The First World War is understandably preoccupying the public this centenary year.

But here Brian Johnstone offers a poignant reflection on a more recent conflict. His poem comes from Songs of Other Places, New Writing Scotland 32, edited by Gerry Cambridge and Zoe Strachan (ASLS, £9.95).

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The Falklands Conflict, 1982

They called a spade, a spade; a grave

a grave, and duty unequivocal. His, to lead

the burial detail out to what the islanders

called camp. Body bags scarce, they laid then out

as if for night, each sleeping sack a winding sheet.

Too late, his flinch as the soil went in, the load

misaimed, the heft of his spade mistimed,

revealing the face of his mate below. Too late

to turn, too late to escape the stare that said,

I am not dead, even though he knew it was a lie.

They called a scare, a scare; a shock, a shock;

endurance indispensable. His, to yomp on

through the future, that face ever there: a friend

who never said to him, Don't bury me, but says it

every waking hour in all the trenches of his brain.