Old soldiers and sailors and airmen march by
Bent but not broken, not nearly as spry
As the day they marched off to give Jerry Hell
At places with names like Beaumont Hamel.
They march to the cenotaph wearing berets.
Their skin is all wrinkled. Their hair is all grey.
They wipe away tears and old chests still swell
At mention of names like Beaumont Hamel.
They're buried in Burma. They're buried at sea
The lost generation from a proud colony.
We remember the fallen, remember them well.
They died at places like Beaumont Hamel.
Forget not their names. They gave their lives.
For us who came later they marched off to die.
Read loudly the names of all those who fell
In places with names like Beaumont Hamel.
Brave Newfoundlanders who answered the call
And asked not the reason nor sense to it all.
They came from the outports and cities as well
To die in the mud at Beaumont Hamel.
Brother by brothers, fathers by sons
‘Til each tasted death from the enemy's guns
And some met a fate much too gruesome to tell
As they died in the mud at Beaumont Hamel.
Mothers and sisters and fathers and wives
And children all mourned for those who had died
In the carnage of courage, the smoke and the smell
Of the Devil's domain, damned Beaumont Hamel.
Jim Boswell, Saskatoon, SK