Songs

This page contains a selection of songs sung in the trenches by the soldiers. Warning; some of the songs are presented in their original forms and contain strong language. If you wish to hear some of the songs to music, Tideway School have two excellent recordings set up as part of their project about the Great War. To go to the site, click here.

Hush, here comes a Whizzbang.

Hanging on the Old Barbed Wire.

I want to go home

Whiter than Whitewash

Fred Karno�s Army

I Don�t Want to Join the Army�

Nevermind

Inky Pinky Parlez-Vous/ Mademoiselle from Armetieres.

Far, Far From Wipers

�

'Oh it's a lovely war!'

�� Up to your waist in water, up to your eyes in slush,
�� Using the kind of language that makes the sergeant blush,
�� Who wouldn't join the army? That's what we all enquire.
�� Don't we pity the poor civilian sitting by the fire.
��
(Chorus)
�� Oh, oh, oh it's a lovely war.
�� Who wouldn't be a soldier, eh? Oh it's a shame to take the pay.
�� As soon as reveille has gone we feel just as heavy as lead,
�� But we never get up till the sergeant brings our breakfast up to bed.
�� Oh, oh, oh, it's a lovely war

�� What do we want with eggs and ham when we've got plum and apple jam?
�� Form fours. Right turn. How shall we spend the money we earn?
�� Oh, oh, oh it's a lovely war.
�� When does a soldier grumble? When does he make a fuss?
�� No one is more contented in all the world than us.
�� Oh it's a cushy life, boys, really we love it so:
�� Once a fellow was sent on leave and simply refused to go.
�� (Chorus)

�Oh What A Lovely War was written in 1917 by J.P.Long and Maurice Scott as a music hall tune and adapted by the soldiers. This is the version which is now taken to be the original. �

'Bombed last night'

�� Bombed last night, and bombed the night before.
�� Going to get bombed tonight if we never get bombed anymore.
�� When we're bombed, we're scared as we can be.
�� Can't stop the bombing from old Higher Germany.
�� They're warning us, they're warning us.
�� One shell hole for just the four of us.
�� Thank your lucky stars there are no more of us.
�� So one of us can fill it all alone.

�� Gassed last night, and gassed the night before.
�� Going to get gassed tonight if we never get gassed anymore.
�� When we're gassed, we're sick as we can be.
�� For phosgene and mustard gas is much too much for me.
�� They're killing us, they're killing us.
�� One respirator for the four of us.
�� Thank your lucky stars that we can all run fast.
�� So one of us can take it all alone.

�Bombed last night� is again an original song from the war, and is typical of much trench music. Firstly, it is sung as a chant; enabling soldiers of all vocal reaches to join in. Secondly, it relies on repetition and imagination on the soldiers� behalf. This meant that one soldier could �lead�, making up the lyrics, which everyone else could then accompany him. Other verses include �Drunk last night� and �shelled last night�

Fred Karno's army'

��We are Fred Karno's army, the ragtime infantry.
�� We cannot fight, we cannot shoot, what bleedin�use are we?
�� And when we get to Berlin we'll hear the Kaiser say,
'Hoch, hoch! Mein Gott, what a fucking rotten lot, are the ragtime infantry'

Fred Karno was a popular American entertainer who toured the USA with several large companies. Before Chaplin was signed to Keystone, he was a leading member of this troupe. This song is presented in a more sanctified version in civilian/post-war literature � a common trait with many of the songs. Fred Karno refers to the new recruits: the song often appears with the variant �We are Kitchener�s army�. �

'Hanging on the Old Barbed Wire'

�� If you want to find the lance-jack, I know where he is
�� I know where he is, I know where he is
�� If you want to find the lance-jack, I know where he is
�� He's scrounging round the cookhouse door.
�� I've seen him, I've seen him
�� Scrounging round the cookhouse door, I've seen him,
�� Scrounging round the cookhouse door.

�

�� The company sergeant...He's laying on the latrine floor

�� The quarter master...Miles and miles behind the lines.

�� The sergeant-major...Thieving all the squaddies' rum.

�� The buckshee private...Buried in a deep shell hole.

�� The C.O....Down in a deep dugout.

�� The brasshats...Drinking claret at Brigade HQ.

�� The politicians....Drinking brandy at the House of Commons bar.

�� The whole battalion...Hanging on the old barbed wire.

A song sung on the march, where the repetitions kept the rhythm and helped to take the soldiers� minds off the distances they had to travel. The lyrics give a fairly typical view of the war as it is presented today: highlighting the incompetence of the commanding officers, and emphasizing the cannon-fodder attitude to the troops.

'I want to go home'

�� I want to go home, I want to go home.
�� I don't want to go in the trenches no more,
�� Where whizzbangs and shrapnel they whistle and roar.
�� Take me over the see, where the Alleyman can't get at me.
�� Oh my, I don't want to die, I want to go home.
�� I want to go home, I want to go home.
�� I don't want to visit la Belle France no more,
�� For oh the Jack Johnsons they make such a roar.
�� Take me over the sea, where the snipers they can't get at me.
�� Oh my, I don't want to die, I want to go home.

�'I don't want to join the Army'

�� I don't want to join the army,
�� I don't want to go to war.
�� I'd rather hang around Piccadilly underground.
�� Living off the earnings of a lady whore.
�� I don't want a bayonet in my belly,
�� I don't want my bollocks shot away.
�� I'd rather stay in England, in merry, merry England,
�� And fuck this bleeding life away.

Taken from the music hall song �On Sunday I walk out with a sailor� this song reverses recruitment propaganda into intensely resentful verse. The �lady whore� is usually edited into a �well paid lady�, or �a lady typist�, again an indication of how the soldier�s versions were sanctified for a peacetime audience. Picadilly Circus was known at this time for the high percentage of prostitutes (male and female), tramps and pimps who frequented the area.

Never Mind.

�� If the sergeant drinks your rum, never mind
�� And your face may lose its smile, never mind
�� Though he's just a bloody sot, he's entitled to the lot
�� If the sergeant drinks your rum, never mind

�� When old Jerry shells your trench, never mind
�� And your face may lose its smile, never mind
�� Though the sandbags bust and fly you have only once to die,

�� If you get stuck on the wire, never mind
�� And your face may lose its smile, never mind
�� Though you're stuck there all the day, they count you dead and stop your pay
�� If you get stuck on the wire, never mind

�� If the sergeant says your mad, never mind
�� P'raps you are a little bit, never mind
�� Just be calm don't answer back, cause the sergeant stands no slack
�� So if he says you're mad, well - you are.

Parody of:

�� Though your heart may ache a while, never mind
�� Though your face may lose its smile, never mind
�� For there's sunshine after rain, and the gladness follows pain.
�� You'll be happy once again, never mind

This is sung to the tune of ��If you�re happy and you know it, clap your hands�, and is appropriated from a 1913 tune.

The covert reference to shellshock is unusual, but again suggests the soldiers� recognition of the condition, and their acknowledgement that it is part life at the front. The song also demonstrates the civilian/combatant paradox � to the civilians it enforces the ideals of �keep smiling�, and for the soldiers it expresses their fears, resentments and anxieties without overtly upsetting the civilians.

�'Three German Officers/Mademoiselle from Armentieres'/Inky-Pinky

�� Three German Officers crossed the Rhine, parlez-vous
�� Three German Officers crossed the Rhine, parlez-vous
�� Three German Officers crossed the Rhine
�� To fuck the women and drink the wine,
�� Inky-Pinky parlez-vous

�� They came to the door of a wayside Inn, parlez-vous
�� Pissed on the mat and walked right in,
�� Inky-Pinky parlez-vous

�� 'Oh landlord have you a daughter fair?', parlez-vous
�� 'With lily-white tits and golden hair?',
�� Inky-Pinky parlez-vous

�� 'My only daughter's far too young', parlez-vous
�� 'To be fucked by you, you bastard Hun',
�� Inky-Pinky parlez-vous

�� 'Oh father dear I'm not too young' parlez-vous
�� 'I've just been fucked by the blacksmith's son',
�� Inky-Pinky parlez-vous

�� At last they got her on the bed, parlez-vous
�� And shagged her 'til her cheeks were red,
�� Inky-Pinky parlez-vous

�� And then they took her to a bed, parlez-vous
�� And shagged her till she was nearly dead,
�� Inky-Pinky parlez-vous

�� They took her down a shady lane, parlez-vous
�� And fucked her back to life again,
�� Inky-Pinky parlez-vous

�� They shagged her up they shagged her down, parlez-vous
�� They shagged her all around the town,
�� Inky-Pinky parlez-vous

�� They shagged her in they shagged her out, parlez-vous
�� They shagged her up her water-spout,
�� Inky-Pinky parlez-vous

�� Now seven months later all was well, parlez-vous
�� Eight months later she began to swell,
�� Inky-Pinky parlez-vous

�� Nine months later she gave a grunt, parlez-vous
�� And a little fat Prussian popped out her cunt,
�� Inky-Pinky parlez-vous

�� The fat little Prussian he grew and grew, parlez-vous
�� He fucked the cat and the donkey too,
�� Inky-Pinky parlez-vous

�� The fat little Prussian he went to hell, parlez-vous
�� He fucked the devil and his wife as well,
�� Inky-Pinky parlez-vous

�� It�s a hell of a somg that we�ve just sung, parlez-vous
�� And the bastard that wrote it ought to be hung, �
�� INKY PINKY PARLEZ VOUS!

Possibly the most obscene of the trench songs, which demonstrates not only the crudeness of the soldiers, but considerable ire towards the Germans. References to the rape of the Landlord�s daughter possibly derive from the Bryce Treaty, a paper published in 1914 that detailed German �Atrocities� in Belgium. Although the Treaty is obviously fictitious to a modern reader (read it here), it�s status as a government document meant that it was widely believed. The song was widely sung in the B.E.F. and several different versions exist. Inky-pinky parlez-vous (which is nonsense rhyme) is variously replaced by �Skidoo�, or �Taboo� in printed versions, which are unanimously edited. �Armetieres was a billet town in the Somme famed for it�s brothels. Another marching song requiring very little musical ability, and very popular with coachloads of inebriated students.

Far, far from Wipers'

�� Far, far from Wipers I long to be.
�� Where German snipers can't get at me.
�� Dark is my dugout, cold are my feet.
�� Waiting for Whizzbangs to send me to sleep.

Wipers was the name for the town of Ypres, although the soldiers would have substituted the name of the town nearest to their posting. Despite the starkness of the message, this is a ironically sentimental song to the tune of a ballad called �Sing Me To Sleep�.

'Whiter than the Whitewash'

�� Whiter than the whitewash on the wall!

�� Whiter than the whitewash on the wall!
�� Oh wash me in the water that you wash your dirty daughter in,
�� So that I can be whiter than the whitewash on the wall!
�� On the wall, on the wall, On the wall, on the wall,
�� Oh wash me in the water that you wash your dirty daughter in,
�� So that I can be whiter than the whitewash on the wall!

'Hush, here comes a Whizzbang'

�� Hush, here comes a Whizzbang.
�� Hush, here comes a Whizzbang
�� Now you soldiermen get down those stairs
�� Down in your dugouts and say your prayers.
�� Hush, here comes a Whizzbang,
�� And it's making right for you.
�� And you'll see all the wonders of No-Man's-Land,
�� If a Whizzbang, hits you.

A Whizzbang is a large shell, named for the noise it made on falling.

�There�s a Long, Long Trail�

There�s a long, long trail a winding,
Into the land of my dreams.
Where the nightingales are singing,
And a white moon beams.
There�s a long, long night of waiting ,
Until all my dreams come true.
Till the day when I�ll be going down,
That long, long trail with you.
�
Sentimental songs seem to have been as popular as the more resentful tunes. Songs such as this, The Roses Of Picardy and Keep the Home Fires Burning were repeated ad nauseum in the music halls at home, but there is evidence to show that the soldiers also enjoyed singing them. This was possibly because the songs reminded them of an idealized Britain, and reinforced their needs to stay �civilised� whilst in the trenches. These songs highlight the soldiers� needs for self-justification, and encourage identification with the home front as a �natural environment. This concept is discussed more fully in the songs essay