The evocative poem below was written by Hill 112 Veteran Cyril Onions (right) and kindly sent in by his proud great granddaughter Charlotte.

Cyril was at Hill 112 with the Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry. Sadly Cyril passed away in 2006 and is deeply missed by his family.

Hill 112 had always been,a field of corn,
A place where young men, had fought and died;
Young men who had children,yet unborn,
Gallant men, who’s enemy, lay side by side.

Two ears of corn, I held so gently,
Thinking of those days, ravaged by war;
Seeing that corn, swaying in the wind so lightly,
Fed by the blood of men, --- no more.

Cornwall wood atop that hill,
Had been shattered, and stripped of green;
Men and tanks fought to a standstill,
Now just memories, as if it had never been:

I found myself talking, to those ears of corn,
And looking at the men, with eyes full of tears;
Those people around, were then children unborn,
Come to see were it was, after all these years:

I had seen these men, in booted feet,
Marching so proudly, in British lane;
Now they lay in graves so neat.
With loved ones standing, in silent pain