Hi,
I just ran across this again. I wonder if some old tank types might like
it.
Jack.
THERE WAS NO LIFE LIKE IT
During the time when he was young, was it way back then?
Or was it only yesterday
it seems so now
remembering.
Hed been good at mechanics, had driven big equipment before;
Hed amount to something
so he signed his life to The Corps.
Then a recruit, so green, a number, all clumsy and new;
Strange places, drill voices, demanding what his body couldnt yet do.
Oh! But then he saw it, so massive with spellbinding sheen;
A tank, a monster for sure, mans ultimate fighting machine.
It awed him, it owned him, he was- he instantly knew;
Going to make driver, or gunner, be one of the crew.
He touched it, the side skirts, the muzzle, kicked the road wheels a bit;
Wondering what Worthy or Patton hed learn to out-manoeuvre in it.
He mastered the trades, learned all that old hands passed on;
And many a battle in Wainwright and Gagetown, in Soltau were won.
Now had the smells, the sounds, rumble and grind deep in his pores;
Every engine, each gun - with a soul of its own to be sure.
He thought them good days, young men with wild ways, all of whom vowed;
To gain recognition, earn Corps badges and trappings, stand out from the
crowd.
They made him commander, a troop sergeant, his career had taken hold;
He was now listened to and relied upon, a leader entrenched in the fold.
He journeyed far and wide filling his career with exploits that his crews
and he;
Shared on mist bound hilltops, in distant valleys of Egypt or Cyprus and
Germany.
Then dawned a day with commanding roar, when a new tank, a feline, had come
to the Corps;
He was totally smitten, it was the fastest, best of the mighty, beat all
opposition he swore.
They discarded his old friend, they raped it, tore the brass from the heart
of his Cent;
Condemned some to be targets, painted up others, to stand lonely as gate
monuments.
He scarcely noticed, was too taken up with career, with his trade;
Had many battles to be won and always the next rank to be made.
Now mastered the new tank, beat NATO at CAT, was looked upon as a SME;
Went off to teach the young men, on leadership, in tactics and gunnery.
The years flew by, what with new positions and promotions, he was not really
aware;
That he was no longer a troopy, a turret hatch tanker, hed been sidelined
somewhere.
Then with accolades and fanfare came the day that tolled his careers end;
With best of farewells, he walked for the last time, to the gate past his
old iron friend.
They are at rest now, not too oft noticed; his tank a timeless sentinel of
yore;
He with idle hands and silvery mane, living on memories that abound of The
Corps.
Jack J. Rothenburg
1995