This special edition of Corncrake is part of the many celebrations around the centenary of Meath poet Francis Ledwidge. He was serving with the 1st Battalion Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers when he was killed  at Passchendaele in 1917. (more…)

For Francis and Ellie

They came and went, this trysting couple
Seeking shelter from both wind and rain
And from the prying eyes of the prurient; (more…)

i.m. Francis Ledwidge

Fair-haired Ellie shared
with me her sacred memory
of you, and your story (more…)

In that instant it was over,
we were torn apart.
You were gone from my life,
a knife through my heart. (more…)

The sweetest sound that I ever did hear
Was that of your voice calling to me
Through the unholy fug of war memory. (more…)

“Frank saved my life” my son says,
“there in Suvla Bay.”
Just so. It blew his leg away. (more…)

Did I ever tell you, my dear grandchildren
About the Irish soldier who came upon me
Shaking with brimming fear and icy cold
In the harsh rain on a road in war-torn Serbia?  (more…)

There is no sweet lark song
here, to temper dying moans
and the mad alarms of battle (more…)

All was quiet and peaceful
in the cottage
and then (more…)

I met him early in the morn
Before the dawn, in grey light walking
He seemed as from another time
We fell in rhyme; we started talking. (more…)

In truth, the loneliness landed long before you left
a human shield came into play, blurring the true picture
though the eyes told the story, had anyone cared to look (more…)

I knew her parents didn’t like me.
Not good enough, they said.
She was torn
and tore away from me: (more…)

I longed to be there
before the bluebells calm hue faded
The river burbling its delight
as swallows returned to eaves and byres
(more…)

Am I a fool? I often wonder to myself
When my beating heart’s eye perceives
The bullets that fizz and spark around me
Are but flowers tossed from the meadow
By a zephyr’s ever playful whim; (more…)

Huddled in a ditch in Ypres
bowed beneath the rain
hunkers Francis Ledwidge,
(more…)

There was something in the air that day, a kind of softness in the wind. I was hanging out the washing in the garden, hoping to take advantage of the July warmth, when I saw Joe coming up the road from town. He was walking slow, pushing the bike along beside him.

(more…)

Words that echo from a haunted era
Such contrast amongst the carnage
Your voice still warms our hearts
A remarkable solider, a friend,
And son but never a husband.

(more…)