I have read with interest Ciron's posting about hidden poisons like phosgene in the General Discussion forum. Yesterday I was setting up a display in our museum about wartime gases, gas masks, mustard gas bombs etc. Pasted in the lid of an old army first aid kit was a tattered poem. I was saddened to read it. This is what it said:

ANTI-GAS CORPORAL’S LULLABY

 

If you get a choking feeling and the smell of musty hay,

You can bet your bottom dollar that there’s phosgene on the way.

But the smell of bleaching powder will inevitably mean

That the enemy we’re meeting is a gas we call chlorine.

 

When your eyes begin a twitchin’ and for tears you cannot see,

It’s not Mother peeling onions but a dose of C.A.P.

Should the smell resemble peardrops, you had better not delay,

It’s not Brother sucking toffee, it’s that awful K.S.K.

 

If you catch a pungent odour as you’re going home for tea,

You may safely take for granted that they’re using B.B.G.

If for garlic or for onions you’ve a cultivated taste,

When in war you meet these odours, leave that area in haste.

 

It’s mustard gas, the hellish stuff that leaves you one big blister,

And in hospital you’ll need the kind attention of the sister.

While geraniums look pleasant in a jar beside the bed,

You must shun their smell in wartime – if it’s Lewisite you’re dead.

Wow.

Gas attacks are about the nastiest way of making war.  My Grandfather had lung problems all his life from WW1 gas attacks.  He told a story (that I can't vouch for as truth) of his group sleeping in a barn one night.  Because he was only 16 and the "kid", they made him sleep in the loft while the "men" got to sleep ground level.  By morning, the rest were dead because gasses tended to be heavier than air so follow the ground.