gcls_WFP_284

I KNOW NOT WHERE THEY HAVE LAID HIM

[column 1]

I wouldn’t mind if I only knowed The spot where they’d laid my lad; If I could see where they’d buried ‘im, It wouldn’t be art so bad. But they do say some’s not buried at all, Left to the maggots and flies, Rotten’ out there in that no man’s land, Just where they falls–they lies. Parson ‘e says as it makes no odds, ‘Cause the soul o’ the lad goes on, ‘Is spirit ‘as gorn to
‘Is Gawd, ‘e says, ' Wherever ‘is body ‘as gorn. But Parson ain’t never ‘ad no child, ‘E’s a man, not a woman, see? ‘Ow can he know what a woman feels, And what it can mean to me? For my boy’s body were mine–my own, I bore it in bitter pain, Bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh, It lies and rots in the rain. Parson ain’t never suckled a child, Nor broken ‘is nights o’ rest, To ‘ush it to sleep in ‘is aching arms, While it drew life from ‘is breast. ‘E ain’t never watched by a sick child’s bed, Nor seed it fightin’ for life; A man don’t know what a mother knows, ‘E leaves all that to ‘is wife. I minds that chapter as Parson read When poor little Jenny died, And I were feeling as I feel now, Wiv this emptiness inside. Thou fool–it said–thou fool–-for to ask And ‘ow do the dead arise? What is the body that they shall wear Up there in God’s Paradise? I may be a fool, but that’s just it, That's just what I wants to know, What is the body my boy shall bear, And ‘ow does that body grow? I reckons as ‘ow that Scripture piece Were writ by a single man; They never knows what a body costs, And I don’t see ‘ow they can. A married man ‘as a bit uv sense If ‘e’s been and stood wiv ‘is wife, ‘E knows the body ‘is labor wears ‘As cost ‘er all but ‘er life. But even a Father never knows The ache in a Mother’s ‘eart, When she and the body ‘er body bore And severed and torn apart. The men wouldn’t make these cursed wars If they knowed of a body’s worth, They wouldn’t be blowin’ ‘em all to bits If they ‘ad the pains uv birth. But bless ye–the men don’t know they’re born, For they gets away scot-free. ‘Ow can they know what their cruel wars Is costin’ the likes uv me?

[column 2]

I was proud to give, I'd give again If I knowed the cause were right,
For I wouldn't keep no son of mine When 'his dooty called to fight.
But I'd like to know who'll mother 'im Out there on that other shore,
Who will be bearin' the mother's part And be makin' your body, boy?
Who will be 'avin' the mother's pain, And feelin' the mother's joy?
Gawd, is it you? Then how You down And 'ark to a Mother's prayer.
Don't keep it all to yourself, Good Lord, But give 'is old Mother a share.
Gimma a share of the travail pain Of my own son's second birth,
Double the pain if you double the joy that a mother feels on earth.
Gimme the sorroy and not the joy, If that 'as to be your will;
Gimme the labout and not the pride, But make me 'is mother still.
Maybe the body as 'e shall wear Is born of my breaking hear,
Maybe these pains are the new birth pangs What'll give my laddie 'is start.
Then I'd not trouble 'ow hard they was, I'd gladly go throug hte mill,
If that noo body 'e wore were mine, And I were 'is mother still.