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Going to war

The first Militia. July 1939
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They called us up in ’39 before the war began
in Batteries, Corps and Regiments, an ever growing clan.
They issued us with uniforms and rifles for our sins
But what use were those rifles without their firing pins?

They taught us how to stand erect and hold our heads up high
with chests stuck out and shoulders back, like statues we did try,
they marched us round the barrack square in endless hours of drill
and should we happen to transgress ‘twas right or wrong stand still’.

They taught us how to form up when we went on parade
and fifteen paces was the stint each marker should have made,
they showed us how to make our beds and lay out all our kit
our toecaps too we learned to shine with polish and with spit.

They taught us how we should salute with ‘up two three and down’
and on the quartermasters arms there’s three stripes and a crown,
they showed us how we had to clean our rifles inside out
without the pull-through getting jammed or rust inside the spout.

They paid us out each Friday ‘twas 10/6 no less
and a chap whose name was Phillips was told ‘get in the Fs’,
they lined us up in birthday suits for private parts inspection
the M.O.s cane each member raised whilst probing for infection.

They issued us with ball ammo for firing on the range
where pencil stubs made bullet holes when targets we’d exchange,
they said route marches was the way our morale to enhance,
and at the end of twenty miles our blisters we could lance.

They said map reading was a game that we should play at night
when cold and wet and miserable we dare not show a light,
they line us up in single file for a last innoculation
with needles full of this and that, enough for the duration.

They sat us down whilst someone read ‘Kings rules and regulations’
the riot act filled many a heart with fear and trepidation,
they said we’d find a form of will in our Abs 64
and write there on our next of kin, such were the rules of war.

They sent us home on one weeks leave to see our fond relations
a prelude as we knew full well to the plan of embarkation.
They said ‘tomorrow is the day, you all know what to do’,
then on some rusty troop ship sailed to the land of ‘Parley Voo’.

They fell us in on Cherbourg dock all shiny bright and new
where we piled into carriages last used at Waterloo.
They ferried us to Paris then, the thought gave each a thrill
but we sadly took to the road again, ‘twas destination Lille.

They made us spend some lonely nights in dirty draughty barns,
with rats to keep us company they came around in swarms.
They marched us into Belgium in bitter cold and rain,
but in Flanders fields of poppies, the sun came out again.

They issued us with shovels for digging out latrines,
all screened around with Hessian whilst seated on two beams.
Although it might be snowing or raining hard outside,
we did our daily duty, just took it in our stride.

They made us face the enemy, they had a master plan,
and in that firey baptism each youth became a man.
They said ‘pull back a mile or so fresh orders coming through’,
so we took up new positions but we knew not what to do.

They told us what we always knew, that we hadn’t got a hope.
A mouse against a lion it was a cruel joke.
They said ‘get back to Dunkirk as fast as e’er you can
And if we get back to |Blighty we’ll form another plan.’

They said ‘this here is Dunkirk, there’s lots of sea and sand.
Just wait and take your chances cause Jerrys close at hand’.
At last we reached old Blighty, dejected, sore and sad,
where a new plan was concocted which worked this time, By Gad.

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