Veterans' Poetry
Waterloo Covered in Blood
Scarlet clad soldiers who look so fine
Shoulder their muskets down the line
They aim, fire and disappear behind a cloak
Of fierce clouds of thick white smoke
Opposing men fall to the ground
Dead and dying, in howling sound
In an unseen deadly melody
War's unobserved absurdity, obscenity
Yet at home remembered as obligatory
Glory and Honour and Honour and Glory
Music and praising, medals and monuments
And mustering or men for proud marching
Beside No. 1 London at Hyde Park
At the Old Duke's home Aspley House
Crowds of peoples, visiting steeples
For songs of praise Oh! Those happy days
Now war is over...
There's relief, and peace for prosperity
For our glorious Great British nation
No more fears and war's alarms
No more threat of French invasion
The time passes by, and then's over heard
An older man's tales, to younger men's ears
Of stories of glories of long past years
Soldiering on, labouring, in blood, sweat and tears
"Waterloo, I was there, but now I'm here...
And perhaps, you'll give me, a listening ear
And go to the bar, and buy me a beer
Then listen to, my story of Waterloo
Why you can still live in London town
A free man, under our sovereign crown"
On that memorable day I'll say again
A sergeant major shouted to his men
"Stand your ground and grit your teeth"
"It is a glorious thing for a courageous man to die
Especially so, when fallen in the front ranks
As a warrior protecting his friends
Hold steadfast for freedom's fight
Resolutely accept you may die this night
Make your hearts valiant, courageous and strong
We shall do away with rapacious Boney's wrong"
Soldiers suffered while breathing
In the hot air of June
Like being in an oven too soon
For every battle of the warrior
Is with confused noise,
Gunpowder smells
Shouts, shots and shells
Strangely despite the deafening
Uproar of the war
There could be heard distinctly
A mysterious humming noise
Like on a peaceful summer's evening
A persistent humming from a myriad of beetles
Above the soldier's heads, above the soldier's heads...
Cannon balls shot through the air
Then bounced and rolled along the battleground
Like ploughs making lines in a farmer's field
But these lines were in all directions revealed
Canon balls scattered men in their path
Maiming men, screaming killing without feeling
Reeling, heads and arms thrown through the air
Thick hails of bullets whistled
With thunderous cannon fire
And this anger was not turned away
'Twas dangerous to raise an arm
Lest cross fire could tear it off
Yet a hand is stretched out still
For the relief of a fallen comrade
Then Marshall Nay's cavalry charged
All around the British squares to condemn
But their walls of bayonets faced them
A staff sergeant shouts,
"Aim at the horses boys
They're easier to hit
And they'll make obstacles"
Allied ranks and files stand firm,
Standing with their fallen comrade's blood
soaked in the ground, all around
Meanwhile near Wavre
Grouchy stays put with his men. Men?
With their hands in their pockets. Men?
Men are soldiers who march
to the sound of the gunfire.
But Grouchy was obeying his last orders.
"Last orders?"
Was he down the pub?
"Last orders gentleman please."
It's alright for some,
Those not in front
of the cannon gun
Don't fight tomorrow mate. It's too late.
At Waterloo the Prussians arrive,
But only just in time.
Marshall Blucher commands,
"Forward! Raise the black flag my children,
No mercy, no prisoners. Forward!"
The Imperial Old Guard, with their bearskin hats,
extravagant moustaches, great coats,
and backpacks.
Are sent forward by Napoleon to win the day
Tough old veterans ready, for another affray
Allies stood fast in their daring do
With bayonets, brave men and true
The turning point of that noble struggle
Came with Wellington's command
"Now's your time".
Advancing forward down below
Shoulder to shoulder against the foe
In hand to hand carnage
Strong men working together
There's less casualties that way
And troops behind are safe
The hot day of vengeance
On the Imperial Old Guard who flee
Those mighty men cry bitterly
The French will to win evaporates
Their expectancy of victory subsides
"The Guard does not surrender
The Guard dies"
Napoleon's diamonds sown in his coat
Were unable to deliver him away
On this his worst day
A day of tribulation and trouble
A day that he knew he'll meet
A day of desolation and defeat
A day of thick cloudy smoke
A day of flute and drum and distress
A day of dark grim gloominess
For the French that is
But as for us
It was a close run thing
Remember lest we forget
We few, we lucky few,
We happy few,
We band of brothers,
Fighting for our freedom
Against interfering others
We hold the line,
When they try to break it
Our freedom's precious,
No one's going to take it
(Saturday Afternoon June 17th 1815)
After the Battle of Quatre Bras,
Wellingtons Army Marched Far.
Keeping The French at bay,
Skirmishers fought hard that day,
Tired and hungry men, Dirty,
Ragged and sore,
Could they have given more?
Detailed to Relieve Those Worn out
Skirmisher Men, Came to fore
The 2nd Light Bn Kings German Legion along.
With the 95th,
Both in Jackets of Green,
Brandishing a Baker Rifle, Sword
Bayonet gleaming Mean.
Advancing Fast,
Pushing on Napoleons Forces could not get past.
Thus these Riflemen a rearguard they became.
Darkening Clouds of grey Pregnant With rain;
Cast Shadow upon all of those
Thousands Retreating Allied Soldiers, Dusty
weary, Hungry, Unsure Marching Past Fields of Cattle.
On they went,
All of their energy Almost Spent.
As The Riflemen Advanced,
They Took No Chance,
In case Of A French Attack.
Stomachs Empty,
Consumed by Raging
Thirst, Feet Blistered,
Aching Backs Under
their Heavy Packs.
Late Afternoon dawns,
Darkening Sky Threatens Rain.
Entering a meadow,
Taking off Those heavy
Packs, Rifles at the ready.
Prepare for an Enemy attack,
Orders are told by The Officers;
worn out too as their Riflemen.
Soon exhausted Both Officers and all
Engulfed by Sleep, Little Respite.
Before the Onset of Night
Thunder Rolls back and Fourth, Loud So loud,
As if The God of War Threw down His Mighty Hammer.
Clouds did Burst,
Rain, Oh how it came
A Sudden Downpour,
That Seemed Never To
Stop.
Awoken By Pain From the Pouring Unrelenting rain,
It’s drops piercing as Thousands of Needlepoints.
Getting ready, On Their Feet,
Stiffened and sore, The
Soldiers,
Once More
Begin To
Double Quick March.
Retreating Fast, Through Field and Flooded Roads,
Villages They Did Pass.
Pushing On, In Fields Of Man high corn;
Caked in mud,
they could no longer Recognise Friendly Or Enemy.
Thundering Artillery Fire In the not so Distance,
Brunswick Hussars, Galloping past,
Warn that the Despot French
Have Distance and Ground Gained.
Now Up to Their Knees In Water,
Cold and Soaked to the bone,
Packs weighed down, Uniform chafing skin raw.
No time for Pity , Must Keep Flint and powder dry.
Keeping the Military Road Free of Enemies,
To let Allied Artillery have access,
from Genappe to Brussels,
this Fail it must not.
Fleeing Civilians they met,
Women, Crying children,
Carrying all that they did own,
muddy and wet;
displaced,
oh how they did moan.
Nowhere Now Can those call Home.
( Saturday Night —
La Haye Sainte, June 17th / 18th 1815)
At last the Riflemen have arrived
at the large Farmstead,
La Haye Sainte,
Overlooked By Mont St. Jean,
Near the Village Called Waterloo.
Lightning Flashed, Thunder Roared,
The Cold Rain Still Poured.
Cannons Fired, Muskets Smoked In The wet Night,
Could This Be a Prelude For the Oncoming Fight?
Soon The Four Hundred Riflemen Of The KGL,
Were to Occupy the Farm La Haye saint,
Not Far From a Strategic Crossroads,
So on They Went.
As Men From the KGL Took over this important place,
The 95th Moved With Grace,
Opposite La Haye,
There they Soon Lay,
Sinking in the Waterlogged Bog,
Some Tried To Sleep,
Others Awake They Keep.
Waiting To Support the KGL Garrisoned Post.
Beyond the Walls,
Inside La Haye Sainte, Still hungry,
Soaked to the Bones,
Taking Up Positions,
Some Drinking Wine,
Most though Taking Time,
To Reflect.
Those Stationed In Woods behind,
No Shelter Could they Find,
Paused and Also Had Time to ponder.
Some thinking Of Wives Not Yet Married,
Children not Yet Born.
Others Thought of Lovers,
Of Parents Too.
Each Soldier Wrestling
With feelings,
With Impending Fear,
Some quietly Shed a Tear,
So Personal are their Reflections,
That They Know Soon,
Something will Happen,
The Three Armies Will Do Battle,
They Know that,
Europe’s Destiny does
Depend on Them.
Each One,
Not Knowing Which
Side Will Be Victorious,
Or Of Themselves,
Who the Battle will Survive,
To Live and Love again.
Those Riflemen Who Shall not Make It Home Alive.
These Thoughts always,
In the Minds of Soldiers.
Reflections of Life,
Of One’s Death,
What Will Happen,
To those That are Left?
Waterloo Covered in Blood
Scarlet clad soldiers who look so fine
Shoulder their muskets down the line
They aim, fire and disappear behind a cloak
Of fierce clouds of thick white smoke
Opposing men fall to the ground
Dead and dying, in howling sound
In an unseen deadly melody
War's unobserved absurdity, obscenity
Yet at home remembered as obligatory
Glory and Honour and Honour and Glory
Music and praising, medals and monuments
And mustering or men for proud marching
Beside No. 1 London at Hyde Park
At the Old Duke's home Aspley House
Crowds of peoples, visiting steeples
For songs of praise Oh! Those happy days
Now war is over...
There's relief, and peace for prosperity
For our glorious Great British nation
No more fears and war's alarms
No more threat of French invasion
The time passes by, and then's over heard
An older man's tales, to younger men's ears
Of stories of glories of long past years
Soldiering on, labouring, in blood, sweat and tears
"Waterloo, I was there, but now I'm here...
And perhaps, you'll give me, a listening ear
And go to the bar, and buy me a beer
Then listen to, my story of Waterloo
Why you can still live in London town
A free man, under our sovereign crown"
On that memorable day I'll say again
A sergeant major shouted to his men
"Stand your ground and grit your teeth"
"It is a glorious thing for a courageous man to die
Especially so, when fallen in the front ranks
As a warrior protecting his friends
Hold steadfast for freedom's fight
Resolutely accept you may die this night
Make your hearts valiant, courageous and strong
We shall do away with rapacious Boney's wrong"
Soldiers suffered while breathing
In the hot air of June
Like being in an oven too soon
For every battle of the warrior
Is with confused noise,
Gunpowder smells
Shouts, shots and shells
Strangely despite the deafening
Uproar of the war
There could be heard distinctly
A mysterious humming noise
Like on a peaceful summer's evening
A persistent humming from a myriad of beetles
Above the soldier's heads, above the soldier's heads...
Cannon balls shot through the air
Then bounced and rolled along the battleground
Like ploughs making lines in a farmer's field
But these lines were in all directions revealed
Canon balls scattered men in their path
Maiming men, screaming killing without feeling
Reeling, heads and arms thrown through the air
Thick hails of bullets whistled
With thunderous cannon fire
And this anger was not turned away
'Twas dangerous to raise an arm
Lest cross fire could tear it off
Yet a hand is stretched out still
For the relief of a fallen comrade
Then Marshall Nay's cavalry charged
All around the British squares to condemn
But their walls of bayonets faced them
A staff sergeant shouts,
"Aim at the horses boys
They're easier to hit
And they'll make obstacles"
Allied ranks and files stand firm,
Standing with their fallen comrade's blood
soaked in the ground, all around
Meanwhile near Wavre
Grouchy stays put with his men. Men?
With their hands in their pockets. Men?
Men are soldiers who march
to the sound of the gunfire.
But Grouchy was obeying his last orders.
"Last orders?"
Was he down the pub?
"Last orders gentleman please."
It's alright for some,
Those not in front
of the cannon gun
Don't fight tomorrow mate. It's too late.
At Waterloo the Prussians arrive,
But only just in time.
Marshall Blucher commands,
"Forward! Raise the black flag my children,
No mercy, no prisoners. Forward!"
The Imperial Old Guard, with their bearskin hats,
extravagant moustaches, great coats,
and backpacks.
Are sent forward by Napoleon to win the day
Tough old veterans ready, for another affray
Allies stood fast in their daring do
With bayonets, brave men and true
The turning point of that noble struggle
Came with Wellington's command
"Now's your time".
Advancing forward down below
Shoulder to shoulder against the foe
In hand to hand carnage
Strong men working together
There's less casualties that way
And troops behind are safe
The hot day of vengeance
On the Imperial Old Guard who flee
Those mighty men cry bitterly
The French will to win evaporates
Their expectancy of victory subsides
"The Guard does not surrender
The Guard dies"
Napoleon's diamonds sown in his coat
Were unable to deliver him away
On this his worst day
A day of tribulation and trouble
A day that he knew he'll meet
A day of desolation and defeat
A day of thick cloudy smoke
A day of flute and drum and distress
A day of dark grim gloominess
For the French that is
But as for us
It was a close run thing
Remember lest we forget
We few, we lucky few,
We happy few,
We band of brothers,
Fighting for our freedom
Against interfering others
We hold the line,
When they try to break it
Our freedom's precious,
No one's going to take it
(Saturday Afternoon June 17th 1815)
After the Battle of Quatre Bras,
Wellingtons Army Marched Far.
Keeping The French at bay,
Skirmishers fought hard that day,
Tired and hungry men, Dirty,
Ragged and sore,
Could they have given more?
Detailed to Relieve Those Worn out
Skirmisher Men, Came to fore
The 2nd Light Bn Kings German Legion along.
With the 95th,
Both in Jackets of Green,
Brandishing a Baker Rifle, Sword
Bayonet gleaming Mean.
Advancing Fast,
Pushing on Napoleons Forces could not get past.
Thus these Riflemen a rearguard they became.
Darkening Clouds of grey Pregnant With rain;
Cast Shadow upon all of those
Thousands Retreating Allied Soldiers, Dusty
weary, Hungry, Unsure Marching Past Fields of Cattle.
On they went,
All of their energy Almost Spent.
As The Riflemen Advanced,
They Took No Chance,
In case Of A French Attack.
Stomachs Empty,
Consumed by Raging
Thirst, Feet Blistered,
Aching Backs Under
their Heavy Packs.
Late Afternoon dawns,
Darkening Sky Threatens Rain.
Entering a meadow,
Taking off Those heavy
Packs, Rifles at the ready.
Prepare for an Enemy attack,
Orders are told by The Officers;
worn out too as their Riflemen.
Soon exhausted Both Officers and all
Engulfed by Sleep, Little Respite.
Before the Onset of Night
Thunder Rolls back and Fourth, Loud So loud,
As if The God of War Threw down His Mighty Hammer.
Clouds did Burst,
Rain, Oh how it came
A Sudden Downpour,
That Seemed Never To
Stop.
Awoken By Pain From the Pouring Unrelenting rain,
It’s drops piercing as Thousands of Needlepoints.
Getting ready, On Their Feet,
Stiffened and sore, The
Soldiers,
Once More
Begin To
Double Quick March.
Retreating Fast, Through Field and Flooded Roads,
Villages They Did Pass.
Pushing On, In Fields Of Man high corn;
Caked in mud,
they could no longer Recognise Friendly Or Enemy.
Thundering Artillery Fire In the not so Distance,
Brunswick Hussars, Galloping past,
Warn that the Despot French
Have Distance and Ground Gained.
Now Up to Their Knees In Water,
Cold and Soaked to the bone,
Packs weighed down, Uniform chafing skin raw.
No time for Pity , Must Keep Flint and powder dry.
Keeping the Military Road Free of Enemies,
To let Allied Artillery have access,
from Genappe to Brussels,
this Fail it must not.
Fleeing Civilians they met,
Women, Crying children,
Carrying all that they did own,
muddy and wet;
displaced,
oh how they did moan.
Nowhere Now Can those call Home.
( Saturday Night —
La Haye Sainte, June 17th / 18th 1815)
At last the Riflemen have arrived
at the large Farmstead,
La Haye Sainte,
Overlooked By Mont St. Jean,
Near the Village Called Waterloo.
Lightning Flashed, Thunder Roared,
The Cold Rain Still Poured.
Cannons Fired, Muskets Smoked In The wet Night,
Could This Be a Prelude For the Oncoming Fight?
Soon The Four Hundred Riflemen Of The KGL,
Were to Occupy the Farm La Haye saint,
Not Far From a Strategic Crossroads,
So on They Went.
As Men From the KGL Took over this important place,
The 95th Moved With Grace,
Opposite La Haye,
There they Soon Lay,
Sinking in the Waterlogged Bog,
Some Tried To Sleep,
Others Awake They Keep.
Waiting To Support the KGL Garrisoned Post.
Beyond the Walls,
Inside La Haye Sainte, Still hungry,
Soaked to the Bones,
Taking Up Positions,
Some Drinking Wine,
Most though Taking Time,
To Reflect.
Those Stationed In Woods behind,
No Shelter Could they Find,
Paused and Also Had Time to ponder.
Some thinking Of Wives Not Yet Married,
Children not Yet Born.
Others Thought of Lovers,
Of Parents Too.
Each Soldier Wrestling
With feelings,
With Impending Fear,
Some quietly Shed a Tear,
So Personal are their Reflections,
That They Know Soon,
Something will Happen,
The Three Armies Will Do Battle,
They Know that,
Europe’s Destiny does
Depend on Them.
Each One,
Not Knowing Which
Side Will Be Victorious,
Or Of Themselves,
Who the Battle will Survive,
To Live and Love again.
Those Riflemen Who Shall not Make It Home Alive.
These Thoughts always,
In the Minds of Soldiers.
Reflections of Life,
Of One’s Death,
What Will Happen,
To those That are Left?
Waterloo Covered in Blood
Scarlet clad soldiers who look so fine
Shoulder their muskets down the line
They aim, fire and disappear behind a cloak
Of fierce clouds of thick white smoke
Opposing men fall to the ground
Dead and dying, in howling sound
In an unseen deadly melody
War's unobserved absurdity, obscenity
Yet at home remembered as obligatory
Glory and Honour and Honour and Glory
Music and praising, medals and monuments
And mustering or men for proud marching
Beside No. 1 London at Hyde Park
At the Old Duke's home Aspley House
Crowds of peoples, visiting steeples
For songs of praise Oh! Those happy days
Now war is over...
There's relief, and peace for prosperity
For our glorious Great British nation
No more fears and war's alarms
No more threat of French invasion
The time passes by, and then's over heard
An older man's tales, to younger men's ears
Of stories of glories of long past years
Soldiering on, labouring, in blood, sweat and tears
"Waterloo, I was there, but now I'm here...
And perhaps, you'll give me, a listening ear
And go to the bar, and buy me a beer
Then listen to, my story of Waterloo
Why you can still live in London town
A free man, under our sovereign crown"
On that memorable day I'll say again
A sergeant major shouted to his men
"Stand your ground and grit your teeth"
"It is a glorious thing for a courageous man to die
Especially so, when fallen in the front ranks
As a warrior protecting his friends
Hold steadfast for freedom's fight
Resolutely accept you may die this night
Make your hearts valiant, courageous and strong
We shall do away with rapacious Boney's wrong"
Soldiers suffered while breathing
In the hot air of June
Like being in an oven too soon
For every battle of the warrior
Is with confused noise,
Gunpowder smells
Shouts, shots and shells
Strangely despite the deafening
Uproar of the war
There could be heard distinctly
A mysterious humming noise
Like on a peaceful summer's evening
A persistent humming from a myriad of beetles
Above the soldier's heads, above the soldier's heads...
Cannon balls shot through the air
Then bounced and rolled along the battleground
Like ploughs making lines in a farmer's field
But these lines were in all directions revealed
Canon balls scattered men in their path
Maiming men, screaming killing without feeling
Reeling, heads and arms thrown through the air
Thick hails of bullets whistled
With thunderous cannon fire
And this anger was not turned away
'Twas dangerous to raise an arm
Lest cross fire could tear it off
Yet a hand is stretched out still
For the relief of a fallen comrade
Then Marshall Nay's cavalry charged
All around the British squares to condemn
But their walls of bayonets faced them
A staff sergeant shouts,
"Aim at the horses boys
They're easier to hit
And they'll make obstacles"
Allied ranks and files stand firm,
Standing with their fallen comrade's blood
soaked in the ground, all around
Meanwhile near Wavre
Grouchy stays put with his men. Men?
With their hands in their pockets. Men?
Men are soldiers who march
to the sound of the gunfire.
But Grouchy was obeying his last orders.
"Last orders?"
Was he down the pub?
"Last orders gentleman please."
It's alright for some,
Those not in front
of the cannon gun
Don't fight tomorrow mate. It's too late.
At Waterloo the Prussians arrive,
But only just in time.
Marshall Blucher commands,
"Forward! Raise the black flag my children,
No mercy, no prisoners. Forward!"
The Imperial Old Guard, with their bearskin hats,
extravagant moustaches, great coats,
and backpacks.
Are sent forward by Napoleon to win the day
Tough old veterans ready, for another affray
Allies stood fast in their daring do
With bayonets, brave men and true
The turning point of that noble struggle
Came with Wellington's command
"Now's your time".
Advancing forward down below
Shoulder to shoulder against the foe
In hand to hand carnage
Strong men working together
There's less casualties that way
And troops behind are safe
The hot day of vengeance
On the Imperial Old Guard who flee
Those mighty men cry bitterly
The French will to win evaporates
Their expectancy of victory subsides
"The Guard does not surrender
The Guard dies"
Napoleon's diamonds sown in his coat
Were unable to deliver him away
On this his worst day
A day of tribulation and trouble
A day that he knew he'll meet
A day of desolation and defeat
A day of thick cloudy smoke
A day of flute and drum and distress
A day of dark grim gloominess
For the French that is
But as for us
It was a close run thing
Remember lest we forget
We few, we lucky few,
We happy few,
We band of brothers,
Fighting for our freedom
Against interfering others
We hold the line,
When they try to break it
Our freedom's precious,
No one's going to take it
(Saturday Afternoon June 17th 1815)
After the Battle of Quatre Bras,
Wellingtons Army Marched Far.
Keeping The French at bay,
Skirmishers fought hard that day,
Tired and hungry men, Dirty,
Ragged and sore,
Could they have given more?
Detailed to Relieve Those Worn out
Skirmisher Men, Came to fore
The 2nd Light Bn Kings German Legion along.
With the 95th,
Both in Jackets of Green,
Brandishing a Baker Rifle, Sword
Bayonet gleaming Mean.
Advancing Fast,
Pushing on Napoleons Forces could not get past.
Thus these Riflemen a rearguard they became.
Darkening Clouds of grey Pregnant With rain;
Cast Shadow upon all of those
Thousands Retreating Allied Soldiers, Dusty
weary, Hungry, Unsure Marching Past Fields of Cattle.
On they went,
All of their energy Almost Spent.
As The Riflemen Advanced,
They Took No Chance,
In case Of A French Attack.
Stomachs Empty,
Consumed by Raging
Thirst, Feet Blistered,
Aching Backs Under
their Heavy Packs.
Late Afternoon dawns,
Darkening Sky Threatens Rain.
Entering a meadow,
Taking off Those heavy
Packs, Rifles at the ready.
Prepare for an Enemy attack,
Orders are told by The Officers;
worn out too as their Riflemen.
Soon exhausted Both Officers and all
Engulfed by Sleep, Little Respite.
Before the Onset of Night
Thunder Rolls back and Fourth, Loud So loud,
As if The God of War Threw down His Mighty Hammer.
Clouds did Burst,
Rain, Oh how it came
A Sudden Downpour,
That Seemed Never To
Stop.
Awoken By Pain From the Pouring Unrelenting rain,
It’s drops piercing as Thousands of Needlepoints.
Getting ready, On Their Feet,
Stiffened and sore, The
Soldiers,
Once More
Begin To
Double Quick March.
Retreating Fast, Through Field and Flooded Roads,
Villages They Did Pass.
Pushing On, In Fields Of Man high corn;
Caked in mud,
they could no longer Recognise Friendly Or Enemy.
Thundering Artillery Fire In the not so Distance,
Brunswick Hussars, Galloping past,
Warn that the Despot French
Have Distance and Ground Gained.
Now Up to Their Knees In Water,
Cold and Soaked to the bone,
Packs weighed down, Uniform chafing skin raw.
No time for Pity , Must Keep Flint and powder dry.
Keeping the Military Road Free of Enemies,
To let Allied Artillery have access,
from Genappe to Brussels,
this Fail it must not.
Fleeing Civilians they met,
Women, Crying children,
Carrying all that they did own,
muddy and wet;
displaced,
oh how they did moan.
Nowhere Now Can those call Home.
( Saturday Night —
La Haye Sainte, June 17th / 18th 1815)
At last the Riflemen have arrived
at the large Farmstead,
La Haye Sainte,
Overlooked By Mont St. Jean,
Near the Village Called Waterloo.
Lightning Flashed, Thunder Roared,
The Cold Rain Still Poured.
Cannons Fired, Muskets Smoked In The wet Night,
Could This Be a Prelude For the Oncoming Fight?
Soon The Four Hundred Riflemen Of The KGL,
Were to Occupy the Farm La Haye saint,
Not Far From a Strategic Crossroads,
So on They Went.
As Men From the KGL Took over this important place,
The 95th Moved With Grace,
Opposite La Haye,
There they Soon Lay,
Sinking in the Waterlogged Bog,
Some Tried To Sleep,
Others Awake They Keep.
Waiting To Support the KGL Garrisoned Post.
Beyond the Walls,
Inside La Haye Sainte, Still hungry,
Soaked to the Bones,
Taking Up Positions,
Some Drinking Wine,
Most though Taking Time,
To Reflect.
Those Stationed In Woods behind,
No Shelter Could they Find,
Paused and Also Had Time to ponder.
Some thinking Of Wives Not Yet Married,
Children not Yet Born.
Others Thought of Lovers,
Of Parents Too.
Each Soldier Wrestling
With feelings,
With Impending Fear,
Some quietly Shed a Tear,
So Personal are their Reflections,
That They Know Soon,
Something will Happen,
The Three Armies Will Do Battle,
They Know that,
Europe’s Destiny does
Depend on Them.
Each One,
Not Knowing Which
Side Will Be Victorious,
Or Of Themselves,
Who the Battle will Survive,
To Live and Love again.
Those Riflemen Who Shall not Make It Home Alive.
These Thoughts always,
In the Minds of Soldiers.
Reflections of Life,
Of One’s Death,
What Will Happen,
To those That are Left?
Waterloo Covered in Blood
Scarlet clad soldiers who look so fine
Shoulder their muskets down the line
They aim, fire and disappear behind a cloak
Of fierce clouds of thick white smoke
Opposing men fall to the ground
Dead and dying, in howling sound
In an unseen deadly melody
War's unobserved absurdity, obscenity
Yet at home remembered as obligatory
Glory and Honour and Honour and Glory
Music and praising, medals and monuments
And mustering or men for proud marching
Beside No. 1 London at Hyde Park
At the Old Duke's home Aspley House
Crowds of peoples, visiting steeples
For songs of praise Oh! Those happy days
Now war is over...
There's relief, and peace for prosperity
For our glorious Great British nation
No more fears and war's alarms
No more threat of French invasion
The time passes by, and then's over heard
An older man's tales, to younger men's ears
Of stories of glories of long past years
Soldiering on, labouring, in blood, sweat and tears
"Waterloo, I was there, but now I'm here...
And perhaps, you'll give me, a listening ear
And go to the bar, and buy me a beer
Then listen to, my story of Waterloo
Why you can still live in London town
A free man, under our sovereign crown"
On that memorable day I'll say again
A sergeant major shouted to his men
"Stand your ground and grit your teeth"
"It is a glorious thing for a courageous man to die
Especially so, when fallen in the front ranks
As a warrior protecting his friends
Hold steadfast for freedom's fight
Resolutely accept you may die this night
Make your hearts valiant, courageous and strong
We shall do away with rapacious Boney's wrong"
Soldiers suffered while breathing
In the hot air of June
Like being in an oven too soon
For every battle of the warrior
Is with confused noise,
Gunpowder smells
Shouts, shots and shells
Strangely despite the deafening
Uproar of the war
There could be heard distinctly
A mysterious humming noise
Like on a peaceful summer's evening
A persistent humming from a myriad of beetles
Above the soldier's heads, above the soldier's heads...
Cannon balls shot through the air
Then bounced and rolled along the battleground
Like ploughs making lines in a farmer's field
But these lines were in all directions revealed
Canon balls scattered men in their path
Maiming men, screaming killing without feeling
Reeling, heads and arms thrown through the air
Thick hails of bullets whistled
With thunderous cannon fire
And this anger was not turned away
'Twas dangerous to raise an arm
Lest cross fire could tear it off
Yet a hand is stretched out still
For the relief of a fallen comrade
Then Marshall Nay's cavalry charged
All around the British squares to condemn
But their walls of bayonets faced them
A staff sergeant shouts,
"Aim at the horses boys
They're easier to hit
And they'll make obstacles"
Allied ranks and files stand firm,
Standing with their fallen comrade's blood
soaked in the ground, all around
Meanwhile near Wavre
Grouchy stays put with his men. Men?
With their hands in their pockets. Men?
Men are soldiers who march
to the sound of the gunfire.
But Grouchy was obeying his last orders.
"Last orders?"
Was he down the pub?
"Last orders gentleman please."
It's alright for some,
Those not in front
of the cannon gun
Don't fight tomorrow mate. It's too late.
At Waterloo the Prussians arrive,
But only just in time.
Marshall Blucher commands,
"Forward! Raise the black flag my children,
No mercy, no prisoners. Forward!"
The Imperial Old Guard, with their bearskin hats,
extravagant moustaches, great coats,
and backpacks.
Are sent forward by Napoleon to win the day
Tough old veterans ready, for another affray
Allies stood fast in their daring do
With bayonets, brave men and true
The turning point of that noble struggle
Came with Wellington's command
"Now's your time".
Advancing forward down below
Shoulder to shoulder against the foe
In hand to hand carnage
Strong men working together
There's less casualties that way
And troops behind are safe
The hot day of vengeance
On the Imperial Old Guard who flee
Those mighty men cry bitterly
The French will to win evaporates
Their expectancy of victory subsides
"The Guard does not surrender
The Guard dies"
Napoleon's diamonds sown in his coat
Were unable to deliver him away
On this his worst day
A day of tribulation and trouble
A day that he knew he'll meet
A day of desolation and defeat
A day of thick cloudy smoke
A day of flute and drum and distress
A day of dark grim gloominess
For the French that is
But as for us
It was a close run thing
Remember lest we forget
We few, we lucky few,
We happy few,
We band of brothers,
Fighting for our freedom
Against interfering others
We hold the line,
When they try to break it
Our freedom's precious,
No one's going to take it
(Saturday Afternoon June 17th 1815)
After the Battle of Quatre Bras,
Wellingtons Army Marched Far.
Keeping The French at bay,
Skirmishers fought hard that day,
Tired and hungry men, Dirty,
Ragged and sore,
Could they have given more?
Detailed to Relieve Those Worn out
Skirmisher Men, Came to fore
The 2nd Light Bn Kings German Legion along.
With the 95th,
Both in Jackets of Green,
Brandishing a Baker Rifle, Sword
Bayonet gleaming Mean.
Advancing Fast,
Pushing on Napoleons Forces could not get past.
Thus these Riflemen a rearguard they became.
Darkening Clouds of grey Pregnant With rain;
Cast Shadow upon all of those
Thousands Retreating Allied Soldiers, Dusty
weary, Hungry, Unsure Marching Past Fields of Cattle.
On they went,
All of their energy Almost Spent.
As The Riflemen Advanced,
They Took No Chance,
In case Of A French Attack.
Stomachs Empty,
Consumed by Raging
Thirst, Feet Blistered,
Aching Backs Under
their Heavy Packs.
Late Afternoon dawns,
Darkening Sky Threatens Rain.
Entering a meadow,
Taking off Those heavy
Packs, Rifles at the ready.
Prepare for an Enemy attack,
Orders are told by The Officers;
worn out too as their Riflemen.
Soon exhausted Both Officers and all
Engulfed by Sleep, Little Respite.
Before the Onset of Night
Thunder Rolls back and Fourth, Loud So loud,
As if The God of War Threw down His Mighty Hammer.
Clouds did Burst,
Rain, Oh how it came
A Sudden Downpour,
That Seemed Never To
Stop.
Awoken By Pain From the Pouring Unrelenting rain,
It’s drops piercing as Thousands of Needlepoints.
Getting ready, On Their Feet,
Stiffened and sore, The
Soldiers,
Once More
Begin To
Double Quick March.
Retreating Fast, Through Field and Flooded Roads,
Villages They Did Pass.
Pushing On, In Fields Of Man high corn;
Caked in mud,
they could no longer Recognise Friendly Or Enemy.
Thundering Artillery Fire In the not so Distance,
Brunswick Hussars, Galloping past,
Warn that the Despot French
Have Distance and Ground Gained.
Now Up to Their Knees In Water,
Cold and Soaked to the bone,
Packs weighed down, Uniform chafing skin raw.
No time for Pity , Must Keep Flint and powder dry.
Keeping the Military Road Free of Enemies,
To let Allied Artillery have access,
from Genappe to Brussels,
this Fail it must not.
Fleeing Civilians they met,
Women, Crying children,
Carrying all that they did own,
muddy and wet;
displaced,
oh how they did moan.
Nowhere Now Can those call Home.
( Saturday Night —
La Haye Sainte, June 17th / 18th 1815)
At last the Riflemen have arrived
at the large Farmstead,
La Haye Sainte,
Overlooked By Mont St. Jean,
Near the Village Called Waterloo.
Lightning Flashed, Thunder Roared,
The Cold Rain Still Poured.
Cannons Fired, Muskets Smoked In The wet Night,
Could This Be a Prelude For the Oncoming Fight?
Soon The Four Hundred Riflemen Of The KGL,
Were to Occupy the Farm La Haye saint,
Not Far From a Strategic Crossroads,
So on They Went.
As Men From the KGL Took over this important place,
The 95th Moved With Grace,
Opposite La Haye,
There they Soon Lay,
Sinking in the Waterlogged Bog,
Some Tried To Sleep,
Others Awake They Keep.
Waiting To Support the KGL Garrisoned Post.
Beyond the Walls,
Inside La Haye Sainte, Still hungry,
Soaked to the Bones,
Taking Up Positions,
Some Drinking Wine,
Most though Taking Time,
To Reflect.
Those Stationed In Woods behind,
No Shelter Could they Find,
Paused and Also Had Time to ponder.
Some thinking Of Wives Not Yet Married,
Children not Yet Born.
Others Thought of Lovers,
Of Parents Too.
Each Soldier Wrestling
With feelings,
With Impending Fear,
Some quietly Shed a Tear,
So Personal are their Reflections,
That They Know Soon,
Something will Happen,
The Three Armies Will Do Battle,
They Know that,
Europe’s Destiny does
Depend on Them.
Each One,
Not Knowing Which
Side Will Be Victorious,
Or Of Themselves,
Who the Battle will Survive,
To Live and Love again.
Those Riflemen Who Shall not Make It Home Alive.
These Thoughts always,
In the Minds of Soldiers.
Reflections of Life,
Of One’s Death,
What Will Happen,
To those That are Left?
Drum till your hands are sore they cried,
Drum till your lot is do or die,
Drum till we win and seize the day,
At Hougoumont we marched that day.
They slashed and fired and drove ahead,
They tripped and stomped upon the dead,
They stormed the gates and battled through,
At Hougoumont, our men in Blue!
Now listen to their anguished cries,
Now hear the groans of men who die,
Now slaughtered by the men in Red,
At Hougoumont, our Blues lie dead.
What good became of all this mess?
What gains were made for this distress?
What tune to beat upon my drum,
At Hougoumont, where all is glum.
As noise and smoke all starts to clear,
As English words are all I hear,
As the Blue alone inside the gate,
At Hougoumont, I fear and wait.
Drum till your hands are sore they cried,
Drum till your lot is do or die,
Drum till we win and seize the day,
At Hougoumont we marched that day.
They slashed and fired and drove ahead,
They tripped and stomped upon the dead,
They stormed the gates and battled through,
At Hougoumont, our men in Blue!
Now listen to their anguished cries,
Now hear the groans of men who die,
Now slaughtered by the men in Red,
At Hougoumont, our Blues lie dead.
What good became of all this mess?
What gains were made for this distress?
What tune to beat upon my drum,
At Hougoumont, where all is glum.
As noise and smoke all starts to clear,
As English words are all I hear,
As the Blue alone inside the gate,
At Hougoumont, I fear and wait.