The Soldier's Return

These words from the poem “The Soldier's Return" by Scottish poet, Robert Burns is a fitting tribute to acknowledge the 80^th anniversary of the D-Day landings of 6 June 1944.  Part of the poem is quoted on a little artefact which is on display in the Greenock Burns Club's Exhibition and Archive Room in the Custom House, Greenock. 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main,

The farmer ploughs the manor;

But glory is the sodger's prize,

The sodger's wealth is honor:

The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,

Nor count him as a stranger;

Remember he's his country's stay,

In day and hour of danger.

Source - The Soldier's Return

This poem tells the story of a soldier returning from abroad and looking for the girl he loved.  It also pays homage to those of his colleagues who did not return and those family members left behind:-

When wild war's deadly blast was blawn,

And gentle peace returning,

Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,

And mony a widow mourning;

I left the lines and tented field,

Where lang I'd been a lodger,

My humble knapsack a' my wealth,

A poor and honest sodger.

The legend on the wooden plaque in the Greenock Burns Club Exhibition and Archive room reads –

Made of Wood From
Burns’s Trysting-Thorn
Mill Mannoch, Near Coylton
“At length I reached the bonnie glen,
Where early life I sported
I pass’d the mill and trysting-thorn
Where Nancy aft I courted.”

A trysting thorn is a meeting place, usually romantic beside a tree.  The wood here comes from the trysting thorn tree (hawthorn) at the Mill of Mannoch in Coylton in Ayrshire where Burns had romantic meetings.  The actual tree died and the wooden artefact at Greenock was probably made from the wood of that original tree.  There are many similar pieces of Burns' trysting thorn around the world.   A sapling for the original was planted in its place and is now protected.  It can still be seen today.  

The poem has a happy ending when the returning soldier meets the lover he left behind and she still has feelings for him.  You can read the whole poem below -

When wild war's deadly blast was blown,
   And my gentle Peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
   And mony a widow mourning,
I left the lines and tented field,
   Where lang I'd been a lodger;
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
   A poor and honest sodger.
 
A leal light heart beat in my breast,
   My hands unstain'd wi' plunder;
For fair Scotia hame again,
   I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
   I thought upon my Nancy;
I thought upon the witching smile,
   That caught my youthful fancy.
 
At length I reach'd the bonnie glen,
   Where early life I sported;
I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn,
   Where Nancy aft I courted.
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,
   Down by her mother's dwelling?
And turn'd me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling!
 
Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, Sweet Lass,
   Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
O! happy, happy may he be,
   That's dearest to thy bosom!
My purse is light, I've far to gang,
   And fain wad be thy lodger,
I've served my king and country lang:
   Tak' pity on a sodger.
 
Sae wistfully she gazed on me,
   And lovelier was than ever;
Quote she, A sodger ance I lo'ed,
   Forget him shall I never.
Our humble cot and hamely fare,
   Ye freely shall partake o't;
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
   Ye're welcome for the sake o't.
 
She gazed - she redden'd like a rose -
   Syne pale as ony lily;
She sank within my arms and cried,
   Art thou my ain dear Willie?
By Him, who made yon son and sky,
   By whom true love's regarded,
I am the man! and thus may still
   True lovers be rewarded.
 
The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
   And find thee still true-hearted;
Though poor in gear, we're rich in love,
   And mair we'se ne'er be parted.
Quoth she, My grandsire left me gowd
   A mailin' plenish'd fairly;
Then come, my faithful sodger lad,
   Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!
 
For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
   The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger's prize,
   The sodger's wealth is honour.
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
   Nor count him as a stranger:
Remember he's his country's stay,
   In day and hour o' danger.

Remember D-Day 80 - 

Commemorating the heroes of the Battle of Normandy.