The poem
Trudging by Corbie Ridge one winter's night, (Unless old hearsay memories tricked his sight) Along the pallid edge of the quiet sky He watched a nosing lorry grinding on, And straggling files of men; when these were gone, A double limber and six mules went by, Hauling the rations up through ruts and mud To trench-lines digged two hundred years ago. Then darkness hid them with a rainy scud, And soon he saw the village lights below.
But when he'd told his tale, an old man said That he'd seen soldiers pass along that hill; 'Poor silent things, they were the English dead Who came to fight in France and got their fill.'