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The War tae en a Wars

The War tae en a Wars

Ullans Speakers Association - Article 10 - July 2009

Noo A weel know that wur suppose tae bae leevin in peace in this wee province efter a killin spree o’ forty year. But thaur is yin pairt o’ the history o’ these pairts that wae shudnae iver forget as weel. Noo am takin’ aboot the Graet War as it wus sae caa’d a what a killin match that wus awa bak in 1914 tae 1918.

Noo it wus suppose tae bae the war that wud en a wars, but aff coorse it niver did. The young men o Ulster an indeed the rest o’ Irelan listed in thaur thoosan’s tae gae aff an dae their bit for King an Country. The 36th Ulster Division on the first o July at the Battle o the Somme had ower five thoosan casualities an ower twa thoosan kilt an aff coorse maist o these men come frae a ower Ulster an hunners frae the the fair County o’ Entrim alane.

Am gled tae see that these men ir still remembered wae services an parades on the 1st o’ July ivery year an aff coorse some o’ is gae ower tae the Ulster Tower at Thiepval tae whaur on the broo o’ a hill sae mony o’ oor kith an kin fell. They still lie in the Flanders fields in row efter row o’ graves, Catholic an Protestant the gither, mann it wud mak ye think whiles whaur wae a went wrang, an why wae cudnae hae fun a better wye o’ soartin oot oor ain country withoot killin ither.

Onywye A come on a wee rhyme frae the first war scrieved bae a boady in the trenches wha’s name a dinnae know but A wud lake tae share it wae yese.

UP AN’ COME ALANG

Whun yer lyin’ in a dug-oot,
Lake a rabbit in its lair,
An’ there’s a whum an’ biz o’ bullets,
An’ there’s shrapnel in the air,
The place is naw invitin’
For tae weave a wee bit sang,
But A hae got a special message,
An’ it’s Up an’ come alang.

Noo, dinnae say there ir ithers
That can up an’ en’ the broil;
Sure the lan whaur we ir fechtin’
Is a consecrated soil.
Alow the grun I’m treadin’ noo
Ir laid the secret banes
O some thoosan British heroes
Wae but deeds for their gravestanes.

An’ oot in front is Kaiser Bill
A-twistin’ his moustache,
An’ subtractin’ an’ dividin’
Whun on Calais tae dash;
An’, oh, ‘twad be a dree day
If it iver cud bae sed
That the Germans stabled horses
On the graves o’ British deid.

O, here’s a big Jack Johnson
(It haes bursted jest behin);
It’s anither waste o’ pouther,
But it’s spoiled my wee bit ryhme,
For it’s fairly scared mae musie,
Sae I’m finishin’ mae sang,
An’ repeat the invitation,
For tae, Up an’ come alang.

Noo if naethin else A think it wus nice tae gie this young unknown sojer’s words a chance tae bae seen bae the guid folk o’ North Entrim an ayont wha lakely had an ancestor wha focht at the Somme.

A suppose if wae iver wud hae a luk in the guid book it wud behove is aa tae pye heed tae the words o’ the prophets whaur they sed “ They wull bate their swords intae plooshares an their spears intae prunin hooks. Nashion wull naw tak up sword agen nashion, nor wull they tren for war nae mair”. Boys wud that naw jest bae graet.


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