"Why should we fight" he asked me,
"'Cause England is at war?
Why are they fighting now, Dad,
What are they fighting for?
What does it mean to you, Dad,
To babes, and mum, and me?
The Germans won't come here
From away across the sea.
So why should you go there, Dad,
And leave us here to cry?
Is it cause England owns us?
Is that the reason why?"
His eyes look widely at me,
I tightly held my son,
And this is how I answered,
His questions one by one.
"We fight when England calls us,
For in her sacred keep
The ashes of our fathers
Lie in her soil asleep.
And many times for England
They fought that she'd be free,
And they are part of England,
And so, my son, are we.
And some may pass her by, lad,
And some may scorn her hand,
But we must be forever
A part of that fair land.
For everything we have son,
That's good and fine and just
Was washed in British blood
And given to us on trust.
"And we must keep that trust, son,
Against the force of greed.
And fight beside old England
Whenever she's in need.
And once again she's calling
Across the Empire wide,
And all her Empire answers:
"You'll find us at your side"
Oh yes, we're owned by England,
But we own England, too,
As you are part of me son,
And I am part of you"
Harold Wood, Ontario, Canada
Lads, I just want to live in a time when sons of the empire still had a connection with us. I don't think any Aussie, Kiwi, or Canuck gives a shit about the mother country anymore.
