A poem from the grave
The Somme 13th November 1916"
"Storming of Beaumont Hamel"
The 51st Highland Divisions Finest Hour
I heard a war was looming,
so I've answered to the call.
My pals they are all coming,
Bill, Dave, Jim, and all.
Now months have passed, and we look grand,
parading on the square.
With bayonets fixed, march to the band,
we just don't have a care.
But now the time has come my friend,
and we are off to France.
They say the war it will soon end,
the Germans have no chance.
Two years have gone, still marching,
miles and miles from home.
To a battlefield up yonder.
I've heard it's called the Somme.
We whistle and we sing, as marching on we go,
with all my pals beside me.
We're off to fight the foe.
But now the singing is no more,
as stranger sounds we hear.
The sounds we've never heard before,
"Och", they bring a little fear.
And as the days were passing strange sights were all around,
dead horses, and dead bodies lay scattered o'er the ground.
And now the hour has come my friend,
the day of reckonings here!
"Oh God", please let that shelling end,
protect us "Lord", from "Fear"!
The whistle blows and off we go,
as off we go we must!
And face to face we fight the foe,
the bayonets parry thrust.
And now my war is over,
but I'm not coming home.
My body's still lying yonder,
with my pals back on the Somme!
The Germans who survived that day,
a story they can tell.
The day they met the 51st
the ladies straight from Hell.