A BLAST FROM THE PAST

[Maureen K Clifford]

received via snail mail today an unexpected parcel containing some papers of my Grandfathers- this was amongst them as well as three new poems that I have posted in the We will remember them section as they were written from the Trenches of France.

As my GF was a news paper editor after the war I am presuming he wrote this - the use of the adjective bloody has a familiar ring
to my ears


TO THE COLLECTOR OF TAXES
presumed to have been written by Sapper Victor George Bower Jacklin – Royal Engineers - WWI


Dear Sir,

For the following reasons I am unable to meet your demand for income tax:

I have been bombed out, burnt out, sandbagged, walked upon, held up, held down and flattened out.

I have been squeezed by income tax and every society, organization and club that the inventive mind of man can conceive, to extract what I may or may not have in my possession for the Red Cross, black cross, double cross and every bloody cross and hospital in town and country.

The Government have governed my business until I do not know who the hell is owning it.

I am inspected, suspected, examined, informed, required and commanded, so that I do not know where I am, who I am or why I am here at all. All I know is that I am supposed to have an inexhaustible supply of money for every need, desire or hope of the human race.

Because I will not go out and beg, borrow or steal money to give away, I am accused, cussed, boycotted, talked to, talked about, lied to, lied about, held up, rung up, robbed and damn near ruined.

The only reason I am clinging onto life is because I want to see what the bloody hell is going to happen next.

Yours faithfully

[Vic Jefferies]

Love it Maureen and it goes to show nothing changes!

[Maureen K Clifford]

To true Vic - this would still hold pretty true today

[Maureen K Clifford]

Another little gem unearthed and sent out to Oz - this one from my Great Grandfathers pen

THE HIGH CHURCH AND THE PARSON....by GBW

Money O Money thy praises I sing.
Thou art my Saviour, my God and my King.
'Tis for thee I preach, and for thee I pray
and make a collection twice each Sabbath day.

I've candles and all sorts of dresses to buy,
for I wish you to know that my Church is called high.
I don't mean the structure of steeple or wall
but it's so high the Lord cannot reach it all.
I have poor in my parish who need some relief.
I preach to their poverty, pay for their grief.
I send my box round to them morning or night,
and hope all remember the poor widows' mite.

I gather my knowledge from wisdoms' great tree.
The whole of my trinity is £. s. d.
Pounds, shillings and pence are all that I crave,
from my first step on earth to the brink of the grave.

And when I'm laid low and my body's at rest.
Place a box on my grave, 'tis my latest request.
That my friends may all see, those who come for reflection,
that I can't rest in peace, without a collection.
Money's my creed and I'll not pray without it.
My heaven is closed to all those who doubt it.
For this is the essence of Parsons religion.
Come often to church and be plucked like a pigeon.

My pay may be hundreds or thousands a year.
Double it, treble it, still I am here.
With my box and bags, collecting your brass.
I can't do as Jesus did - ride on an Ass

I'll have Carriage, and Horses and Servants and all.
I'm not going to foot it like Peter and Paul.
Neither like John live on locusts and honey.
So out with your purses and down with your money.
Fools may sometimes ask what I do with the money.
They might just as well ask what do bees do with Honey.
I answer them all with a wink and a nod.
I keep three thirds myself and give praises to God.

In the cold silent earth I may soon be laid low
To sleep with the blest that went long ago.
I shall slumber in peace till the great resurrection,
then be first on my legs to take up the collection.

© Maureen Clifford & GBJ


Just thought Members might find this interesting It was in my Grandfathers effects signed just GBJ. My Great Grandpa was George Bower-Jacklin, who was a builder of Churches in England, so this might be his.

My Grandpa was Victor George Bower- Jacklin who before the war was in training for the church but apparently became disillusioned and spent his days after the war as the Editor of the Middlesex Chronicle. His parents were apparently less than impressed when he gave the religious side of life away to marry my Gran. At one point he was in training to be a missionary.