War Poems and Songs.

 

Raymond, Malaya

From Southampton to Singapore,4 weeks on the troopship Dunera,  A link to a description of the voyage by another National service man is on this website.  http://www.geocities.com/rfcwgc/troopships     and for music they must have had only a couple of records, one which was blasted throughout the ship each day was called Jambalaya, its still fresh in my mind.

British Soldier's Discharge Song (WW I)

When the fighting was at its fiercest
And everything looked black
This was the promise that cheered us on
'You'll get your old job back!'

We were not professional soldiers
Fighting was not our game
We were only peaceful citizens
Who fought hard just the same

We sacrificed our wives and kids
And homes to do our bit
But now the door is closed to us
It seems hard, we admit

For I can't get the old job
And can't get a new
Can't carry on as I used to do
I look around me, and what do I see?

Thousands and thousands of fellows
A lot worse off than me
In Piccadilly, friends pass me by
I'm absolutely stranded in the Strand
And I confess I was contented, more or less
When I was stony broke in No Man's Land
 


Just a Common Soldier

He was getting old and paunchy, and his hair was falling fast,
As he sat in the Legion hall telling stories of the past,
 Of a war that he had fought in, and the deeds that he had done.
 In his exploits with his buddies, they were heroes, every one.

Tho' sometimes to his neighbours his tales became a joke,
All his soldier mates they listened, for they knew where of he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer for old Bill has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer - for a soldier died today.

He'll not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,
For he lived a very ordinary, quite uneventful life.
Held a job and raised a family, quietly going his own way,
And the world won't note his passing, though a soldier died today.

When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in State
While thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life story from the time that they were young,
But the passing of the soldier goes unnoticed and unsung.

Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land
A man who  breaks his promises and cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary  fellow who, in times of war and strife
Goes off to serve his country  and offers up his life?

A politician's stipend and the style in which he lives
Are sometimes  disproportionate to the service that he gives;
while the ordinary  soldier who offers up his all,
Is paid off with a medal, and perhaps  a pension, small.

It's so easy to forget them for it was long ago
that the "Old Bills" of our country went to battle, but we know
It was not the politicians,  with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom that our country now enjoys.

Should you find yourself in danger with your enemies at hand,
Would you want a politician, with his ever-shifting stand?
Or would you prefer a soldier, who has sworn to defend
His home his kin and country, and would fight until the end?

He was just a common soldier and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us, we may need his like again,
For when countries are in conflict, then we find the soldiers' part
Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.

If we cannot do him honour while he's here to hear the praise
Then at least let's give him homage at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline in a paper that would say:
"Our country is in mourning - for a soldier died today".

A. Lawrence Vaincourt
WW II Air Force veteran wrote this poem in 1985.

 


Private William McBride

Eric Bogle's song, variously called William McBride, No Man's Land and the Green Fields of France is being developed as a feature film called The Last Parade by New York film producer Ned Stuart. In the song Bogle visits a Western Front Cemetery, and sits by the graveside of an Irish soldier called William McBride. The song is essentially a series of questions to the soldier, who was apparently 19 when he died in 1916.

It is not entirely clear whether Bogle actually saw the name McBride on a headstone, although there are two soldiers of that name buried at the Authuile Military Cemetery on the Somme. The most likely is Private William McBride of the 9th Battallion Royal Enniskillen Fusiliers who died on 22 April 1916. His parents were from Lislea in County Armagh. But he was twenty-one when he died.

The second McBride in the Authuile Cemetery was a private in the 2nd Battalion of the same regiment, and is identified only by the initial W, with his age not given. He died on 10th February 1916. The third man, Rifleman William John McBride of the Royal Irish Rifles is recorded as having died on 2 July 1916 (just one day after the carnage over the first day of the Battle of the Somme) but has no known grave and is commemorated on the Thiepval Memorial'
 

The Green Fields Of France

Eric Bogle

Well how do you do young Willie McBride
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside
And rest for a while 'neath the warm summer's sun
I've been walking all day and I'm nearly done.
I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
when you joined the great fall-in in nineteen sixteen.
I hope you died well and I hope you died clean
Young Willie McBride was it slow and obscene?

Chorus

Did they beat the drums slowly, did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
And did the band play the "Last Post" and chorus?
Did the pipes play "The Flowers of the Forest"?

Did you leave ere a wife or a sweetheart behind,
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined.
Although you died back in nineteen sixteen
In that faithful heart are you forever nineteen.
Or are you a stranger without even a name
Enclosed in forever behind a glass frame.
In an old photograph, torn, battered, and stained,
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame.

Chorus

The sun now it shines on the green fields of France,
there is a warm summer breeze, where the red poppies dance.
And look how the sun shines from under the clouds,
There's no, gas, no barbed wire, there's no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard, its still no mans land,
The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand,
To mans blind indifference to his fellow man,
To a whole generation that were butchered and damned.

Chorus

Ah, young Willie McBride, I can't help wondering why,
Do those that lie here do they know why they died.
And did they believe when they answered the call,
Did they really believe that this war would end wars.
Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain,
The killing and dying were all done in vain,
For young Willie McBride its all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.

Chorus (twice)

 To play this tune click here No Man's Land

Thanks to Mike Roden for permission to use this material. www.aftermathww1.com
 

In Flanders Fields
 

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

 

The Old Barbed Wire

If you want to find the sergeant,
I know where he is, I know where he is.
If you want to find the sergeant,
I know where he is,
He's lying on the canteen floor,
I've seen him, I've seen him,
Lying on the canteen floor,
I've seen him,
Lying on the canteen floor.
If you want to find the quarter-bloke,
I know where he is, I know where he is.
If you want to find the quarter-bloke,
I know where he is,
He's miles and miles behind the line,
I've seen him, I've seen him,
Miles and miles behind the line,
I've seen him,
Miles and miles and miles behind the line.
If you want to find the sergeant-major
I know where he is, I know where he is.
If you want to find the sergeant-major
I know where he is,
He's boozing up the private's rum.
I've seen him, I've seen him,
Boozing up the private's rum.
I've seen him,
Boozing up the private's rum.
If you want to find the CO,
I know where he is, I know where he is.
If you want to find the CO,
I know where he is,
He's down in the deep dug-outs.
I've seen him, I've seen him,
Down in the deep dug-outs
I've seen him,
Down in the deep dug-outs.
If you want to find the old battalion,
I know where they are, I know where they are.
If you want to find the old battalion,
I know where they are,
They're hanging on the old barbed wire.
I've seen 'em, I've seen 'em,
Hanging on the old barbed wire,
I've seen 'em, I've seen 'em,
Hanging on the old barbed wire.
 

Any Soldier To His Son

I was a young teenager in the Royal Navy when I first came across the poem and I can't remember who, but one of my shipmates showed it to me and I laboriously copied it out by hand and learned it by heart.  I eventually typed it out on an old typewriter  and I carried it around in my belongings for fifty years and kept looking at it over the years.  I can't remember it all any more, only bits of it, but I have always wondered who was the

Author - Alick Lavers

What did I do, sonny, in the Great World War?
Well, I learned to peel potatoes and to scrub the barrack floor.
I learned to push a barrow and I learned to swing a pick,
I learned to turn my toes out, and to make my eyeballs click.
I learned the road to Folkestone, and I watched the English shore,
Go down behind the skyline, as I thought, for evermore.
And the Blighty boats went went by us and the harbour hove in sight,
And they landed us and sorted us and marched us "by the right".
"Quick march!" across the cobbles, by the kids who rang along
Singing "Appoo?" "Spearmant" "Shokolah?" throught dingy old Boulogne;
By the widows and the nurses and the niggers and Chinese,
And the gangs of smiling Fritzes, as saucy as you please.

I learned to ride as soldiers ride from Etaps to the Line,
For days and nights in cattle trucks, packed in like droves of swine.
I learned to curl and kip it on a foot of muddy floor,
And to envy cows and horses that have beds of beaucoup straw.
I learned to wash in shell holes and to shave myself in tea,
While the fragments of a mirror did a balance on my knee.
I learned to dodge the whizz-bangs and the flying lumps of lead,
And to keep a foot of earth between the sniper and my head.
I learned to keep my haversack well filled with buckshee food,
To take the Army issue and to pinch what else I could.
I learned to cook Maconochie with candle-ends and string,
With "four-by-two" and sardine-oil and any God-dam thing.
I learned to use my bayonet according as you please
For a breadknife or a chopper or a prong for toasting cheese.
I learned "a first field dressing" to serve my mate and me
As a dish-rag and a face-rag and a strainer for our tea.
I learned to gather souvenirs that home I hoped to send,
And hump them round for months and months and dump them in the end.
I learned to hunt for vermin in the lining of my shirt,
To crack them with my finger-nail and feel the beggars spirt;
I learned to catch and crack them by the dozen and the score
And to hunt my shirt tomorrow and to find as many more.

I learned to sleep by snatches on the firestep of a trench,
And to eat my breakfast mixed with mud and Fritz's heavy stench.
I learned to pray for Blighty ones and lie and squirm with fear,
When Jerry started strafing and the Blighty ones were near.
I learned to write home cheerful with my heart a lump of lead
With the thought of you and mother, when she heard that I was dead.
And the only thing like pleasure over there I ever knew,
Was to hear my pal come shouting, "There's a parcel, mate, for you."

So much for what I did do - now for what I have not done:
Well, I never kissed a French girl and I never killed a Hun,
I never missed an issue of tobacco, pay, or rum,
I never made a friend and yet I never lacked a chum.
I never borrowed money, and I never lent - but once
(I can learn some sorts of lessons though I may be borne a dunce).
I never used to grumble after breakfast in the Line
That the eggs were cooked too lightly or the bacon cut too fine.
I never told a sergeant just exactly what I thought,
I never did a pack-drill, for I never quite got caught.
I never punched a Red-Cap's nose (be prudent like your Dad),
But I'd like as many sovereigns as the times I've wished I had.
I never stopped a whizz-bang, though I've stopped a lot of mud,
But the one that Fritz sent over with my name on was a dud.
I never played the hero or walked about on top,
I kept inside my funk hole when the shells began to drop.
Well, Tommy Jones's father must be made of different stuff:
I never asked for trouble - the issue was enough.

So I learned to live and lump it in the lovely land of war,
Where the face of nature seems a monstrous septic sore,
Where the bowels of earth of earth hang open, like the guts of something slain,
And the rot and wreck of everything are churned and churned again;
Where all is done in darkness and where all is still in day,
Where living men are buried and the dead unburied lay;
Where men inhabit holes like rats, and only rats live there;
Where cottage stood and castle once in days before La Guerre;
Where endless files of soldiers thread the everlasting way,
By endless miles of duckboards, through endless walls of clay;
Where life is one hard labour, and a soldiers gets his rest
When they leave him in the daisies with a puncture in his chest;
Where still the lark in summer pours her warble from the skies,
And underneath, unheeding, lie the blank upstaring eyes.

And I read the Blighty papers, where the warriors of the pen
Tell of "Christmas in the trenches" and "The Spirit of our men";
And I saved the choicest morsels and I read them to my chum,
And he muttered, as he cracked a louse and wiped it off his thumb:
"May a thousand chats from Belgium crawl under their fingers as they write;
May they dream they're not exempted till they faint with mortal fright;
May the fattest rats in Dickebusch race over them in bed;
May the lies they've written choke them like a gas cloud till they're dead;
May the horror and the torture and the things they never tell
(For they only write to order) be reserved for them in Hell!"

You'd like to be a soldier and go to France some day?
By all the dead in Delville Wood, by all the nights I lay
Between our lines and Fritz's before they brought me in;
By this old wood-and-leather stump, that once was flesh and skin;
By all the lads who crossed with me but never crossed again,
By all the prayers their mothers and their sweethearts prayed in vain,
Before the things that were that day should ever more befall
May God in common pity destroy us one and all!


Author - Alick Lavers
 


 

Songs of the Forces

Remember those route marches, Having a sing song in the billets or in the pub, or on the way back to camp, I hope these tunes brings back memories of days gone by.

Kiss me goodnight, Sergeant Major.
Tuck me in my little wooden bed.
We all love you, Sergeant Major,
When we hear you calling - 'Show a leg!'
Don't forget to wake me in the morning
And bring me a nice hot cup of tea.
Kiss me goodnight Sergeant Major.
Sergeant Major, be a mother to me.

To play this tune, click here



Bless em all

There's a troop ship just leaving Bombay
Bound for old blighty's shore
Heavily laden with time expired men
Bound for the land they adore

Theres  many a man just finishing his time
Theres many a man signing on
You'll get no promotion this side of the ocean
So cheer up my lads bless em all

Bless em all, bless em all
The long and the short and the tall
Bless all the sergeants and W.O.1's
Bless all the corporals and their blinkin sons

For were saying goodbye to them all
As back to the billets we crawl
You'll get no promotion this side of the ocean
So cheer up my lads bless them all

To play this tune, Click here


 

Its a long way to Tipperary

Up to mighty London came an Irishman one day
As the streets are paved with gold, sure every one was gay
Singing songs of Piccadilly, Strand and Leicester Square
Till Paddy got excited and shouted to them there

It's a long way to Tipperary
It's a long way to go
It's a long way to Tipperary
To the sweetest girl I know
 goodbye Piccadilly
Farewell Leicester Square
It's a long long way to Tipperary
But my heart's right there

Paddy wrote a letter to his Irish Molly O'
Stating "Should you not receive it, write and let me know!"
If I make a mistake in spelling, Molly dear, said he
Remember it's the pen that's bad, don't lay the blame on me

Molly wrote a neat reply to Irish Pappy O'
Saying "Mike Maloney wants to marry me, and so
Leave the Strand and Piccadilly, or you'll be to blame
For love has fairly drove me silly--hoping you're the same"

To play this tune click here
 


Lilli Marlene

Underneath the lantern by the barrack gate
Darling I remember the way you used to wait
Twas there that you whispered tenderly
That you loved me, you'd always be
My Lilli of the lamplight
My own Lilli Marlene

Time would come for roll call, time for us to part
Darling I'd caress you and press you to my heart
And there 'neath that far off lantern light
I'd hold you tight, we'd kiss "Good-night"
My Lilli of the lamplight
My own Lilli Marlene

Orders came for sailing somewhere over there
All confined to barracks was more than I could bear
I knew you were waiting in the street
I heard your feet, but could not meet
My Lilli of the lamplight
My own Lilli Marlene

Resting in a billet just behind the line
Even tho' we're parted your lips are close to mine
You wait where that lantern softly gleems
Your sweet face seems to haunt my dreams
My Lilli of the lamplight
My own Lilli Marlene

To play  this tune click here
 

Mademoiselle from Armentiéres

Mademoiselle from Armentiéres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentiéres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentiéres
She hasn't been kissed in forty years
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo

Mademoiselle from Armentiéres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentiéres, Parley-voo?
She had the form like the back of a hack
When she cried the tears ran down her back
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo

Mademoiselle from Armentiéres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentiéres, Parley-voo?
She never could hold the love of a man
'Cause she took her baths in a talcum can
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo

Mademoiselle from Armentiéres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentiéres, Parley-voo?
She had four chins, her knees would knock
And her face would stop a cuckoo clock
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo

Mademoiselle from Armentiéres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentiéres, Parley-voo?
She could beg a Franc, a drink, a meal
But it wasn't because of sex appeal
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo

Mademoiselle from Armentiéres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentiéres, Parley-voo?
She could guzzle a barrel of sour wine
And eat a hog without peeling the rind
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo

The MP's think they won the war, Parley-voo
The MP's think they won the war, Parley-voo
The MP's think they won the war
Standing guard at the café door
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo

The officers get the pie and cake, Parley-voo
The officers get the pie and cake, Parley-voo
The officers get the pie and cake
And all we get is the bellyache
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo

The sergeant ought to take a bath, Parley-voo
The sergeant ought to take a bath, Parley-voo
If he changes his underware
The frogs will give him the Croix-de-Guerre
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo

You might forget the gas and shells, Parley-voo
You might forget the gas and shells, Parley-voo
You might forget the groans and yells
But you'll never forget the mademmoiselles
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo

Mademoiselle from Armentiéres, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentiéres, Parley-voo?
Just blow your nose, and dry your tears
We'll all be back in a few short years
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.

Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag.

Private Perks is a funny little codger
With a smile, a funny smile
Five feet none, he's an artful little dodger
With a smile, a funny smile
Flush or broke, he'll have his little joke
He can't be suppressed
All the other fellows have to grin
When he gets this off his chest

Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And Smile, Smile, Smile!
While you've a lucifer to light your fag
Smile, boys, that's the style!
What's the use of worrying?
It never was worth while
So, pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And Smile, Smile, Smile!

Private Perks went a-marching into Flanders
With a smile, his funny smile
He was lov'd by the privates and commanders
For his smile, his funny smile
When a throng of Bosches came along
With a mighty swing
Perks yell'd out, "This little bunch is mine!
Keep your heads down, boys and sing"

Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And Smile, Smile, Smile!
While you've a lucifer to light your fag
Smile, boys, that's the style!
What's the use of worrying?
It never was worth while
So, pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And Smile, Smile, Smile!

Private Perks he came back from Bosche shooting
With his smile, his funny smile
Round his home he then set about recruiting
With his smile, his funny smile
He told all his pals, the short, the tall
What a time he'd had
And as each enlisted like a man
Private Perks said "Now my lad,"

Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And Smile, Smile, Smile!
While you've a lucifer to light your fag
Smile, boys, that's the style!
What's the use of worrying?
It never was worth while
So, pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And Smile, Smile, Smile!

To play this tune click here
 


 

Down by St. Valery

The Highland Division, they fought and they fell
Although they were battered by shot and by shell
Yet they were determined to fight and go free
Down by St. Valery

That night on the cliff tops, I'll never forget
As we lay on the ground and it was soaking wet
These memories will ever last for aye
Down by St. Valery

The planes high above us kept dropping their bombs
When we on the ground kept on singing our songs
They thought they had got us, but they were wrong
Down by St. Valery

Then far out to sea, we spied the Boys in Blue
Came for to carry us home
There's a debt that we owe them we can never repay
There's a debt we will owe them for many a day
And each night in our prayers we will always say
God Bless the Boys in Blue

 
The Quarter Masters Stores

There were rats, rats, big as bloody cats
In the store, in the store
There were rats, rats, big as bloody cats
In the Quartermaster's stores

My eyes are dim, I cannot see
I have not brought my specs with me
I have not brought my specs with me

There was beer, beer, to bring us all good cheer
In the store, in the store
There was beer, beer, to bring us all good cheer
In the Quartermaster's store

There was cheese, cheese, rotting, stinking cheese
In the store, in the store
There was cheese, cheese, rotting, stinking cheese
In the Quartermaster's store

There was bread, bread, heavy as lumps of lead
There was whisky, whisky, the stuff that makes you frisky
There were socks, socks, filthy, smelly socks
There were tents, tents, full of holes and rents
There was rice, rice, full of bugs and lice
There were flies,flies, eating all the pies
In the Quartermaster's store
 


 

The Halls of Montezuma

From the Halls of Montezuma
To the Shores of Tripoli;
We will fight our country's battles
In the air, on land and sea;
First to fight for right and freedom
And to keep our honor clean;
We are proud to claim the title
of United States Marine.

Our flag's unfurled to every breeze
From dawn to setting sun;
We have fought in ev'ry clime and place
Where we could take a gun;
In the snow of far-off Northern lands
And in sunny tropic scenes;
You will find us always on the job--
The United States Marines.

Here's health to you and to our Corps
Which we are proud to serve
In many a strife we've fought for life
And never lost our nerve;
If the Army and the Navy
Ever look on Heaven's scenes;
They will find the streets are guarded
By United States Marines.

To play this tune click here
 


 

Waltzing Matilda
 

Once a jolly swagman sat beside the billabong,
Under the shade of a coulibah tree,
And he sang as he sat and waited by the billabong
You'll come a waltzing matilda with me

Waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda
You'll come a waltzing matilda with me
And he sang as he sat and waited by the billabong
You'll come a waltzing matilda with me.

Down came a jumbuck to drink beside the billabong
Up jumped the swagman and seized him with glee
And he sang as he tucked jumbuck in his tuckerbag
You'll come a waltzing matilda with me

Waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda
You'll come a waltzing matilda with me
And he sang as he sat and waited by the billabong
You'll come a waltzing matilda with me.

Down came the stockman, riding on his thoroughbred,
Down came the troopers, one, two, three.
"where's the jolly jumbuck you've got in your tuckerbag?
You'll come a waltzing matilda with me

Waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda
You'll come a waltzing matilda with me
And he sang as he sat and waited by the billabong
You'll come a waltzing matilda with me.

Up jumped the swagman and plunged into the billabong,
"You'll never catch me alive," cried he
And his ghost may be heard as you ride beside the billabong,
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

To play this tune click here

 

Home --- Next