Jack Neilson MM and Bar: Soldier and Poet

Trooper Jack Neilson MM and Bar was born in Eire but settled in Northern Ireland after the war. He was one of the best known soldiers of the Regiment and, as well as his obvious courage, a man with a love for poetry and words who put some of his thoughts into verse during the Tunisian campaign.

The Observer
Written 7th April 1943 while in action near Beja, Tunisia.

At Kasar Masour Station in Wog Hut Watching
Silent stand in Observation post,
Field glasses focused on farm opposite,
Two miles of undulating greenness
On skyline, red roofed white buildings,
And nearer the broken fuselage of a Focke-Wulf.
Intensely aware of singing birds,
See love-sick storks, building nest.
By soft breeze over valley drifting
The sickly scent of death.
Quietness suddenly shattered
By Wheow - Wheow - Whumph!
Of German Six Inch Mortar
Hastily our Five Fives
Quickly send screaming
Their hazard messengers of death.
In hut on far farm watching
Stands silent some German boy,
Wistfully thinking of Gamerisch-Partenkirchen.
Brain war weary asking 'Why?'
So, watching, invisible to each other
Mutually wonder 'Why?'
And the stork builds on.

♦    ♦    ♦     ♦     ♦    ♦    ♦    ♦

Battle in Tunisia
Written 10th April 1943.

As a preface Jack wrote:

"This poem written on Blackwatch Hill while sheltering under my tank from enemy shellfire, gives an accurate and fairly detailed account of a few hours' typical tank battle."

Sleeping, blear-eyed, flaps furiously banging,
'Wakiee, wakiee, four a.m., get cracking!'
First light, faint Orange appears eastward
Rev. to fifteen hundred, let clutch in,
With clatter and clang of giant mowing machine
The masculine monsters move ponderously forward
Squadron sweeps line abreast across the plain,
Through fields of luscious green
Rustling wheat, ablaze with golden flowers
Tracks clang furiously over rocky outcrop,
And tank slithers to rest with broken track.
Spanners and sledges flung furiously down,
The sweating crew work swearing on the broken track,
Suddenly fling flat for screaming shell,
Twenty yards away freckled gunner kid
Dead, lies inertly in a bloody heap.
'Grab his rifle, he won't need it again!'

'Get that brew of tea on!'
Water quickly simmers on petrol tire.
'Throw the Compo¹ in, and make it strong!'
Ton and a half of broken track linked up
'Hey, we're moving; jump in!'
Scramble into tank swallowing scalding tea
Through lips sticky with four days' stubble,
Cram sardines and bully into mouth
Light up inevitable fag, eyes strain through visor
Speeding over fields spangled red with poppies
Flat out to hidden gully, slam on brakes,
Forty tons balance gently, see-saw over.
On skyline see Jerry Mark Four Tank
'Gunner, traverse left. Steady, you're on!'
Telescope cross wires quickly, swing central
'That's got him—Yahoo Mahommed!'²
Commander's cry of boyish glee
Quick rush to grab loot

Creep cautiously uphill to hull down position
Intently peering through periscope
At changing world of four by two
Over crest, screaming Stukas swoop
Gunners with Besas blaze furiously
Arid puff of bomb blast taps face,
Raid over, taut nerves relax.
'Let's get another brew on!'
And so the battle carries on.

1: Army tea, sugar and milk powder used tor making tea.
2: Originally the Battle Cry at the Paratroopers who were with 'C' Squadron at Sedjenane, passed from them to us, and so generally to the Royal Armoured Corps.

♦    ♦     ♦     ♦    ♦    ♦    ♦    ♦

African Victory
Written 13 May 1943 while recovering from wounds in 36th General Hospital, Algiers.

As a preface Jack wrote:

"In the flush of Victory I noticed that every soldier in Hospital wore a wristwatch or
ring, 'presents from loved ones'. One thought of the cost of victory, the dead at Sedjenane and Longstop, each dead soldier wearing some token of love and so representing not a mere individual, but a person whose manner of living influenced others, who thus became poorer because of that death. Thus victory for the soldier is not something to be lightly celebrated: to the soldier, victory and dead friends are
bracketed together."

Rommel's rout,
Church bells peal gaily,
Victory's price paid freely
From Greenhill to Longstop -
All the Medjerda Valley -
From Bizerte to Tunis -
Ours by conquest.
Paid for yard by yard,
With dead soldiers
Men and boys
Wearing wrist watches,
Presents from loved ones.
Through mud and through blood,
To the green fields beyond.
Beyond the green fields,
And lurking round the bend
Death, the inevitable friend
Freedom's cost -
Paid by us!
Freedom's Torch -
Yours to keep flaming!
Remember the dead soldiers
Men and boys,
Wearing wrist watches
Presents from loved ones.

Return to
Documents Index