Long long ago, on the top of a hill
A pretty young girl sang as she filled
A shiny long pointed artillery shell
The purpose of which, she knew very well
Was to send young German soldiers to hell.
For long, long ago, this pretty girl laid
With a lad who had for the privilege paid,
But disaster struck, his manhood failed,
A consequence of too much ale.
But then foolish girl, she tell-told the tale;
No fury hath Hell, like a woman-scorned male...
Long, long ago, with war proclaimed,
And lads of his age coming home dead or maimed,
He remembered that night's adolescent shame.
And he knew who to hurt, he knew who to blame.
Punctured pride, humiliation
Imagined shame, degradation
Discovered her name ; retaliation
Next day went straight
To the magistrate.
She made me pay, this lad, he said,
She made me pay, to share her bed,
And that upright man, that magistrate,
Believed the boy, and sealed her fate,
Her piteous heat-felt pleading failed,
For prostitutes must go to gaol,
But this is war.
And the greedy guns
Loudly call for more and more,
Young healthy girls,
To make munitions.
So condemned to work
At this Nobel calling
She made her way to the top of the hill
Were she worked with a will
Making shells to kill
© nigel hallworth 2014