FAR, FAR FROM YPRES
SECOND HALF SCRIPT
Pages 1, 2 and 3
Narrator
This is an excerpt from "True World War Stories” by C.B. Purdom:
“I was born in November 1898 so that when war was declared I was at school. I joined the School Cadet Battalion in 1914 and was appointed corporal. At Whitsun 1915, I told the O.C. cadets I was going to join up. "Good." he said, "How old do you want to be?"
We fixed things between us, and armed with a letter from him I presented myself to the colonel of an infantry battalion which was just being formed, and on the strength of the letter I was appointed a lance-corporal and told to get my hair cut. I did so and afterwards saw the regimental sergeant major who put me through my paces and told me to get my hair cut. In ten weeks I had been made sergeant."
Volunteers came from all walks of life to join the forces and with the pressure on the middle classes to enter the fray, many enlisted without a true idea of command and what they were letting themselves in for. I suppose that was true of all recruits but never more so than with the affable, brother Bertie, who’s world changed from middle class security to war’s grim reality:
Goodbyee
Brother Bertie went away, to do his bit the other day.
With a smile on his lips and his lieutenant pips upon his shoulder bright and gay,
As the train moved out he said, 'Remember me to all the birds'
Then he wagged his paw and went away to war, shouting out these pathetic words;
Goodbyee, goodbyee
Wipe the tear, baby dear.
From your eyeee.
Though it’s hard to part I know,
I'll be tickled to death to go
Don't cryee, don't sighee.
There's a silver lining in the skyee,
Bonsoir old thing, cheerio chin chin
Napoo, toodle-oo, goodbyee.
Goodbyee, goodbyee
Wipe the tear, baby dear.
From your eyeee.
Though it’s hard to part I know,
I'll be tickled to death to go. …… Staccato
Don't cryee, don't sighee.
There's a silver lining in the skyee,
Bonsoir old thing, cheerio chin chin.
Napoo, toodle-oo, goodbyee.
Bonsoir old thing, cheerio chin chin.
Napoo, toodle-oo, goodbyee
SEGUE
Narrator
In Flanders fields by John McCrae, May 1915
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields
Jimmy's Gone Tae Flanders
Jimmy's gone to Flanders, his fiddle lies upon his bed
It was his father's fiddle, though he's aye been shy to practice it
Jimmy's gone to Flanders, his fishing creel's a tangle
From the nicht he and Willie fished the Earn though there was no moon
Jimmy's gone to Flanders, he spoilt the old dog rotten
With scraps below the table, though I told him time and time again
Jimmy's gone to Flanders, his football boots are sodden
For they've no been near dubbin since he bought them new from Sandy Broon
When Jimmy's home from Flanders, he'll be shamed to clean those football boots
And sort out all thon tangle, for the Earn I hear is fishing good
When Jimmy's home from Flanders, we'll be sat down by the table
And we'll coax him to his fiddle, Jimmy, gie's "The Bonawe Highlanders"
Jimmy's gone to Flanders, though he had a job at Logie's yard
But all the lads were joining, it'll all be over by Christmas time
Jimmy's gone to Flanders, though he's no' the strength his father was
I'm sure he'll be worthy and that Jocky would have burst with pride
Jimmy's gone to Flanders, and I ken he has a lassie
Her father saw them walking by themselves below the Falls of May
Jimmy's gone to Flanders, he's as secret as his father was
But I caught her weeping as the sergeant marched him to the train
Narrator
So our hero, Jimmy MacDonald, went to Flanders and survived. Meanwhile, the marching songs of the troops, gave way to trench songs with an inevitable bitterness and a feeling of home-sickness. Above all there was fear, mixed with boredom. To relieve the boredom, the newspaper, “The Wipers Times” was created. A printing press had been found in Ypres and a sergeant who had been a printer in peacetime salvaged it and printed a sample page. The paper itself, “Wipers Times”, was named after the slang for Ypres itself and it was used by an imaginative bunch of soldiers to give so-called news reports of the area. It also had a “Situations Vacant” column, an example of which is, “Wanted, Wirecutters, good openings for sharp young men. Apply Box 203, No Man’s Land.”
Also, this is an example from the “reader’s complaints” section:
Sir, On taking my usual morning walk this morning, I noticed that a portion of the road is still up. To my knowledge, the road has been in this state of repair for at least six months. Surely the employees of the Ypres Corporation can do better than this.
“The Wipers Times” staff did not appreciate the unbounded optimism of Hilaire Belloc, editor of the pro-war magazine, “Land and Water”, which was notable for its inflated estimates of enemy casualties. Thus the article headed:
Proof That We Are Winning The War, by Belary Helloc
“In this article I wish to show plainly that under existing conditions, everything points to a speedy disintegration of the enemy. We will take first of all the effect of war on the male population of Germany. Firstly, let us take as our figures, 12,000,000 as the total fighting population of Germany. Of these, 8,000,000 are killed or being killed, hence we have 4,000,000 remaining. Of these 1,000,000 are non-combatants, being in the navy.
Of the 3,000,000 remaining, we can write off 2,500,000 as temperamentally unsuitable for fighting, owing to obesity and other ailments engendered by a gross mode of living. This leaves us 500,000 as the full strength. Of these 497,250 are known to be suffering from incurable diseases. This leaves us 2,750. Of these 2,150 are on the eastern front, and of the remaining 600, 584 are generals and staff.
Thus we find that there are 16 men on the western front. This number, I maintain, is not enough to give them even a fair chance of resisting four more big pushes, and hence the collapse of the western campaign.”
Whiter than the whitewash on the wall
Whiter than the whitewash on the wall
Oh, wash me in the water
That you washed your
Dirty daughter in.
And I shall be whiter
Than the whitewash on the wall
On the wall, On the wall
Oh wash me in the water
That you washed your
Dirty daughter in
And I shall 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 washed your
Dirty daughter in
And I shall be whiter
Than the whitewash on the wall
I want to go home,
I want to go home.
I don't want to go
To the trenches no more
Where whizz bangs and shrapnel