A poem by Frank Priddle a Needwood school teacher And Also 5th Dorset battalion regiment. poem is Copyright 
5th BattilMates on watch (Memories of one night in autumn on the Dutch-German border)
As we dig
That rooting pig,
That grazing horse,
That bush of gorse,
That distant spire,
That strand of wire
Are pictured, fixed and memorised.
Come darkness fall,
That branch near wall,
Can cause surprises
As wind rise,
As forms change sizes
Men on watch are mesmerised
That orchard noise
Of course is horse.
That pig by wire
In line with Spire
Is rubbing flank
A noise like tank.
Alone for an hour,
Come wind and a shower
Mate on watch is terrorised.
“Wake up! Wake up!”
He shook my knee.
“Jerry crouching by the tree”
From my smokey blanket prison,
Quickly note-The wind has risen.
In the orchard apples falling,
In the wood an owl is calling,
That pig is rubbing on its post
I’m sure his jerry is a ghost.
“I’ll crawl along on hand and knee
And then I’ll stop by yon tree.”
Slowly forward in the mud
I then stood up beneath the mud
I left behind my nervous bud,
With eyes near ground I looked all around
I then stood up beneath the tree
That’s when the bastard fired at me.
As beneath that tree I’d crept at me!
That noisy horse for once had slept.
As from my knees I quietly rose
I almost touched him on his nose.
That noisy horse at once took fright
And galloped off into the night.
Lying frightened by his Bren
He pressed the trigger then when
He saw a jerry in the tree
Jumped down on to me