By Christine Rayner

How to honour a VC hero was the question circulating Sittingbourne when the town learned of Lieut Donald Dean’s bravery at Christmas, 1918.

One of the answers was – a poem!

Official recognition of the award came at a meeting of Sittingbourne Urban Council, when chairman E F Handcock proposed “a hearty vote of congratulations to their young townsman”.

To cries of “hear, hear”, Cllr Filmer seconded the resolution, which was carried unanimously.

Councillors then agreed to hold a meeting to decide how to honour Lieut Dean.

Not wishing to be outdone, at a meeting of Milton Regis Urban District Council, the chairman, W R Elgar, praised the gallant young officer, for being awarded “the greatest and most coveted military honour it is possible for this country to bestow”.

The council agreed his proposal to send a letter of congratulation to Dean’s grandfather, Mr G H Dean, and his father, Mr John Dean.

He hoped the town would show its public appreciation for the hero at the earliest possible opportunity.

Finally in a week of excitement, the Gazette published a poem penned by someone with the initials “F I” to mark the occasion.

I am not a fan of doggerel verse, but thought you’d like to see it, because it gives a sense of the pride and honour the town felt in receiving a VC into its midst.

We must forgive the war-mongering fervour with which it is written, such was the passion of the era.

I like that it recognises the bravery of Dean’s men in holding on to the trench against the German onslaught – something the modest young hero was keen to mention in interviews.

Here it is:

It was the brave Horatius

First of the dauntless Three,

Who, we are told, in days of old,

Did fight so gloriously.

That self-same valour, clear and bright

In all our lads we see

The Nelson touch, ne’er saying much,

Like brave young Donald D.

For King and Country, forth they went,

Scorning the battle’s noise,

Clean-living ones, ’gainst filthy Huns,

Fine stalwart khaki boys.

Time after time, the Boches tried

To swarm that ruddy trench,

But dogged grit just made them quit –

The cost our heart-strings wrench.

Our dear ones who then sacrificed

Their lives so worthily

Are now at rest, among the blest,

For all eternity.

All hail to thee! Most gallant youth,

We’re proud as proud can be

Public acclaim shall seal thy fame,

Young Sittingbourne VC.