From Field and Forge and Ivory Halls

Across the channel came that murderous song,

Chants of all we want is our place in the sun.

And all of a sudden the world’s askew,

Laughter to tears and right to wrong,

Turning lives sour with bullet and gun.

Those lyrics so loud, and ever so clear;

Junkers don’t march in search of a friend,

And tiny Belgium just lay in their way.

With Ghent and Bruges subdued by fear,

Who’ll rally to our cause, our ways to defend?

We will! They cried, roused from innocent sleep,

And from field and forge and ivory halls,

To colours they flocked, amateurs all.

Britons and cousins, their word they did keep,

To spite old Hun smirking at KK’s calls.

Through death, disease; four crippling years,

On and on they pressed, skills driven to hone.

And, learning their trade from a fearsome foe,

Turned his arrogant smirks into tears

When they marched through Cologne.

© John Sales 2009