My grandfather, Major H.P. MacKeen of the Royal Artillery, shown on the left, wrote this poem in Ypres in September 1917, two months before the Battle of Passchendaele.

The White Cross

It isn’t a medal or order,
It carries no ribbon or braid
But a token still
As on Calvary Hill
Of the greater sacrifice made.

It stands as a lonely sentinel
O’er the place where the hero sleeps
‘Neath a lowly mound
In the shell-swept ground
Near the battered walls of Ypres.

It bears a simple legend,
Yet a tale of lasting glory:
“Here lies a British Soldier
Pro patria mori.”