THE CAMPAIGN HAT
By: James Stockton
We were sitting in O'Leary's bar,
A group of friends and me.
When in there walked a guy the likes
Of which you'll never see.
He was dressed in salty khaki
With creases sharp as knives,
He says, "I have a story
That'll haunt you all your lives
It happened down in Singapore
'Way back in '43
When my platoon was sent ashore
To see what we could see
'Twas getting dark and we had been
Scouting out the town,
When all of a sudden Hell breaks loose
And shells came falling down.
Between confusion and the cries,
We tried to move about,
When my best friend falls down and dies
His lifetime had run out.
But where he fell, there rose a ghost,
I s'pose you'd call it that.
A shroud of white was all his clothes
Except for a campaign hat.
I mention the campaign hat because,
You'll see as I go along,
'Twas it that brought about the pause
And sounded the golden gong.
'Twas a peculiar looking cuss,
Underneath that hat.
Then he made an awful fuss
Like a high-pitched, screaming cat.
He turned his head this way and that
Till he saw what 'twas all about.
Then he turned and started for'ard
And knocked those guns right out.
First he caught a flying shell
And threw it back for spite,
It landed in amongs't the crew
And turned their glee to plight.
By this time he had reached
The second gun andthen.
He grabbed it by the barrel
And slew a thousand men.
The enemy then turned and ran
For they had seen enough.
Wat had seemed a simple chore
Had really gotten rough.
The apparition sat him down
He raised his hat and then,
In the silence that did abound,
Yoiu could hear the dropping pin.
This hat was a thing of beauty,
The brim curled fore and aft,
It shone with all the brilliance
Of a diamond studded shaft.
A voice was heard from out the skies,
'Well done, my son', it said.
'Now you can leave those Grenes there,
For they've nothiung more to dread'
The ghose then raised his hand and touched
The crown of that fabulous hat
And the sound that came from deep within
Echoed 'cross the flat.
'Twas sweeter that the angels,
More clearer than a 'Strad'.
And while we looked on in awe,
This ghost of ours was clad.
In shining robes and golden shoes,
In purples, deep and soft.
He waved his hand and then arose
And was carried high aloft.
An where he went and what he did
No man will ever know,
Till at least we reach the shore
Where all good angels go.
As for my friend, we could not find,
Body, trace or stamp.
For all we found was the Campaign hat.
Dusty, torn, and damp"
THOUGHTS OF CONQUEST
By James Stockton
In the cold, clear light of dawn,
Flashes of guns in early morn
Smoke hangs in clouds about our heads
The Island shakes with trembling great.
On this black sand we will meet our fate
To live or join the ranks of the dead
We know not if we are to live
Or if we'll lie beneath the sand.
Forever roaming this shell-shocked isle
To be entombed with the ranks of the damned.
We care not for worldly praise,
Or memorials in the halls of fame
We fight for life amid the smoky haze
To protect the honor of our name.
We see our friends go down in blood,
We try to stem that crimson flood.
For all we know, e'er dawn will come
Death will stalk among our lines
Stealing through the pock-marked sands
To lay a heavy hand upon our brow.
The sound of gunfire on our flanks
They came upon us in the night
With fires of Hell on every hand..
On to meet them, men, we're with the right
On to the sea! the cry goes up.
We've pushed the devils off the rocks
They'll have to fight or swim and die
In payment for their past mistakes.
The firing lifts,
The battle's won
We're going home,
'Mid sound of drums.
We think not of all the glory
Or the history that's been made
We think of our friends
For them, "No Story"
A mound of coral is their grave.
They have died, but not in vain,
We vow as we breathe a prayer.
May their restless spirits now have peace
With their dreams that ended there.
May these live on in hearts of men
Who love their freedom now
And sons that live to carry on
Preserve the right they died to win.
