Little drops of water
Little drops of sand
Make the German Ocean
And our British Land.
Little dreams of Empire
(Castles on the sand)
Added Briton’s country
To Der Vaterland
Little bluff of Wilhelm
-War Lord Great and High –
Deutschland ueber alles
Made the Teuton cry
‘Little Willie’ looting
Where he found a way
Followed Father’s footsteps
Brother’s let us prey
Little bits of Kultur
“Made in Germany”
Wrought a lot of Mischief
J. Dingwall. 18.11.1916
On the ninth day of May the weather was fine,
The Scots Fusiliers held the right of the line.
In front of Couronne we took up our stand,
Determined to pierce that well fortified land.
The big Guns had battered throughout the long day
To make sure no obstacle stood in our way,
And the town of Doran looked a beautiful sight
Lit up by the flare-lights, red, green and white.
The Bugler relied for his country’s sake –
All depends on that hill by the side of the lake
And no cleaner fighter has handled the gun;
Take notice you Turk and uncivilised Hun.
Three times he countered and ably was led,
But each time repulsed by the Scottish Brigade.
No coward was he it was plain to be seen
As his dead lay in hundreds along the ravine.
The brave Fusiliers tho’ young in the name
Were eager to add more glory and fame
And uphold the regiment, cost what it may,
To add to their honours the ninth day of May.
Led by our Captain of honourable name
Well know in history as Claverhouse Graham.
“Over the parapet boys!’ was the cry.
No nobler death could a Fusilier die.
Over they went with an elegant cheer,
No face that I scanned had the least sign of fear.
Through a torrent of shell and blinding searchlights,
We gained all the trenches in front of the heights.
These young campaigners, I am proud to say,
Will live long in history for many a day.
The deeds they performed for their country’s sake
On the slopes of Couronne alongside the lake.
If fathers and mothers have cause to mourn
When peace is declared and their boys don’t return,
Remember the cause their young lives were given.
‘Tis their comrades wish’ they meet you in heaven.
So all you critics of paper-like fame
That say we sleep by the lake of Doran,
You might drop your pen and do more with your gun;
That’s the easiest way to get rid of the Hun.
Composed by one of the boys in the 8th Royal Scots Fusiliers, Salonika