John McAleese

RIP John .

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again
They sit no more at familiar tables of home
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time
They sleep beyond Scotland's foam.
I took over John Mac's quarter, the doors had holes punched in them, I wondered what sort of bloke he was. Once I got to know him, I'd have followed him anywhere.

A good soldier and a good bloke.


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