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Author Topic: Remember
CMOT Dibbler
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 4117

posted 11 November 2004 12:38 AM      Profile for CMOT Dibbler     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
quote:
Well, how'd you do, Private Willie McBride,
D'you mind if I sit down down here by your graveside?
I'll rest for awhile in the warm summer sun,
Been walking all day, Lord, and I'm nearly done.
I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916,
I hope you died quick and I hope you died "clean,"
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

CHORUS:
Did they beat the drum slowly, did they sound the fife lowly?
Did the rifles fire o'er ye as they lowered ye down?
Did the bugles sing "The Last Post" in chorus?
Did the pipes play the "Floors O' The Forest"?

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you died back in 1916,
To that loyal heart are you forever nineteen?
Or are you a stranger, without even a name,
Forever enshrined behind some glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?

Well, the sun's shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard it's still No Man's Land;
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.

And I can't help but wonder now, Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you "the cause?"
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame,
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For Willie McBride, it's all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.



I hope george Bush is reading this.

From: Just outside Fernie, British Columbia | Registered: May 2003  |  IP: Logged
kukuchai
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 6215

posted 11 November 2004 01:56 AM      Profile for kukuchai        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
I am speechless. Tears.

And even if George Bush read it. So what. The man has no conscience.

"These are the last days of this violent, loveless system of things and those who cling to its ways." Proverbs 2:21, 22.

Mothers, don't send your sons to war.


From: Earth | Registered: Jun 2004  |  IP: Logged
Albireo
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 3052

posted 11 November 2004 02:21 AM      Profile for Albireo     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Dulce Et Decorum Est [Sweet and fitting it is (to die for one's country)]

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

By Wilfred Owen

[ 11 November 2004: Message edited by: Albireo ]


From: --> . <-- | Registered: Sep 2002  |  IP: Logged
Kevin
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 3645

posted 11 November 2004 02:58 AM      Profile for Kevin   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
This was the one I was going to post. It moves me nearly to tears.

Thanks, Albireo.


From: Simon Fraser University | Registered: Jan 2003  |  IP: Logged
CMOT Dibbler
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 4117

posted 11 November 2004 06:18 PM      Profile for CMOT Dibbler     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
I was in fact looking for the lyrics to Bogle's Never Again/Remember which is perhaps the best song the man ever wrote. Unfortunately, I couldn't find the words anywhere. Tis' a great pity. No man's land is still pretty good though.
From: Just outside Fernie, British Columbia | Registered: May 2003  |  IP: Logged
skdadl
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 478

posted 11 November 2004 06:26 PM      Profile for skdadl     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
CMOT Dibbler, you must also know the Bogle song that always reduces me to tears, and then angry tears, and then just tears again: "And the band played Waltzing Mathilda," a fierce and fearsome memory of what happened to young Australian soldiers at Gallipoli:

quote:

Now when I was a young man I carried me pack
And I lived the free life of the rover.
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback,
Well, I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in 1915, my country said, "Son,
It's time you stop ramblin', there's work to be done."
So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun,
And they marched me away to the war.

And the band played "Waltzing Matilda,"
As the ship pulled away from the quay,
And amidst all the cheers, the flag waving, and tears,
We sailed off for Gallipoli.

And how well I remember that terrible day,
How our blood stained the sand and the water;
And of how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk, he was waitin', he primed himself well;
He showered us with bullets, and he rained us with shell --
And in five minutes flat, he'd blown us all to hell,
Nearly blew us right back to Australia.

But the band played "Waltzing Matilda,"
When we stopped to bury our slain,
Well, we buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs,
Then we started all over again.

And those that were left, well, we tried to survive
In that mad world of blood, death and fire.
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
Though around me the corpses piled higher.
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head,
And when I woke up in me hospital bed
And saw what it had done, well, I wished I was dead --
Never knew there was worse things than dying.

For I'll go no more "Waltzing Matilda,"
All around the green bush far and free --
To hump tents and pegs, a man needs both legs,
No more "Waltzing Matilda" for me.

So they gathered the crippled, the wounded, the maimed,
And they shipped us back home to Australia.
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane,
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.
And as our ship sailed into Circular Quay,
I looked at the place where me legs used to be,
And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me,
To grieve, to mourn and to pity.

But the band played "Waltzing Matilda,"
As they carried us down the gangway,
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared,
Then they turned all their faces away.

And so now every April, I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me.
And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march,
Reviving old dreams of past glory,
And the old men march slowly, all bones stiff and sore,
They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask "What are they marching for?"
And I ask meself the same question.

But the band plays "Waltzing Matilda,"
And the old men still answer the call,
But as year follows year, more old men disappear
Someday, no one will march there at all.

Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda.
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the billabong,
Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?



From: gone | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
CMOT Dibbler
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 4117

posted 11 November 2004 07:02 PM      Profile for CMOT Dibbler     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
It makes me cry too.
I have it on CD, but almost never listen to it. It's to sad.

I don't know what it is about the man's music. It always makes me melancholy. Even when he's singing about Star Trek he makes me want to weep. . He is a great musician.


From: Just outside Fernie, British Columbia | Registered: May 2003  |  IP: Logged
Polunatic
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 3278

posted 11 November 2004 08:38 PM      Profile for Polunatic   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Here's my Remembrance Day message:

Lord save us from this revolutionary resurrection...[/QB][/QUOTE]


From: middle of nowhere | Registered: Oct 2002  |  IP: Logged
Polunatic
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 3278

posted 11 November 2004 08:40 PM      Profile for Polunatic   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Oops. Double post.

[ 11 November 2004: Message edited by: Non-partisan partisan ]


From: middle of nowhere | Registered: Oct 2002  |  IP: Logged
Polunatic
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 3278

posted 11 November 2004 08:58 PM      Profile for Polunatic   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Double oops. Triple post.

[ 11 November 2004: Message edited by: Non-partisan partisan ]


From: middle of nowhere | Registered: Oct 2002  |  IP: Logged

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