From a Stretcher Handle: The World War I Journal and Poems of Pte. Frank Walker

I remember visiting my father in the nursing home one day shortly before he died. It was November 1977. His formidable mind, which had revealed itself to thousands of Islanders in a long and distinguished career as a newspaper editor, had now become confused.

"Do you know me today, Dad?" I asked.
His head turned slightly, and his eyes widened as he peered up at me.
"You look familiar," he managed.
In an effort to connect with him on a more personal level, I said, "Dad, do you remember your poem, "The Ballad of the Stretcher Bearers'?"

He lay very still for a short time. Suddenly, in a cadence well-known to me, he recited the six verses, word for word, as a single tear fell slowly down his cheek.

The poem was sixty years old. He had written it on the battlefields of Europe. Here at the end of this eighty-three years, disconnected from the present, his mind strayed back to an experience that had seared itself on his memory and had shaped his entire future life. It was obvious to me that the Great War still held deep meaning and lucid memories for my father.