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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=518965" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Memorial Tablet</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=518965" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Squire nagged and bullied till I went to fight, <br>(Under Lord Derby’s Scheme). I died in hell— <br>(They called it Passchendaele). My wound was slight, <br>And I was hobbling back; and then a shell <br>Burst slick upon the duck-boards: so I fell <br>Into the bottomless mud, and lost the light. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=518965" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">At sermon-time, while Squire is in his pew, <br>He gives my gilded name a thoughtful stare: <br>For, though low down upon the list, I’m there; <br>‘In proud and glorious memory’ ... that’s my due.<br>Two bleeding years I fought in France, for Squire: <br>I suffered anguish that he’s never guessed. <br>Once I came home on leave: and then went west... <br>What greater glory could a man desire?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Siegfried+Sassoon">Siegfried Sassoon</a></strong></div>

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