SOLUM 1940
In the desert near Sidi Barrani,
is a tomb of Solum’s dead.
And on each square of plaster,
script in Arabic is spread
Solum was a collection of mud huts,
with no shade trees or water to cool.
So we dug holes in the sand like marmots
as Mussolini we tried to fool.
Fascists would visit in the darkness,
parachuting mines into the sea.
And some times dropped gifts like fountain pens,
on the sand with thermos flasks full of tea.
On the morrow the unwary Tommy,
thinking at last his luck was changed.
Would pick up the pen and it was just then,
He would have his face re-arranged.
Losing a hand or some fingers,
in the desert was not a good thing.
For in action one needs all ones fingers,
and there was no doctor to ring.
But the flask full of tea was a ripper,
as it killed a group of men at one blast
But it only strengthened our resolve,
and Tommy would have the last laugh.
Thousands of Italians paid dearly,
as Mussolini strutted and croaked.
While in the sandy desert,
blood of Italian soldiers soaked.
Some made it as far as Solum,
but as Prisoners of War.
But alas the wooden jetty at Solum,
was the last thing they ever saw.
Mines dropped in the dead of night
were floating out in the sea.
Dropped by Italian aircraft,
who thought it a pleasant spree.
The next day the carnage ended,
for many an Italian youth.
And for many a week there was a reek
as bodies lay on the beach uncouth.
Mangled then eaten by creatures,
that normally lived in the deep.
Then washed up on the beaches,
In that one everlasting sleep.
Perhaps now Salum is silent,
while waves gently lap the beach.
No more airplanes or field guns,
or strutting Mussolini’s to preach.
But methinks it would be ironic,
if the ancient Arabic script.
Translated into a message,
“he dies who disturbs this crypt”
Tam 1999
© 1999 Tom Barker. All rights reserved