Written by the late Private T. Brandon,
"B" Coy. 1st East Lancs, Regiment,
who was killed in action.
Thursday 13 May 1915 aged 33.

Listen comrades for a while, a tale to you I'll tell.
Of British pluck and gallantry and also what befel
Twas in the year 1914, August 23rd
When the huns met our khaki lads and for it they had to pay.
They thought that so small an army, they'd sweep with one fell blow!
To carry out that action, at Mons commenced to show.

On they came like tigers: by Von Kluck they were led,
But they found those khaki lads knew how to use their lead.
On they came in thousands those fiends in human shape!
The story all the world knows of pillages and rape.
With shrapnel shell and whistling deaths they fed us all day long;
When the order came ---" regiments will retire one by one!"

The order at first was disbelieved--a mistake has been made we said!
When there came again the order from the Major of Brigade;
'Twas then we had no option but that order to obey.
A retirement we were late to learn would grow worse day by day.
The movement was a great one and will shine through years to come,
But at what a cost: the lives were lost of Father, Lover and Chum.

Thinner and thinner grew our lines as Officers and Comrades fell;
Not only was it living death but also living hell.
For days we lived as men had never lived their lives before,
For courage, strength, and spirit were needed to face that terrible foe;
Not one of us knew when or where we should meet our fate,
On right and left, before, behind, death must come soon or late.

We made our stand at last, at---,well I need not mention names,
For were I to name it I should call it a town in flames.
We knew not, anyone of us, in what country we were placed,
For all our British lads were there, in that great stand we faced.
On they came in masses: of fear they appeared to have none,
Outnumbering our lads by fully ten to one.

Our rifles spat out, dealing death to our advancing foes,
And piles of dead and wounded were lying in their fours,
The great mass stopped and wavered, 'twas then our moment came.
With ringing cheer and Bayonets we charged with might and main.
Thrusting here and thrusting there, they fell in shrieking masses.
As our Bayonets drank their blood in those daring little dashes.

WE held our own for days and days until delivered our trenches
By our lads in Blue and Red, those they call the Frenchies.
And still we hold them, and we're slowly creeping on and on.
We'll beat them at the finish, though a check they gave us at Mons,
And now my little tale will end and echo one and all ---
"May God have mercy on my chums who by German bullets did fall!"

And when the War is over and your children ask for stories,
Just tell them of the hardships in the Battle of Mons;
And should they ask for more---to keep the peace in bonds---
Just tell how well the British fought on the Battle Field at Mons.

1d Each Published by kind permission of his brother,
Mr Ralph Brandon, Baxenden.

PROCEEDS ARE IN AID OF THE BAXENDEN BAZAAR
FOR THE BENEFIT OF WOUNDED SOLDIERS.