The Fields of Flanders

By Lisa Plucknett, Maleny (March 2023)

1914 … And the war to end all wars
Was a century plus ago,
And we really are slow learners,
On what we ought to know.

The drums of war are beating,
Come – heed the call to arms;
Forget your plough – your peaceful life,
Leave your family and your farms.

Forget the thought of bedtime tales
To read your little boy;
Tell him “Daddy’s got to go away,
To play with big boy’s toys.”

Tell him they will teach you
To aim, to fire, to kill;
To never ever feel remorse, regret;
But a kind of evil thrill.

You’ll sail across the Seven Seas
To a town called Gay Paree;
Or perhaps a beach excursion
To God Forbid – Gallipoli.

1918 Now – Ten thousand women wait in fear
In silence and in dread;
And tell their children “Daddy’s gone
No more stories to be read “

A thousand farms neglected,
No fields of maize or corn;
Ten thousand lonely women
Their trousseaus never worn.

Have you seen the Fields of Flanders,
Pink petals flutter down;
Have you seen the Aussie flag half-mast,
In a distant Belgian town.

Have you heard a minute’s silence,
Seen a thousand un-marked graves;
And the tolling of a lonely bell
To mourn the passing of the brave.

LEST WE FORGET

Advertisement