General Chat

the best of songs and poems in memory of the fallen of all wars.

Tell my Father

"Tell my father that his son
Didn't run, or surrender
That I bore his name with pride
As I tried to remember
You are judged by what you do
While passing through
As I rest 'neath fields of green
Let him lean on your shoulder
Tell him how I spent my youth
So the truth could grow older
Tell my father when you can
I was a man
Tell him we will meet again
Where the angels learn to fly
Tell him we will meet as men
For with honor did I die
Tell him how I wore the Blue
Proud and true through the fire
Tell my father so he'll know
I love him so
Tell him how we wore the blue
Proud and true like he taught us
Tell my father not to cry
Then say goodbye"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?gl=US&feature=related&hl=uk&v=bl2izLPgwv0

Why are they selling Poppies Mummy?
Selling Poppies in town today.
The Poppies child are flowers of love
for the men who have gone away

Why have they chosen a Poppy Mummy?
why not a beautiful Rose?
Because my child, men fought and died
In the fields where Poppies grow

But why are the Poppies so red Mummy?
Why are the Poppies so red?
Red is the colour of blood my child
The blood that our Soldiers shed

The heart of the Poppy is black Mummy
Why does it have to be black?
Black my child is the colour of grief
For the men who never came back.

But Mummy, why are you crying so?
Your tears are giving you pain
My tears are my fears for you my child.
For the world is forgetting again.

What a moving poem RR, I lost a great uncle in WW1 and my late Dad fought in WW2.
My Husband, his brother and younger cousin, their Grandad and Dad were all in the services so we always have all the brave Men and Women in our thoughts.

Teresa

'Flowers in Winter'

"The photograph is so familiar
I know its details through and through
It’s just a piece of memorabilia
And yet I see it now as new
A handsome boy of barely twenty
So grown up and yet so raw
The face so bright with hope in plenty
a handsome boy who fought a war


But speak my heart I can’t begin to
For the words I can’t compose
An old man loved is flowers in winter
Daddy you're my Christmas rose

The photograph has scarcely faded
But the man is sorely changed
He finds it hard to walk unaided
For youth and he are long estranged
And yet these eyes that saw such sorrow
Never flinch and shine the same
Ah nature lends and we but borrow
For a while this mortal frame

But speak my heart I cant begin to
For the words I can’t compose
An old man loved is flowers in winter
Daddy you're my Christmas rose

The world he fought for
Is passing from us
And stronger values move off stage
I am but weak, a doubting Thomas
Just a product of my age
This life of ours is less distinguished
We stand in awe of such esprit
And when that courage is extinguished
Then we shall all the poorer be.

But speak my heart I can’t begin to
For the words I can’t compose
An old man loved is flowers in winter
Daddy you're my Christmas rose"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVfVMhbBq-g&feature=related

The Green Fields of France....Eric Bogle


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 forever 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?

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.

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.

And for those young men of WW1 especially, who didn't know what they were going to, and found it too hard to bear. They also deserve remembrance and respect.

"Suicide in the Trenches
(published in the Cambridge Magazine, 23 February 1918) Seigfried Sassonn

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.


In winter trenches, cowed and glum
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.


You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go."

So you were David's father,
And he was your only son,
And the new cut peats are rotting,
And the work is left undone,
Because of an old man weeping,
Just an old man in pain,
For David, his son David,
Will not be home again.

Oh the letters he wrote you,
And I can see them still,
Not a word of the fighting,
But just the sheep on the hill,
And how you should get the crops in,
Ere the year gets stormier,
And the Boches have got his body,
And I was his Officer.

You were only David's father,
But I had 50 sons,
When we went up in the evening
Under the arch of guns,
And we came back in the twilight,
Oh God , I heard them call
To me, for help and pity,
That could not help at all.

Oh never will I forget you,
My men who trusted me
more my sons than your father's,
For they could only see
The little helpless babies and the young men in their pride,
They could not see you dying, or hold you as you died.

Happy, young and gallant, they saw their first born's go,
But not the strong limbs broken, and the beautiful men brought low,
The piteous writhing bodies, They screamed 'Don't leave me Sir',
For they were only your father's, But I was your Officer.

www.greatwar.nl

You should all look at this site!

It has taken me till now to add to this beautiful
and humbling thread. Needed to get myself
together, anyone who isn't moved ......................

Emma

Why wear a Poppy?

"Please wear a poppy" the lady said,
And held one forth, but I shook my head,
Then I stopped to see how she would fare,
Her face was old and lined with care,
But beneath the scars the years had made,
There remained a smile that refused to fade.

A boy came whistling down the street,
Bouncing along on carefree feet,
His smile was full of joy and fun,
"Lady" he said, "may I have one?"
As she pinned it on, I heard him say,
"Why do we wear a poppy today?"

The lady smiled in her wistful way, and answered,
This is Remembrance Day,
The poppy there is a symbol for the gallant men who died in the war,
And because they died, you and I are free, that's why we wear a poppy you see

I had a boy about your size, with golden hair and big blue eyes,
He loved to play and jump about, free as a bird he would race about,
As years went on he learned and grew, and became a man as you will too.

He was fine and strong with a boyish smile,
But he seemed with us just a little while,
When war broke out he went away,
I still remember his face that day, when he smiled at me and said goodbye,
I'll be back soon so please don't cry.

But the war went on and he had to stay, All I could do was wait and pray,
His letters told of the awful fight, I can still see it in my dreams at night,
With tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire,and mines and bullets, the bombs and fire.

Until at last, the war was won, and that's why we wear a poppy son,
The small boy turned, as if to go, the said "Thanks Lady, I'm glad to know, that sure did sound like an awful fight, but your son, did he come home alright?
A tear rolled down each faded cheek, she shook her head but didn't speak,
I slunk away, head bowed in shame, and if you were with me you'd have done the same, for our thanks in giving is oft delayed,
For our freedom was bought and thousands paid.

And so you see when a poppy is worn,
Let us reflect on the burden born, by those who gave their very all, when asked to answer their country's call,
That we at home in peace may live,
Then wear a poppy and remember to give.

By an unknown Poet.
.

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.


Dr. John McCrae

The Master at Arms.

What are you guarding Master at Arms?
Why do you watch and wait?
I guard the graves, said The Master at Arms,
I guard the gates at the Flanders Farms,
Where the dead will rise at my call to arms,
And march to the Menin Gate.

When do they march then Master at Arms?,
Cold is the hour and late,
They march tonight said the Master at Arms,
With the moon on The Menin Gate,
They march when the midnight bids them go,
with their rifles slung and their pipes aglow,
Along the roads, the roads they know,The roads to The Menin Gate.

What are they singing Master at Arms?
As they march to The Menin Gate,
The marching songs, said the Master at Arms,
That let them laught at fate,
No more will tonight be cold for them,
For the last Tattoo has rolled for them,
And their souls will sing of old for them,
As they march to The Menin Gate

Anon

All wonderful poems. My gfather and his brother both lost in WW2 in Merchant Navy. Other members in WW1. We must never forget and those lost since and still unfortunately losing.

I totally agree Chris, I lost my father in the last war, he was killed before I was born, also a second cousin, who died of TB caused by wounds. My Grandfather was in the trenches in WW1 and amazingly survived, however, he was gassed, and suffered from shell shock for the rest of his life. We must NEVER forget these brave young men, then, and now who literally put their lives on the line to defend this country and its citizens.

"Where are you going young fellow me lad on this gittering morn of May,"
"'m going to join the colours Dad, they're looking for men they say,"
"But you are only a boy young fellow me lad, you aren't obliged to go,"
"I'm 17 1/4 Dad and I'm ever so strong you know."

"So you're off to France young fellow me lad,
You're looking so fit and bright,"
"I'm terribly sorry to leave you Dad, but I feel that I'm doing right."
"God bless you and keep you young fellow me lad,
You're all of my life you know,"
"Don't worry, I'll soon be back dear Dad,
And I'm awfully proud to go."

"Why don't you write young fellow me lad?
I watch for the post each day, and I miss you so and I'm awfully sad,
And it's months since you went away,
And I've had the fire in the Parlour lit, and I'm keeping it burning bright, till my boy comes home; and here I sit into the quiet night."

"What is the matter young fellow me lad, no letter again today,
Why did the postman look so sad and sigh as he turned away?
I hear them tell that we gained new ground, but a terrible price we've paid,
God grant my boy you're safe and sound,
But oh I'm afraid, afraid."

"They've told mde the truth young fellow me lad,
You'll never come back again,"
(Oh God, the dreams and the dreams I've had, and the hopes I've nursed in vain)
For you passed in the night young fellow me lad,
And you proved in the cruel test of the screaming shell and the battle hell,
That my boy was one of the best,
"So you'll live you'll live young fellow me lad in the gleam of the evening star,
In the woodnote wild and the laugh of a child,
In all things sweet that are,
And you'll never die my wonderful boy,
While life is noble and true,
For all our beauty and hope and joy,
We will owe to lads like you.

By Robert Service.

n

Nudged in rememberance of all our fallen heroes, male and female.

Just found the thread. How moving the words are. I will never FORGET.

They joined for many reasons, to march, to sail, to fly.
They went where they were posted but nobody joins to die.
Their leaders talk on TV saying "What else could we have done?
But those leaders lost no daughters and and none has lost a son.
So here to all our soldiers wherever they maybe.......and here to all their families, I raise a glass to thee

Wear your poppy with pride an support our troops!