MUSIC
Here you can find some of the many songs that the British troops sang in the Second World War. My aplogies if you find the coarse language offensive.
Note: Click on the Title line to download the tune.
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God save our gracious Queen,
Long live our noble Queen,
God save the Queen!
Send her victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us,
God save the Queen!
O lord God arise,
Scatter our enemies,
And make them fall!
Confound their knavish tricks,
Confuse their politics,
On you our hopes we fix,
God save the Queen!
Not in this land alone,
But be God's mercies known,
From shore to shore!
Lord make the nations see,
That men should brothers be,
And form one family,
The wide world ov'er
From every latent foe,
From the assasins blow,
God save the Queen!
O'er her thine arm extend,
For Britain's sake defend,
Our mother, prince, and friend,
God save the Queen!
Thy choicest gifts in store,
On her be pleased to pour,
Long may she reign!
May she defend our laws,
And ever give us cause,
To sing with heart and voice,
God save the Queen!---------------------------------------
2. No more Soldiering For Me
When this bleeding war is over;
Oh! How happy I shall be.
When I get my civvy clothes on,
No more soldiering for me.
No more church parades on Sundays,
No more asking for a pass.
We can tell the Sergeant Major
To stick his passes up his arse!--------------------------------------
Kiss me goodnight, Sergeant Major.
Tuck me in my little wooden bed.
We all love you, Sergeant Major,
When we hear you calling - 'Show a leg!'
Don't forget to wake me in the morning
And bring me a nice hot cup of tea.
Kiss me goodnight Sergeant Major.
Sergeant Major, be a mother to me--------------------------------------
4. Sod 'Em all
Sod 'em all. Sod 'em all,
The long and the short and the tall,
Sod all the sergeants and WO ones,
Sod all the corporals and their bastard sons,
For we're saying goodbye to them all,
As back to their billets they crawl,
You'll get no promotion
This side of the ocean,
So cheer up, my lads, sod 'em all.--------------------------------------
Deutscher, Deutscher, uber alles,
In the Sands outside Tobruk,
Saw a Jerry acting wary,
Thought I'd go and take a look.
He was sitting, pants down shitting,
Down a little shady pass.
Put a trifle up my rifle,
Aimed, and shot him up the arse.-------------------------------------
Hitler
Has only got one ball,
Goering
Has two, but very small
Himmler
Has something similar,
But poor old Goebbels
Has no balls
At all!-------------------------------------
7. You take the gunOh, I'll take the tripod,
And you take the gun,
And you'll be in action before me.
And if you get shot,
I'll take the blooming lot,
And I'll eat your iron ration in the morning---------------------------------------
NOTE: This song was written by some soldiers of the 8th army in retaliation to Lady Astor for her insulting comments regarding them. They had fought their way from Africa to Sicily and up into Italy without relief and the resulting discontent is evident in the sarcasm of the following song. All KRRC battalions that existed at the time fought in Italy, horrendous casualties were taken throughout the operation. At one point, 3 companies were cut off and wiped out entirely. No KRRC took part in the battle for Sicily.
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We are the D-Day Dodgers, out in Italy,
Always on the vino, always on the spree.
Eighth Army skivers and their tanks,
We go to war in ties like swanks.
For we are the D-Day Dodgers, in sunny Italy.
We landed at Salerno, a holiday with pay.
Jerry brought his bands out to cheer us on his way,
Showed us the sights and gave us tea,
We all sang songs, the beer was free.
For we are the D-Day Dodgers, the lads that D-Day dodged.
Palermo and Cassino were taken in our stride,
We did not go to fight there, we just went for the ride.
Anzio and Sangro are just names,
We only went to look for dames,
For we are the D-Day Dodgers, in sunny Italy.
On our way to Florence, we had a lovely time,
We drove a bus from Rimini, right through the Gothic Line,
Then to Bologna we did go,
And went bathing in the River Po,
For we are the D-Day Dodgers, the lads that D-Day dodged.
We hear the boys in France are going home on leave,
After six months service such a shame they're not relieved.
And we're told to carry on a few more years,
Because our wives don't shed no tears.
For we are the D-Day Dodgers, out in sunny Italy.
Once we had a "blue light" that we were going home,
Back to dear old Blighty, never more to roam.
Then someone whispered:'In France we'll fight,'
We said: 'Not that, we'll just sit tight,'
For we are the D-Day Dodgers, the lads that D-Day dodged.
Dear Lady Astor, you think you know alot,
Standing on a platform and talking tommy rot.
Dear England's sweetheart and her pride,
We think your mouth is much too wide -
From the D-Day Dodgers, out in sunny Italy.
Look around the hillsides, through the mist and rain,
See the scattered crosses, some that bear no name.
Heartbreak and toil and suffering gone,
The lads beneath, they slumber on.
They are the D-Day Dodgers, who'll stay in Italy.-------------------------------------
SONGS OF THE ARGYL AND SUTHERLAND HIGHLANDERS (attached reece unit)
1. The Green Hills of Tyrol (Mp3)
The tune is a pipe tune The Green Hills of Tyrol which was written during the Crimean War (1853-1856) by John MacLeod, a Pipe Major in the 93rd Highlanders. He adapted it after hearing a Sardinian band play a continental tune. That tune was based on an Alpine folk tune, and had also been used by Rossini in William Tell.
The tune and words are from two separate sources. The midi file has only the first verse and repeats the chorus at the end.
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There was a soldier, a Scottish soldier
Who wandered far away and soldiered far away
There was none bolder, with good broad shoulder
He's fought in many a fray
And fought and won!
He'd seen the glory and told the story
Of battles glorious
And deeds victorious
But now he's sighing, his heart is crying,
To leave these green hills of Tyrol
Chorus
Because these green hills are not Highland hills
Or the island hills they're not my land's hills!
And fair as these green foreign hills may be
They are not the hills of home.
And now this soldier, this Scottish soldier
Who wandered far away and soldiered far away
Sees leaves are falling and death is calling
And he will fade away in that far land!
He called his piper, his trusty piper
And bade him sound a lay
A pibroch sad to play
Upon a hillside, but Scottish hillside
Not on these green hills of Tyrol.
Chorus
And so this soldier, this Scottish soldier
Will wander far no more and soldier far no more
And on a hillside, a Scottish hillside
You'll see a piper play
His soldier home!
He'd seen the glory, he'd told the story
Of battles glorious
And deeds victorious
The bugles cease now, he is at peace now
Far from those green hills of Tyrol
2. The Gallant 51st (Poem- read in a Scottish accent!)They wore auld ragged flannels, wi' a faded khaki shirt,
They signed the brew in Leven Street, and tell't the clerk 'nae work',
But when the Nazi painter splashed Europe ower wi' red,
They changed their rags for Argyll Kilts an' marched awa' instead,
And on the beach at Dunkirk they withstood a hell o' fire,
An' oor tears o' pride were mingled for the laddies o' the shire,
But even in the watter, wi' the battle at its worst,
They kent the tune the pipers played, 'The Gallant Fifty First'.
The remanent o' that army frae Mull o' Haldane tae Dalquhurn,
Left some pals oot there, upon the baech who never will return,
Tho' some were taken prisoner, to the country o' the Hun,
They are waiting, aye and watching, for the day their pals will come,
When the pipes play, 'Hieland Laddie', the Argylls marching through Berlin,
And the prison gates are open, letting oot oor kith and kin,
When thy're hame among their ain folks and the honours are disbursed
Ye'll find them aye abume them a','The Gallant Fifty First'.
They sent them aff tae Egypt and the 'Tallies turned and ran,
An' tho' they didna hae the tanks, they fought as Scotsmen can,
Until the day they got the tools, tae help them dae their graft,
T'was then the battle started, and Auld Rommels crew went daft,
They chased them near six hunner miles, thro' desert mud and sand,
Where'ere the was a job tae dae, the Kilties lent a hand,
Whenever they got in a jam, an' things just looked their worst,
In the thickest o' the battle was, 'The Gallant Fifty First'.
Forgotten was the means test, depression an' the dole,
orr laddies had a job tae dae, and did it heart and soul,
In tanks, or planes or on the sea, wherever Huns conspire,
Ye'd bet yer bottom dollar, there were laddies frae the Shire,
For like the hills enduring, the lads could tak' what came,
Endure the worst the Hun could dae an' rise and fight again,
And so the hale wide world shall ken when freedom bends are burst,
Ye've got tae hand it tae the Scots, 'The Gallant Fifty first'.
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Kindly written by S. Ockers (rank to be announced) with research by Cpt. D Blatcher
