By T.Clayton

"What was the battle like governor?"
Well it's a jolly long yarn to tell.
But briefly put, what you see and hear
Make a scene that would out do hell.
For the thundering guns make you jumpy like,
And your nerves dwindle down to a shred,
And it makes you think of your former life,
As the shells scream over your head.

But you ain't got time to funk out there,
Nor trouble about your skin,
Though a chap's no worse for a little prayer,
When he thinks of the game he is in:
When he thinks of the mother he has left behind,
Or the wife with the tear-dimmed lids:
He's to do or dare, come ill or well,
For the war's not a game for kids.

No doubt you thought us a pale- faced lot,
When you saw us forming fours:
And perhaps you sneered when you saw us pass
From the Tenement grounds to the moors.
Well we might seem to you but an awkward squad,
Who scarce knew the left from the right,
But I think we proved in the recent "push"
That the "Pals" have the pluck to fight.

I don't want to brag of what we did,
For fighting's a soldiers game,
But 'twas "up to us" as the Yankees say,
To earn for the "Pals" a name:
And I think you'll admit when you read the press,
That the boys who fought and fell,
All gained a niche on the scroll of fame,
When they charged through the fields of hell.

P'rhaps you thought like me, ere the war began,
That a soldier's life was grand -
Just a "swank" with a cane and a cigarette,
And a march or two with a band.
But it isn't like that in France today,
Nor it wasn't at the Dardanelles;
You've to shoulder a kit, you've to prove your grit,
To the tune of the bursting shells.

You ain't got time to mash with a girl,
Nor sigh for the picturedrome;
You've to crowd in a day more bustle and strife
Then you saw in a year at home:
You've to steel your heart to meet grim death,
Be it yours or that of a foe.
You've to win your way through a hail of lead,
When you hear the command to "go".

You've to kill or be killed, maim or be maimed,
And it may be the foe or you.
But you take your chance as a Britisher should,
With the hope of muddling through.
Yes, it's hard on the lads in a wild, mad charge,
When a life-long pal cries "Done"
But you set your teeth and you rush pell mell
Till the trenches in front are won.

There are tear-dimmed eyes in the town today,
There are lips to be no more kissed.
There are bosoms that swell with an aching heart,
When they think of a dear one missed.
But time will assuage their heartfelt grief,
Of their sons they will proudly tell,
How in gallant charge in the world-wide war
As "Pals" they fought and fell.