Our men and boys who left us left their fields, their shops, their trades left their families and loved ones left this village, left England Went as if taken in a trance their staring eyes leading them to recruiting stations and from there to France They knew suffering and pain saw the devil in his trench Hear the whistle and run towards him screaming Hear the whistle And run towards him screaming In hope returning to our village to live as they had always done before Knowing