WHILE watching the commemorations of the 100th anniversary start of the battle of Passchendaele, and listening to the many beautiful tributes to those who perished, my mind went back to the end of the Second World War when, at the age of 14, I was a wagon lad at Brunton dairies.

We received many of those first soldiers to be demobbed, mostly the desert fighters (or “desert rats”, as they were known).

It was a happy time and I and the rest of the boys would never tire of listening to their exploits. Many of their stories were true but many were exaggerated or little white lies, but we didn’t care.

During a lull in the action, these fighting men would pass the time making up songs or writing poetry.

The most poignant verse that struck me at the time went as follows:

Out on the Libyan desert,
Under the Libyan sun,
Was there where a young English Tommy,
Got hit by an old ‘Iti’ gun,
He raised himself up on his elbow,
The blood from his wound it ran red,
He called to his comrades around him,
And these were the last words he said: ‘Oh bury me out in the desert,
Under the Libyan sun,
Just bury me out in the desert,
My duty for England is done,
And when you get back to old Blighty,
The war will be over and won,
Remember the young English Tommy,
Who was hit by that old ‘Iti’ gun.’

No one seems to know where it originated but it’s something I think is worth keeping, if just to remind us.

T Seale, Middlesbrough