Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this island or lose the war. 

If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be free and life of the world may move forward into broad, sunlit uplands. 

But if we fall, then the whole world, including the United States, including all that we have known and cared for, will sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age made more sinister, and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science.
 
Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth lasts for a thousand years, men will still say, 

“This was their finest hour!”


Winston Churchill

Kemal Atatürk's tribute to the ANZACs killed at Gallipoli

“Heroes who shed their blood and lost their lives!

You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country.
Therefore rest in peace.

There is no difference between the Johnnies and Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours.

You, the mothers, who sent their sons from far away countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. 

After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.”

Christmas in the trenches


Oh my name is Francis Tolliver, I come from Liverpool
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school
From Belgium and to Flanders, Germany to here
I fought for King and country I love dear.

Twas Christmas in the trenches and the frost so bitter hung
The frozen fields of France where still no Christmas songs were sung
Our families back in England were toasting us that day
There brave and glorious lads so far away.

I was lying with my mess mates on the cold and rocky ground
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound
Says I now listen up me boys, each soldier strained to hear
As one young German voice sang out so clear.

He's singing bloody well you know, my partner says to me
Soon one by one each German voice joined in in harmony
The cannons rested silent and the gas cloud rolled no more
As Christmas brought us respite from the war.

As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen struck up some lads from Kent
The next thing sang was Stille Nach tis Silent Night says I
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky

There's someone coming towards us now the front line sentry said
All sights were fixed on one lone figure trudging from their side
His truce flag like a Christmas Star shone on the plane so bright
As he bravely trudged unarmed into the night.

Then one by one on either side, walked in to No Mans Land
With neither gun nor bayonet, we met there hand to hand
We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well
And in a flare lit football game we gave them hell.

We traded chocolates, cigarettes and photographs from home
These sons and father far away from families of their own
Ton Sanders played the squeeze box and they had a violin
This curious and unlikely band of men.

Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more
With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wonderous night
Whose family have I fixed within my sights.

Twas Christmas in the trenches and the frost so bitter hung
The frozen fields of France were warmed, the songs of peace were sung
For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war
had been crumbled and were gone forever more.

Oh my name is Francis Tolliver, from Liverpool I dwell
Each Christmas comes since World War I have learned its lesson well
For the one who calls the shots won't be among the dead and lame
And on each end of the rifle we're the same

John McDermott

The Young British Soldier

WHEN the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
    Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.

Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
    So-oldier of the Queen!

Now all you recruiters what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
    A soldier what's fit for a soldier.
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .

First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts --
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts --
    An' it's bad for the young British soldier.
Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .

When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
    An' it crumples the young British soldier.
Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .

But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:
You must wear your 'elmet for all that is said:
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,
    An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.
Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .

If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
    That it's beer for the young British soldier.
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .

Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,
    Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.
'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . .

If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! --
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both,
    An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.
Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .

When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,
Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck
    And march to your front like a soldier.
Front, front, front like a soldier . . .

When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;
She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich,
    An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.
Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .

When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,
    For noise never startles the soldier.
Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .

If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
    And wait for supports like a soldier.
Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .

When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
    An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.

Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
    So-oldier of the Queen!

Rudyard Kipling

The Haggis of Private McPhee


    "Hae ye heard whit ma auld mither's postit tae me?
    It fair maks me hamesick," says Private McPhee.
    "And whit did she send ye?" says Private McPhun,
    As he cockit his rifle and bleezed at a Hun.
    "A haggis! A HAGGIS!" says Private McPhee;
    "The brawest big haggis I ever did see.
    And think! it's the morn when fond memory turns
    Tae haggis and whuskey -- the Birthday o' Burns.
    We maun find a dram; then we'll ca' in the rest
    O' the lads, and we'll hae a Burns' Nicht wi' the best."

    "Be ready at sundoon," snapped Sergeant McCole;
    "I want you two men for the List'nin' Patrol."
    Then Private McPhee looked at Private McPhun:
    "I'm thinkin', ma lad, we're confoundedly done."
    Then Private McPhun looked at Private McPhee:
    "I'm thinkin' auld chap, it's a' aff wi' oor spree."
    But up spoke their crony, wee Wullie McNair:
    "Jist lea' yer braw haggis for me tae prepare;
    And as for the dram, if I search the camp roun',
    We maun hae a drappie tae jist haud it doon.
    Sae rin, lads, and think, though the nicht it be black,
    O' the haggis that's waitin' ye when ye get back."

    My! but it wis waesome on Naebuddy's Land,
    And the deid they were rottin' on every hand.
    And the rockets like corpse candles hauntit the sky,
    And the winds o' destruction went shudderin' by.
    There wis skelpin' o' bullets and skirlin' o' shells,
    And breengin' o' bombs and a thoosand death-knells;
    But cooryin' doon in a Jack Johnson hole
    Little fashed the twa men o' the List'nin' Patrol.
    For sweeter than honey and bricht as a gem
    Wis the thocht o' the haggis that waitit for them.

    Yet alas! in oor moments o' sunniest cheer
    Calamity's aften maist cruelly near.
    And while the twa talked o' their puddin' divine
    The Boches below them were howkin' a mine.
    And while the twa cracked o' the feast they would hae,
    The fuse it wis burnin' and burnin' away.
    Then sudden a roar like the thunner o' doom,
    A hell-leap o' flame . . . then the wheesht o' the tomb.

    "Haw, Jock! Are ye hurtit?" says Private McPhun.
    "Ay, Geordie, they've got me; I'm fearin' I'm done.
    It's ma leg; I'm jist thinkin' it's aff at the knee;
    Ye'd best gang and leave me," says Private McPhee.
    "Oh leave ye I wunna," says Private McPhun;
    "And leave ye I canna, for though I micht run,
    It's no faur I wud gang, it's no muckle I'd see:
    I'm blindit, and that's whit's the maitter wi' me."
    Then Private McPhee sadly shakit his heid:
    "If we bide here for lang, we'll be bidin' for deid.
    And yet, Geordie lad, I could gang weel content
    If I'd tasted that haggis ma auld mither sent."
    "That's droll," says McPhun; "ye've jist speakit ma mind.
    Oh I ken it's a terrible thing tae be blind;
    And yet it's no that that embitters ma lot --
    It's missin' that braw muckle haggis ye've got."

    For a while they were silent; then up once again
    Spoke Private McPhee, though he whussilt wi' pain:
    "And why should we miss it? Between you and me
    We've legs for tae run, and we've eyes for tae see.
    You lend me your shanks and I'll lend you ma sicht,
    And we'll baith hae a kyte-fu' o' haggis the nicht."

    Oh the sky it wis dourlike and dreepin' a wee,
    When Private McPhun gruppit Private McPhee.
    Oh the glaur it wis fylin' and crieshin' the grun',
    When Private McPhee guidit Private McPhun.
    "Keep clear o' them corpses -- they're maybe no deid!
    Haud on! There's a big muckle crater aheid.
    Look oot! There's a sap; we'll be haein' a coup.
    A staur-shell! For Godsake! Doun, lad, on yer daup.
    Bear aff tae yer richt. . . . Aw yer jist daein' fine:
    Before the nicht's feenished on haggis we'll dine."

    There wis death and destruction on every hand;
    There wis havoc and horror on Naebuddy's Land.
    And the shells bickered doun wi' a crump and a glare,
    And the hameless wee bullets were dingin' the air.
    Yet on they went staggerin', cooryin' doun
    When the stutter and cluck o' a Maxim crept roun'.
    And the legs o' McPhun they were sturdy and stoot,
    And McPhee on his back kept a bonnie look-oot.
    "On, on, ma brave lad! We're no faur frae the goal;
    I can hear the braw sweerin' o' Sergeant McCole."

    But strength has its leemit, and Private McPhun,
    Wi' a sab and a curse fell his length on the grun'.
    Then Private McPhee shoutit doon in his ear:
    "Jist think o' the haggis! I smell it from here.
    It's gushin' wi' juice, it's embaumin' the air;
    It's steamin' for us, and we're -- jist -- aboot -- there."

    Then Private McPhun answers: "Dommit, auld chap!
    For the sake o' that haggis I'll gang till I drap."
    And he gets on his feet wi' a heave and a strain,
    And onward he staggers in passion and pain.
    And the flare and the glare and the fury increase,
    Till you'd think they'd jist taken a' hell on a lease.
    And on they go reelin' in peetifu' plight,
    And someone is shoutin' away on their right;
    And someone is runnin', and noo they can hear
    A sound like a prayer and a sound like a cheer;
    And swift through the crash and the flash and the din,
    The lads o' the Hielands are bringin' them in.

    "They're baith sairly woundit, but is it no droll
    Hoo they rave aboot haggis?" says Sergeant McCole.
    When hirplin alang comes wee Wullie McNair,
    And they a' wonnert why he wis greetin' sae sair.
    And he says: "I'd jist liftit it oot o' the pot,
    And there it lay steamin' and savoury hot,
    When sudden I dooked at the fleech o' a shell,
    And it -- dropped on the haggis and dinged it tae hell."

    And oh but the lads were fair taken aback;
    Then sudden the order wis passed tae attack,
    And up from the trenches like lions they leapt,
    And on through the nicht like a torrent they swept.
    On, on, wi' their bayonets thirstin' before!
    On, on tae the foe wi' a rush and a roar!
    And wild to the welkin their battle-cry rang,
    And doon on the Boches like tigers they sprang:
    And there wisna a man but had death in his ee,
    For he thocht o' the haggis o' Private McPhee.

Robert Service

The Patriot's Dream


The songs of the wars are as old as the hills
They cling like the rust on the cold steel that kills
They tell of the boys who went down to the tracks
In a patriotic manner with the cold steel on their backs

The patriot's dream is as old as the sky
It lives in the lust of a cold callous lie
Let's drink to the men who got caught by the chill
Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills

The train pulled away on that glorious night
The drummer got drunk and the bugler got tight
While the boys in the back sang a song of good cheer
While riding off to glory in the spring of their years

The patriot's dream still lives on today
It makes mothers weep and it makes lovers pray
Let's drink to the men who got caught by the chill
Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills

Well there was a sad, sad lady
Weeping all night long
She received a sad, sad message
From a voice on the telephone
Her children were all sleeping
As she waited out the dawn
How could she tell those children
That their father was shot down
So she took them to her side that day
And she told them one by one
Your father was a good man ten thousand miles from home
He tried to do his duty and it took him straight to hell
He might be in some prison, I hope he's treated well

Well there was a young girl watching in the early afternoon
When she heard the name of someone who said he'd be home soon
And she wondered how they got him, but the papers did not tell
There would be no sweet reunion, there would be no wedding bells
So she took herself into her room and she turned the bed sheets down
And she cried into the silken folds of her new wedding gown
He tried to do his duty and it took him straight to hell
He might be in some prison, I hope he's treated well

Well there was an old man sitting in his mansion on the hill
And he thought of his good fortune and the time he'd yet o kill
Well he called to his wife one day, "Come sit with me awhile"
Then turning toward the sunset, he smiled a wicked smile
"Well I'd like to say I'm sorry for the sinful deeds I've done
But let me first remind you, I'm a patriotic son"
 
They tried to do their duty and it took 'em straight to hell
They might be in some prison, I hope they're treated well

The songs of the wars are as old as the hills
They cling like the rust on the cold steel that kills
They tell of the boys who went down to the tracks
In a patriotic manner with the cold steel on their backs

The train pulled away on that glorious night
The drummer got drunk and the bugler got tight
While the boys in the back sang a song of good cheer
While riding off to glory in the spring of their years

The patriot's dream still lives on today
It makes mothers weep and it makes lovers pray
Let's drink to the men who got caught by the chill
Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills.

Gordon Lightfoot

The man from Athabasca


 
Oh the wife she tried to tell me that 'twas nothing but the thrumming
Of a woodpecker a-rapping on the hollow of a tree;
And she thought that I was fooling when I said it was the drumming
Of the mustering of legions and 'twas calling unto me;
'Twas calling me to pull my freight and hop across the sea.

And a-mending of my fish-nets sure I started up in wonder,
For I heard a savage roaring and 'twas coming from afar;
Oh the wife she tried to tell me that 'twas only summer thunder,
And she laughed a bit sarcastic when I told her it was War:
'Twas the chariots of battle where the mighty armies are.

Then down the lake came Half-breed Tom with russet sail a-flying
And the word he said was "War" again, so what was I to do ?
Oh the dogs they took to howling and the missis took to crying,
As I flung my silver foxes in the little birch canoe;
Yes, the old girl stood a-bubbling till an island hid the view.

Says the factor, "Mike, you're crazy! They have soldier men a-plenty.
You're as grizzled as a badger and you're sixty year or so."
"But I haven't missed a scrap," says I, "Since I was one and twenty.
And shall I miss the biggest ? You can bet your whiskers ? no!"
So I sold my furs and started ... and that's eighteen months ago.

For I joined the Foreign Legion and they put me for a starter
In the trenches of the Argonne with the Boche a step away;
And the partner on my right hand was an apache from Montmartre;
And on my left there was a millionaire from Pittsburgh, U.S.A.
(Poor fellow! They collected him in bits the other day.)

Well I'm sprier than a chipmunk, save a touch of the lumbago,
And they calls me Old Methoosalah, and blagues me all the day.
I'm their exhibition sniper and they work me like a Dago,
And laugh to see me plug a Boche a half a mile away.
Oh I hold the highest record in the regiment, they say.

And at night they gather round me, and I tell them of my roaming
In the Country of the Crepuscule beside the Frozen Sea,
Where the musk-ox run unchallenged and the cariboo goes homing;
And they sit like little children, just as quiet as can be:
Men of every clime and color, how they harken unto me!

And I tell them of the Furland, of the tumpline and the paddle,
Of secret rivers loitering, that no one will explore;
And I tell them of the ranges, of the pack-strap and the saddle,
And they fill their pipes in silence, and their eyes beseech for more;
While above the star-shells fizzle and the high explosives roar.

And I tell of lakes fish-haunted where the big bull moose are calling,
And forests still as sepulchers with never trail or track;
And valleys packed with purple gloom, and mountain peaks appalling,
And I tell them of my cabin on the shore at Fond du Lac;
And I find myself a-thinking: Sure I wish that I was back.

So I brag of bear and beaver while the batteries are roaring,
And the fellows on the firing steps are blazing at the foe;
And I yarn a fur and feather when the marmites are a-soaring,
And they listen to my stories, seven poilus in a row,
Seven lean and lousy poilus with their cigarettes aglow.

And I tell them when it's over how I'll hike for Athabaska;
And those seven greasy poilus they are crazy to go too.
And I'll give the wife the "pickle-tub" I promised, and I'll ask her
The price of mink and marten, and the run of cariboo,
And I'll get my traps in order, and I'll start to work anew.

For I've had my fill of fighting, and I've seen a nation scattered,
And an army swung to slaughter, and a river red with gore,
And a city all a-smolder, and ... as if it really mattered,
For the lake is yonder dreaming, and my cabin's on the shore;
And the dogs are leaping madly, and the wife is singing gladly,
And I'll rest in Athabaska, and I'll leave it nevermore,
And I'll leave it nevermore.

Robert Service

High Flight

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds -- and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of -- wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.

And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.


 John Gillespie Magee Jr. F/L RCAF  (1922-1941).

For All We Have and Are

For all we have and are,
For all our children's fate,
Stand up and meet the war.
The Hun is at the gate!
Our world has passed away
In wantonness o'erthrown. 

There is nothing left to-day
But steel and fire and stone. 

Though all we knew depart,
The old commandments stand:
"In courage keep your heart,
In strength lift up your hand."
Once more we hear the word
That sickened earth of old:
"No law except the sword
Unsheathed and uncontrolled,"
Once more it knits mankind,
Once more the nations go
To meet and break and bind
A crazed and driven foe. 

Comfort, content, delight --
The ages' slow-bought gain --
They shrivelled in a night,
Only ourselves remain
To face the naked days
In silent fortitude,
Through perils and dismays
Renewd and re-renewed. 

Though all we made depart,
The old commandments stand:
"In patience keep your heart,
In strength lift up your hand."
No easy hopes or lies
Shall bring us to our goal,
But iron sacrifice
Of body, will, and soul. 

There is but one task for all --
For each one life to give.
Who stands if freedom fall?
Who dies if England live?


Rudyard Kipling

The Coward


    'Ave you seen Bill's mug in the Noos to-day?
    'E's gyned the Victoriar Cross, they say;
    Little Bill wot would grizzle and run away,
        If you 'it 'im a swipe on the jawr.
    'E's slaughtered the Kaiser's men in tons;
    'E's captured one of their quick-fire guns,
    And 'e 'adn't no practice in killin' 'Uns
        Afore 'e went off to the war.

    Little Bill wot I nussed in 'is by-by clothes;
    Little Bill wot told me 'is childish woes;
    'Ow often I've tidied 'is pore little nose
        Wiv the 'em of me pinnyfore.
    And now all the papers 'is praises ring,
    And 'e's been and 'e's shaken the 'and of the King
    And I sawr 'im to-day in the ward, pore thing,
        Where they're patchin' 'im up once more.

    And 'e says: "Wot d'ye think of it, Lizer Ann?"
    And I says: "Well, I can't make it out, old man;
    You'd 'ook it as soon as a scrap began,
        When you was a bit of a kid."
    And 'e whispers: "'Ere, on the quiet, Liz,
    They're makin' too much of the 'ole damn biz,
    And the papers is printin' me ugly phiz,
        But . . . I'm 'anged if I know wot I did.

    "Oh, the Captain comes and 'e says: `Look 'ere!
    They're far too quiet out there: it's queer.
    They're up to somethin' -- 'oo'll volunteer
        To crawl in the dark and see?'
    Then I felt me 'eart like a 'ammer go,
    And up jumps a chap and 'e says: `Right O!'
    But I chips in straight, and I says `Oh no!
        'E's a missis and kids -- take me.'

    "And the next I knew I was sneakin' out,
    And the oozy corpses was all about,
    And I felt so scared I wanted to shout,
        And me skin fair prickled wiv fear;
    And I sez: `You coward! You 'ad no right
    To take on the job of a man this night,'
    Yet still I kept creepin' till ('orrid sight!)
        The trench of the 'Uns was near.

    "It was all so dark, it was all so still;
    Yet somethin' pushed me against me will;
    'Ow I wanted to turn! Yet I crawled until
        I was seein' a dim light shine.
    Then thinks I: `I'll just go a little bit,
    And see wot the doose I can make of it,'
    And it seemed to come from the mouth of a pit:
        `Christmas!' sez I, `a mine.'

    "Then 'ere's the part wot I can't explain:
    I wanted to make for 'ome again,
    But somethin' was blazin' inside me brain,
        So I crawled to the trench instead;
    Then I saw the bullet 'ead of a 'Un,
    And 'e stood by a rapid-firer gun,
    And I lifted a rock and I 'it 'im one,
        And 'e dropped like a chunk o' lead.

    "Then all the 'Uns that was underground,
    Comes up with a rush and on with a bound,
    And I swings that giddy old Maxim round
        And belts 'em solid and square.
    You see I was off me chump wiv fear:
    `If I'm sellin' me life,' sez I, `it's dear.'
    And the trench was narrow and they was near,
        So I peppered the brutes for fair.

    "So I 'eld 'em back and I yelled wiv fright,
    And the boys attacked and we 'ad a fight,
    And we `captured a section o' trench' that night
        Which we didn't expect to get;
    And they found me there with me Maxim gun,
    And I'd laid out a score if I'd laid out one,
    And I fainted away when the thing was done,
        And I 'aven't got over it yet."

    So that's the 'istory Bill told me.
    Of course it's all on the strict Q. T.;
    It wouldn't do to get out, you see,
        As 'e hacted against 'is will.
    But 'e's convalescin' wiv all 'is might,
    And 'e 'opes to be fit for another fight --
    Say! Ain't 'e a bit of the real all right?
        Wot's the matter with Bill!

Robert Service