He’s Marching now,
still marching now
Pants stained with piss
And bayonets fixed.
He’s Marching now
A British Soldier
From Bandon Town.
From fearsome fighter
To sad old bloke.
Those Mau Mau bastards
are at the door,
Not scared of colonials
Standing too for the evening news,
DMS boots now paper shoes.
No Ration packs, he gets to choose
Liquidised dinner laced with booze.
Came back home to drive a bus
raised four kids, made no fuss,
Never spoke of jungle fires,
Pulling nails, or necklace tyres.
But when the twilight touched his mind
it brought back what he’d left behind,
And his last stand was made alone
behind the lines in a British Care Home