KIA 1918;
And now the names of other Cobblers:
Harold Redhead KIA 1918
George Badenoch KIA 1915
Bob Bonthron
Harry Hanger KIA 1918
Harold Springthorpe 1915
Harry Vann KIA 1915
Bernard Vann VC KIA 1918
Frank Taylor survived the war
Frederick Walden survived the war
Frederick Whittaker survived the war
Names from another century come back to haunt us:
Harold, George, Bob, Harry, Freddie, Bernard, Frank,
Names once shouted over a football pitch,
‘Give it to Walter’,
‘Over here, Freddie,
‘Shoot, Harry’;
The imperatives of a football team
Replaced by new orders in khaki, with
Night patrols, barbed wire and machine guns;
Muddied football boots forgotten
In the trench foot fields of Flanders;
The clamour from the ground and stands
No match for whizz bangs, mortars and howitzers;
The fogs of a November match,
Innocent memories in a gas attack:
‘Over the top tomorrow, Freddie’,
‘Keep your head down, Harry’,
‘Stay quiet. Don’t shoot, George’,
‘Don’t worry, mate. We’ll get you on this stretcher’,
‘Where’s Frank?’
You would have known each other,
Played with or against each other,
Trained together,
Boarded ships and trains together,
Relieved each other in the trenches,
And who knows?
Some of the Northampton players who survived the war,
May have searched for your body, Walter,
Before and after your last breath and memories,
Memories of Spurs and Northampton,
And childhood,
And a grandmother who had been a slave,
And you, an officer now,
Revered and loved by his men,
Searching for you out there in no man’s land,
As you breathe your last breath,
In whatever corner of a foreign field,
Which will always be an England,
Where the wind rushes by.