by Steven J. Wamback

Created on: August 04, 2008

The Boy Who Died On Vimy Ridge

At the end of the Eighteen Hundreds in the year of Ninety-nine,
Thomas and Mary Ann Dickson bore a son handsome, brave and fine.
Descended from hardy Canadian stock, Loyalists, and pioneers,
They farmed Ontario's fertile soils and enjoyed peace for a hundred years.

Among the thousands of boys who die in wars, Russel was just one.
He might have been our uncle, friend, or brother... this Thomas' and Mary Ann's son.

From war to war, we measure our history. Sadly this no nation can abridge.
Just seventeen short years later, Russel James would fight and die on Vimy Ridge.

In France by Nineteen Fifteen, there was no stopping the Hun invasion.
Britain called upon her boys from every Commonwealth Nation.
Russel James heard this call from his Country and his King.
For honor, for glory, for manhood, for Canada, he would sacrifice every thing.

When they asked him for his date of birth, "Eighteen Ninety-seven" he attested.
The lie he told for honor that day would see his young life soon arrested.
Mustered in, lie not found out, and with shiny new uniform unfurled,
Home to Lanark County for goodbye hugs and photos; then off to see the World.

The One Thirtieth had collected boys from Smiths Falls, Perth, and Sharbot Lake.
They drilled them, marched them, trained them hard; and Men of them did make.
Late in Nineteen Sixteen, Russel was absorbed into the Third Infantry Battalion;
But proudly on his collar wore his One Thirtieth Lanark-Renfrew brass medallion.

Through mud and blood and body parts and craters, we can never know that stench,
These boys they fought and toiled and died to dig another stinking trench.
A mile of ground they gained that day, hauled back the dead, and cut and hung more wire.
All this they braved without complaint and under steady machine gun fire.

A year of plans made for this day; and each man prayed he would not die.
On Easter Monday April Ninth, young Russel took one in his thigh.
They did their best to save his life at the Twenty-Second Casualty Clearing Station;
But on Thursday April Twelfth, Russel gave the last he had for glory and for his Nation.

In this Great War to end all wars, the best allied efforts had generally been failing;
But on the day that Russel died, the Canadian allies found themselves prevailing.
Artillery fire, a creeping barrage, rationed ammo, wire cutters, and for each a dram o' rum,
Neigh thirty-five hundred Canadians died that day to get this victory won.

Today white crosses and poppies stand o'er remains in the cemetery at Bruay.
Let us not forget those lives lost now a hundred years away.
From war to war, we measure our history. Sadly this no nation can abridge.
Just seventeen years old was Russel the boy, but nay, The Man who died on Vimy Ridge.

REFERENCE:
The Boy Who Died On Vimy Ridge
By Steven James Bowyer-Dickson Wamback (2008)
In Memory of Russel James Dickson
(7 August 1899 12 April 1917)

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