Tell me good lady; where is James the Blacksmith,
For his Song is heard no more,
The Anvil Chimes by a different hand,
Behind the Workshop Door?
He’s gone to fight in the War lad.
And what of Poet Sam the ‘Ostler’,
Mother Natures faithful one,
Who writes of all her Children near,
In verse when work is done?
He’s gone to fight in the War lad.
And what of loyal Tom Edward Sullivan,
Who is Piety to the bells,
So to proclaim a blessed union,
Or a Loved Ones sad farewell?
He’s gone to fight in the War lad.
Have you seen Daniel or Jacob Hudson,
Those twins of sporting fame,
Who hit for Six and bowled clean-out,
For Village and won the game?
They’ve gone to fight in the War lad.
And where is young Robert Gibson,
Who Courts fair Alice Page,
He can’t have taken the ‘Shilling Prize’,
For he’s not of serving age?
He’s gone to fight in the War lad.
I’ve searched in vain for Charlotte,
That dear Milk-Maid at the farm,
She can’t have fooled the Recruiting Boys,
And taken-up with Arms?
She’s gone to fight in the War lad.
Oh! Will we ever get to see again,
Our Kin, Our brother Man,
Or will there be, fates sad decree,
In a dreadful Telegram?
Son, how can I read of Fortune’s script,
Those words are vailed and dark,
I only know of fear and pain, Within this Mother’s Heart.
For what tale of Death and Sorrow ,
Will future years recall,
When England’s bloom of Roses stood,
To Wilt and Bend In Flanders Mud,
Though with Valour and so to Fall.