THE REDEEMED
SAW HIM PASS FROM THE BUSY PRESS
OF A DOWNTOWN STREET, IN HIS BATTLE DRESS.
SWINGING HIS ARMS AS HE MARCHED ALONG
WHISTLING, "THE BEER BARREL POLKA", SONG.
HEAD HELD HIGH & THE RHYTHMIC BEAT
OF HIS HOBNAIL BOOTS, ON THE BUSY STREET
STEADY HIS EYES & HIS FACE OF TAN
I KNEW THAT MY COUNTRY HAD MADE A MAN.
THOUGHT OF HIS YEARS JUST AFTER SCHOOL,
HIS ONLY ATTENTION WAS DICE & POOL.
THEN LATER, A DATE WITH A JITTERBUG JANE
POKER & CARDS & THE SUCKERS CAME.
BOOTLEG GIN & A 'TWO-BIT' FLOP
HE HAS GONE ON THE ROAD WHERE IT'S HELL TO STOP,
WHERE IT'S ALL DOWN HILL & A ONE WAY TRACK
A DAMNED HIGH GRADE ON THE LONG WAY BACK.
I THOUGHT OF OUR LEADERS OF BYGONE YEARS
RAVING OF FREEDOM. THEIR DREAD & THEIR FEARS
OF TEACHING BOYS WAR, FORBIDDING THEM DRILL
CLAIMING IT GAVE THEM THE LUST TO KILL.
AND, OUR BOYS WERE DENIED, OH GOD! THE SIN
TO WALK IN ORDER & DISCIPLINE.
SO OUR JOBLESS LAD JUST JOINED A GANG
WHILE OUR PREACHERS PREACHED & CHURCH BELLS RANG
OUR LADIES CLUBS I HEAR THEM YET
CONDEMNING WITH HORROR THE SCHOOL CADET
AND MOUTHING THE SACRIFICE, TIRESOME PRATE,
OF A UNIFORM TEACHING THE BOYS TO HATE.
DON'T LET US FORGET WE'RE ALL TO BLAME
FOR A NEGLECTED YOUTH & A NATION'S SHAME.
S0 TODAY HE PASSED & HE'LL NEVER GUESS
HOW SPLENDID HE LOOKED IN HIS BATTLEDRESS
SWINGING HIS ARMS AS HE TRAMPED ON BY
SINGING HIS SONG WITH HIS HEAD HELD HIGH.
MARCHING TO GLORY WITH RIFLE & KIT,
ONE IN A MILLION. TO DO HIS BIT.
I STOOD ON THERE WITH MY SHOULDERS STRAIGHT
AS HE PASSED FROM SIGHT THRU THE STATION GATE
PERHAPS HE'LL COME BACK WHEN HIS BATTLE'S WON
"PRAISE TO GOD, MY SON, MY SON."
S.VARCOE NORTH POINT CAMP P.O.W. 42.