"The Patriots"

with kind permission of

Fred Craig

Dedicated to the memory of my Territorial Army comrades of

2nd Battalion Liverpool Scottish, Queens Own Cameron Highlanders.

Mobilised August 1939.

When we were lads of tender years
and life seemed free of any fears,
Our heads were filled with dreams of glory
so here begins this little story.
In the year of nineteen thirty-nine
We signed our names on the dotted line
The oath of allegiance we then swore
for we had heard the drums of war.

Our 'Kings Shilling' thus was earned
The art of soldiering then we learned
How to march, and how to stand
and how to salute with our right hand.
A blissful 'Terrier', some said barmy,
a 'Saturday Night Soldier' in the Territorial Army.
The month of July, off to camp we went
A dozen of us to each bell tent.

Two weeks we wallowed in the mud
No doubt the training did some good;
Route marches, gun drills, war like stuff,
Shouted commands harsh and gruff.
The bugle calls to be recognised
and pipes and drum tunes memorised.
Sounding out the routine each day
commands we had to instantly obey.

But we were young and quite content
And oh so proud of our fine regiment.
'The Liverpool Scottish', that was us
The 2nd Battalion without any fuss;
Our muddy fortnight was over soon
And with the pipe band playing a lively tune
we proudly marched without a frown
from train to barracks in our home town.

But the worsening crisis in Europe meant
Britain's forces mobilised, with fierce intent.
At August's end our orders came
Each to answer to his name;
Our civvy clothes were packed away
until some future unknown day.
Then with quick farewells to Mum and Dad
Our homes we left, in full Khaki clad.

Through Merseyside docks we then were dispersed,
As guards and sentries quite fully rehearsed;
On 3rd September war was declared
And for the worst we then prepared.
In October to Altcar the Regiment was sent
Twelve men again to sleep in each tent.
The camp was behind the sand-hills and beach
A place where winds would howl and screech.

Next month from Lancashire our departure was made
With all ranks hoping that we'd made the grade;
To the village of Twycross where stood Gopsall hall
In the county of Leicestershire as I do recall.
An aristocrat's home, a once stately place
In the midst of a park, old charm and much grace.
An eye-opener to us of the common mass
To view such comforts of the upper class.

In the fine skills of infantry we continued to train
And endless route marches that made our feet pain.
The Battalion impatient to go overseas
we were trained to perfection by all the degrees.
But the following years saw us moved here and there
manning coastal defences, alert and aware;
Stationed in many an old English town
If the Germans invaded we would have a show-down.

Our experiences so many, there were happenings galore
Awaiting the enemy to land on our shore
But space doesn't permit me to tell it all here
Though one day I might, when we have a beer.
Demobbed from the army in 1946,
civilians again with a new life to fix;
The halcyon days of our youth long ago
When the 2nd Battalion was full of gung-ho.

But memories grow dim after all these long years
and some recollections just move us to tears.
Old soldiers swap yarns on Rememberance day,
We are the lucky ones who came home from the fray.
To our country and King we gave all of our youth
For we were naive, rather young and uncouth.
Those far off days did us more good than harm
and we came back as men, with comrades in arm.

written & owned by

2931194 Craig F.J. 2nd Battalion, The Liverpool Scottish,

The Queens Own Cameron Highlanders