Just over 3yrs ago (shortly after Nov 11th 2017) I was on Farcebook one night, musing the various inane utterings of, well, mostly people I'd met whilst drunk, when I came upon a poem by Terry Earl. I got to the end and, and upon noticing the tears on my cheeks, I read it a second time. ...I could name any number of songs that 'pull on my heartstrings', but I had *never* had such a overwhelming reaction to a poem before.
Five (or was it twenty) minutes later I realised my head had noticed the poem was *perfectly* structured to work with music, and had dutifully made me pick up a guitar and do just that: Play the music that had just appeared in my head.
Every syllable in this song is exactly as I found it on Terry's page that night; the music is merely a reflection of what those words inspired in me. In my head there is an orchestra and a Welsh male voice choir. On this recording is me and a guitar. Terry, I hope the music means to you even half of what the words mean to me. Thank You.
Terry explained to me that although the nouns reflect a British WW1 soldier, the sentiment speaks to every mother and every child that has been required to 'make the ultimate sacrifice', in all places, and across all times. "Lest we forget."
A young man, not yet 21,
Army beret, Enfield gun.
Not known First Love, nor learned to dance,
Awaiting orders: Northern France.
A hundred miles, my Home, my Land.
A pencil in my shaking hand...
If I don't make it back to shore,
Smell mother's cooking once more.
Read aloud, with Pride, this note:
Top pocket of my army coat.
Came here a boy, died a man.
Not My war, not My plan!
Whistle blown 4th of July,
"King and Country", "do or die"
Life is ruin, blood is spilled.
War is kill or be killed...
So up the ladder, through the gate,
To kill a man I do not hate.
My best friend lies wet with death.
Mouth open - final breath.
War is won, at Any cost.
Victory Bugle.
Mother's loss.
