Soapbox

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Well, how do you do, Private William McBride,

Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside?

And rest for awhile in the warm summer sun,

I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done.

And I see by your gravestone you were only 19

When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916,

Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean

Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly?

Did the rifles fir o'er you as they lowered you down?

Did the bugles sound The Last Post in chorus?

Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind

In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined?

And, though you died back in 1916,

To that loyal heart are you always 19?

Or are you a stranger without even a name,

Forever enshrined behind some glass pane,

In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,

And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?

Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly?

Did the rifles fir o'er you as they lowered you down?

Did the bugles sound The Last Post in chorus?

Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

The sun's shining down on these green fields of France;

The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.

The trenches have vanished long under the plow;

No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.

But here in this graveyard that's still No Man's Land

The countless white crosses in mute witness stand

To man's blind indifference to his fellow man.

And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.

Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly?

Did the rifles fir o'er you as they lowered you down?

Did the bugles sound The Last Post in chorus?

Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

And I can't help but wonder, no Willie McBride,

Do all those who lie here know why they died?

Did you really believe them when they told you 'The Cause?'

Did you really believe that this war would end wars?

Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame

The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,

For Willie McBride, it all happened again,

And again, and again, and again, and again.

Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly?

Did the rifles fir o'er you as they lowered you down?

Did the bugles sound The Last Post in chorus?

Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

@

When you awaken

In the morning’s hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there, I did not die.

I do not know your name, but I know you died

I do not know from where you came, but I know you died

Your uniform, branch of service, it matters not to me

Whether Volunteer or Conscript, or how it came to be

That politicians failures, or some power-mad ambition

Brought you too soon to your death, in the name of any nation

You saw, you felt, you knew full well, as friend and foe were taken

By bloody death, that your life too, was forfeit and forsaken

Yet on you went and fought and died, in your close and private hell

For Mate or Pal or Regiment and memories never to tell

It was for each other, through shot and shell, the madness you endured

Side by side, through wound and pain, and comradeship assured

No family ties, or bloodline link, could match that bond of friend

Who shared the horror and kept on going, at last until the end

We cannot know, we were not there, it's beyond our comprehension

To know the toll that battle brings, of resolute intention

To carry on, day by day, for all you loved and hoped for

To live in peace a happy life, away from bloody war

For far too many, no long life ahead, free of struggle and pain and the gun

And we must remember the price that was paid, by each and every one

Regardless of views, opinions aside, no matter how each of us sees it

They were there and I cannot forget, even though I did not live it

I do not know your name, but I know you died

I do not know from where you came, but I know you died.

I come and stand at every door

But no one hears my silent tread

I knock and yet remain unseen

For I am dead, for I am dead.

I'm only seven although I died

In Hiroshima long ago

I'm seven now as I was then

When children die they do not grow.

My hair was scorched by swirling flame

My eyes grew dim, my eyes grew blind

Death came and turned my bones to dust

And that was scattered by the wind.

I need no fruit, I need no rice

I need no sweet, nor even bread

I ask for nothing for myself

For I am dead, for I am dead.

All that I ask is that for peace

You fight today, you fight today

So that the children of this world

May live and grow and laugh and play.

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

--------------------

Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,

Sleep sweet - to rise anew!

We caught the torch you threw

And holding high, we keep the Faith

With All who died.

We cherish, too, the poppy red

That grows on fields where valor led;

It seems to signal to the skies

That blood of heroes never dies,

But lends a lustre to the red

Of the flower that blooms above the dead

In Flanders Fields.

And now the Torch and Poppy Red

We wear in honour of our dead.

Fear not that ye have died for naught;

We'll teach the lesson that ye wrought

In Flanders Fields.

------------------

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,

And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .

Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est

Pro patria mori.

No doubt they'll soon get well; the shock and strain

Have caused their stammering, disconnected talk.

Of course they're 'longing to go out again,' —

These boys with old, scared faces, learning to walk.

They'll soon forget their haunted nights; their cowed

Subjection to the ghosts of friends who died, —

Their dreams that drip with murder; and they'll be proud

Of glorious war that shatter'd all their pride ...

Men who went out to battle, grim and glad;

Children, with eyes that hate you, broken and mad.

-------------------------------------

When I was a young man I carried my pack

And I lived the free life of a rover

From the murrays green basin to the dusty outback

I waltzed my matilda all over

Then in nineteen fifteen my country said son

Its time to stop rambling cause theres work to be done

So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun

And they sent me away to the war

And the band played waltzing matilda

As we sailed away from the quay

And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers

We sailed off to gallipoli

How well I remember that terrible day

When the blood stained the sand and the water

And how in that hell that they called suvla bay

We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter

Johnny turk he was ready, he primed himself well

He showered us with bullets, he rained us with shells

And in five minutes flat hed blown us all to hell

Nearly blew us right back to australia

But the band played waltzing matilda

As we stopped to bury our slain

And we buried ours and the turks buried theirs

Then it started all over again

Now those who were living did their best to survive

In that mad world of blood, death and fire

And for seven long weeks I kept myself alive

while the corpses around me piled higher

Then a big turkish shell knocked me arse over tit

And when I woke up in my hospital bed

And saw what it had done, christ I wished I was dead

Never knew there were worse things than dying

and no more Ill go waltzing matilda

to the green bushes so far and near

For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs

No more waltzing matilda for me

So they collected the cripples, the wounded and maimed

And they shipped us back home to australia

The legless, the armless, the blind and insane

Those proud wounded heroes of suvla

And as our ship pulled into circular quay

I looked at the place where me legs used to be

And thank christ there was nobody waiting for me

To grieve and to mourn and to pity

And the band played waltzing matilda

As they carried us down the gangway

But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared

and they turned all their faces away

And now every april I sit on my porch

And I watch the parade pass before me

I see my old comrades, how proudly they march

Reliving the dreams of past glory

I see the old men, all twisted and torn

The forgotten heroes of a forgotten war

And the young people ask me, what are they marching for?

And I ask myself the same question

And the band plays waltzing matilda

And the old men still answer to the call

But year after year their numbers get fewer

Some day no one will march there at all

Waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda

Who'll go a-waltzing matilda with me?

---------------------------------

He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,

And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,

Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park

Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,

Voices of play and pleasure after day,

Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.

About this time Town used to swing so gay

When glow-lamps budded in the light-blue trees

And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,

— In the old times, before he threw away his knees.

Now he will never feel again how slim

Girls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,

All of them touch him like some queer disease.

There was an artist silly for his face,

For it was younger than his youth, last year.

Now he is old; his back will never brace;

He's lost his colour very far from here,

Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,

And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,

And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.

One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg,

After the matches carried shoulder-high.

It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,

He thought he'd better join. He wonders why . . .

Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts.

That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,

Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,

He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;

Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.

Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fears

Of Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hilts

For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;

And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;

Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.

And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.

Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.

Only a solemn man who brought him fruits

Thanked him; and then inquired about his soul.

Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes,

And do what things the rules consider wise,

And take whatever pity they may dole.

To-night he noticed how the women's eyes

Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.

How cold and late it is! Why don't they come

And put him into bed? Why don't they come?

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Lay me doon in the caul caul groon
Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun
Lay me doon in the caul caul groon
Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun

When they come a wull staun ma groon
Staun ma groon al nae be afraid

Thoughts awe hame tak awa ma fear
Sweat an bluid hide ma veil awe tears

Ains a year say a prayer faur me
Close yir een an remember me

Nair mair shall a see the sun
For a fell tae a Germans gun

Lay me doon in the caul caul groon
Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun

Lay me doon in the caul caul groon
Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun

Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun


English Translation
Lay me down in the cold cold ground
Where before many more have gone
Lay me down in the cold cold ground
Where before many more have gone

When they come I will stand my ground
Stand my ground I’ll not be afraid

Thoughts of home take away my fear
Sweat and blood hide my veil of tears

Once a year say a prayer for me
Close your eyes and remember me

Never more shall I see the sun
For I fell to a Germans gun

Lay me down in the cold cold ground
Where before many more have gone
Lay me down in the cold cold ground
Where before many more have gone

Where before many more have gone

In memory of Sgt. Charles Stuart MacKenzie
Seaforth Highlanders
Who along with many others gave up his life
So that we can live free

If I should die, think only this of me:

That there's some corner of a foreign field

That is for ever England. There shall be

In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,

A body of England's, breathing English air,

Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;

And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Parky Again wrote (see)

argh! had terrible formatting problems with this so apologies if things are quite as i really wanted them to be.

The older i get, the more i feel for all the young kids who died before their time. How many of those wasted lives could have contributed to mankind?

Anyway, some folk make a lot of dosh through war, so it can't be all bad.