Cut long ago, for the old queen's funeral, the uniform still fitted him well.

Wide Jodphurs, high boots, the gleaming Sam Browne,

And those ribbons, hard earned, in the Kush and the Transvaal.

He didn't like the new cap, „it makes me look like a damned porter!"

The words of the Whitehall wallah still burned in his ear.

"Not this one, you couldn't keep up, this is a young man's war,  

Our boys will be in Berlin before Christmas, never you fear.

But we could probably find you a desk somewhere!"

With new grips and nitro proof, there was nothing „old queen" about the revolver.

Hysteria darkened the whole land, while the droning sound boomed loud.

For high above, a Zeppelin, groped hopelessly through heavy cloud.

There would be no Christmas in Paris for this Kaiser!

Below in the tap room of the Rising Sun, the counter measures were in place,

The cellar door was bolted and the mastiff lay snoring on the mat.

Fresh sawdust on the floor, the bar waxed and polished, in each glass, your own face,

Should they come, the invading Huns would appreciate all of that.

But not the bottle of strychnine under the till.

A giggle from the wardrobe disturbed his reverie.

The three youngest daughters had crept inside to safety.

For no bomb or bayonette would ever find them there.

His wife, sat under the bright gas lights of the village hall

(Stuffy with the shutters closed)

With the good ladies of the women's institute. She knitted yet another mitten

And wondered if her grown boys would see a pair at all,  

For Christmas, she had heard, can be very cold in Berlin.

As ever her faith sustained her, „It's a very good thing that God is an Englishman!"

Her husband, depressed, was still deep in thought: „If the heathen Hun did come,  

Raping and pillaging, as he had in Antwerp. Should I shoot the girls first, or the horse?"

For the old man knew how wars were won,

Without him, it was a lost cause!

But he didn't need to worry, for the following year he got his chance,

But not to lead his troopers through some sunlit Prussian Park.

For he never needed either his war horse or his lance.

While drowning in the dreadful mud of Langemarck,

Where he finally joined all six of his boys.

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