Called to Arms

by Sue Lee and John Meleady



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I'll tell you a tale of a bold bombardier
If you have a mind for to listen
For he went off to fight in a place called Crimea
His name it was Frederick Smithson

I was a Navigator bold
With wars and such I did not hold
Tho' I'd done me share of fightin'
But only for what I'd a right in!

We tramped Old England up and down
And drank our fill in every town
Up to our necks in flooded ditches
Sleeping rough with whores and bitches

There came a troop of soldiers grand
With pipes and drums, a merry band
Come join us lads, for Queen and country
You'll earn medals and gold a-plenty!

They shipped us out of Portsmouth town
And the seas were rough on our way down
Then passing through the Dardanelles
God our eyes were opened, so this was hell!

So deep was the mud, the bodies, the blood
The cannon fire never ending
Thick smoke, hard rain, the hunger and pain
By God this ain't what I call fighting

We had no loyalty in mind
Uniting soldiers of our kind
No Queen or country touched our lives
One single thought, just to survive

And where was the glory, honour and pride
To comfort the souls of those who died
Where the brave flowers of Victorian youth?
Slaughtered, betrayed by their country, in truth!
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