The whistles blown, over the top lads,

You've had your rum.

The Huns are dead, just walk don't run.

That's a laugh,

Dead men don't fire guns,

Someone's made a gaffe.

Where's Tom and Bill and Little Joe,

They were with me a moment ago?

All mates in the Accrington pals,

Now dying in the mud where they fell,

My name could be on the next salvo.

All those young lads who joined up for

The thrill,

Certainly not expecting this hell.

Be brave lads, keep going! Brave I'm not,

Fear is what spurs you on.

Forward you might just make it,

Backwards you'll be surely shot.

All to claim a few yards of barren land,

The generals may say, well done!

But they are far from this bloody Somme.

Strange, how peaceful it's become since

That pain in my head.

Why, there's my old dad calling me,

But surely he must be dead! Mr Thomas Aitkin

Whalley Avenue, Bolton

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.