This touching poem by Cpl. D. Nevitt reflects on the bravery and sacrifice of the women of Blighty (England) through the story of one widow’s loving protection of her baby. The poem is from Robert Dickinson’s diary, “Servigliano Calling.”

Tribute to the Women of Blighty

The cottage was a thatched one,
The inside clean and neat,
As a mother sat there rocking,
The cradle at her feet.

Outside the night had fallen
And all was peace and quit,
When suddenly the sirens,
Came wailing through the night.

People ran for shelter,
Children screamed with fear,
For one and all knew what it meant,
As the planes came roaring near.

The guns barked out their warning,
And search-lights cut the sky,
But they only served one purpose,
To keep the bombers high.

Then suddenly above the roar,
Of the noisy ack-ack guns,
There came the whistling of the bombs,
Dropped by the callous Huns.

In the cottage all was peaceful,
And at the bottom of the stairs,
Knelt that mother with her baby,
As she softly said her prayers.

And as she looked towards the heavens,
Her eyes shone full of faith,
As she softly murmured, “God above,
Please keep my baby safe.

He’s already lost his daddy,
For he gave his life in France,
So if I should get killed this night,
Please give my child a chance.”

And though her cheeks were wet with tears,
Her voice was full of pride,
As she whispered may God Bless you,
And the bombs still fell outside.

And though that cottage stood,
Outside the town, alone,
A bomb crashed through the centre,
Of that peaceful little home.

Then when the raid was over,
And the bombers had passed by,
They searched that ruined cottage,
And they heard a baby’s cry.

They found her ’neath the ruins,
That poor young soldiers wife,
For her dead and battered body,
Had saved her baby’s life.

So when you go in action,
And you feel somewhat afraid,
Just think of what the women stand,
In any big air-raid.

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