TO THE MEMORY OF 50 YOUNG MEN
MURDERED BY THE GERMAN GESTAPO
IN WORLD WAR TWO.
SIX AND SEVENTY KRIEGIES.
Six and seventy Kriegies, with parcels in their hands,
Made a firm decision, to depart those Fatherlands.
So shoring up the tunnels, and conditioned them with tin,
They said ta ta to room mates, and down the hole did shin.
Some had on a blanket, but recut to make a suit,
Some even carried boxes, which carried all their loot.
They also had a passport, false papers and the like,
One of them even got away, by pinching some bloke's bike.
He kept to all the back roads, and led the Hun a dance,
And evading his pursuers, he made it into France.
With the assistance of the underground, and tramping through the rain,
he eluded his pursuers and finished up in Spain.
All those blokes were artists, at getting through the wire,
Or getting out tucked under carts, or hiding in the mire.
But Jerry thought he'd curb their yen, for wanting to be free,
So he put them all in one camp, and locked it up with glee.
But these blokes knew adversity, and thought it all a joke,
We'll tunnel of here, and make Jerry look a moke. (mule)
So urged on by their leader, who so defiantly had said,
We'll just keep digging tunnels, while Jerry's in his bed.
They put paid to his ideas, of ruling all the world,
As they used up all his soldiers, while in their bunks they curled.
It can rain down from the heavens, and they don't give a jot,
Cos Hitler and his cronies, all their bolts have shot.
Dig they did and they got rid, of all the stones and dirt,
Some had it hidden in their pants, and others in their shirt.
They wandered over garden, and around the wire,
Spreading dirt and cobbles, though in peril dire.
They could not wait to see the end, so they did not tarry,
You dig Tom and I'll dig Dick, and we'll all finish up in Harry.
So with a might and at night, they would remove the stove,
And down the hole like a mole, to view their treasure trove.
The night was dark and cloudy, but that would only seem,
The sentries would not see them, unless the moon did gleam.
But one Australian Gunner, suddenly whispered a report,
"I hate to bloody tell yer mate, we're thirty meters short.
Among all this confusion, a bad mistake was made,
And added to the mayhem, was an unforeseen air raid.
A lot had made it to the woods, and others on returning,
met Jerry guards with rifle butts, and eyes with hatred burning.
Some did get home to loved ones, but The Fifty did not make it,
Tom Barker 1997 (c)
Instead they were shot down, and Jerry had to fake it.
He said they were escaping, when in truth already caught,
But it mattered not to Jerry, who's word was ever naught.