Ode to the Fallen

The Troubles of Crossmaglen

Ode to the Fallen

Seventy’s summer cracked the dawn,
Crossmaglen woke to Troubles drawn.
August eleven—silence broke,
Two officers lost to a hidden stroke.

And from that spark, the shadows grew,
A darker sky the whole town knew.

Seventy-two, July burned through,
A land mine tore the stillness blue.
James and Terence, standing fast,
Names now etched in memory’s cast.

September laid its colder claim,
Edmund Woolsey—another name.

Seventy-three, the air stood still,
Three more lives on that same hill.
A booby trap, no warning cry,
Another mark where men would die.

Each loss rewrote the road they knew,
In greys of grief and broken blue.

March winds carried a sniper’s breath,
Bedford, James—drawn into death.
August heat on quiet ground,
Dennis, Michael—duty bound.

November pulled the daylight thin,
Windsor, Allen—lost within.

Seventy-five in winter’s grip,
An ambush sealed a fatal script.
Duncan, McDonald, Sampson fell,
Names that history won’t dispel.

December closed with sorrow’s bridge,
Civilians lost at Silverbridge.

Seventy-eight, the long road bends,
Turbitt, McConnell—final ends.
A priest entangled in the fray,
Where right and wrong had blurred to grey.

December winds returned once more,
Duggan, Johnson—gone to war.

Seventy-nine, the pattern stayed,
Hanna, Thompson—lives betrayed.
Cullaville watched, still and wide,
As sacrifice walked side by side.

July again, the silence broke,
Mackin, McMahon—smoke and smoke.
Glassdrumman held its breath that day,
As shadows passed but chose to stay.

Eighty-six brought grief anew,
French, McBride, Smyth—lost from view.
A hidden blast, no time to run,
Another tally, never done.

July returned with the same refrain,
Davies, Bertram—counted again.

The nineties came with a colder aim,
A sniper’s patience, a distant flame.
Reid, Pullin, Blinco fell,
Each name a story history tells.

Crossmaglen still bears the trace,
Of every loss, each haunted place.
Not just numbers, not just war—
But echoes that remain… and more.

By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

The Troubles of Crossmaglen — Ode to the Fallen

Between 1972 and 1985, I served several tours of Northern Ireland during the Troubles. Those years left memories that have never faded.

This poem is my tribute to the soldiers, police officers and civilians who lost their lives in Crossmaglen and the troubled borderlands of South Armagh.

Behind every name was a life, a family and a story. This is not about glorifying conflict, but remembering its human cost and honouring those who never came home.

“Not just numbers, not just war—
But echoes that remain… and more.”

By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

#TheTroubles, #Crossmaglen, #NorthernIreland, #BritishArmy, #WarPoetry, #VeteransVoice,