Armistice Day 11th November 2010
Posted: 11 Nov 2010 13:58
In remembrance of all Soldiers, Sailors and civilians who have lost their lives in both World Wars and the war which is being fought present day.
I have transcribed the following verse which was published in the Prescot Reporter 22nd September 1916 on the occasion of the Lucas War Memorial being donated to the people of Prescot. Every year on the anniversary of the unveiling, they held a monument day and families would travel from the neighbouring townships to remember the fallen. I think the verse is appropriate to all the Fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters and also the sweethearts, of all those who fell in action or died of wounds received.
“THE DEAD HEROES OF PRESCOT”
Unveiled the memorial stands in the breeze,
In honour of Prescot’s brave lads noble deeds.
Their names shall be carved on the monument bold.
On the Lucas memorial in letters of gold
For England they’ve fought, for England they’ve died
Leaving heartbroken mothers and many a fair bride
Each weeping mother will gaze with fond pride.
On the name of her son who hath fought, who hath died.
To keep England’s flag floating high in the breeze.
O’er the hills, purple mountains and lovely blue seas.
For her darling she prays, for her loved one she weeps.
His fond kiss his last look. In her memory she keeps.
Oh! happy Sabbath morn when church bell joyful ring
Twill seem as if the very bell the heroes’ praises sing.
And also the sun unwraps the scroll with glorious glistening light.
As if to honour the lads who fell in bitter fight.
And silently and reverently the people wend their way
To the jewelled old church to sing, to kneel, to pray
At night the golden moon peeps behind the old church tower.
From the lofty belfry come the chimes of midnight’s solemn hour
Above beneath, around the moon throws silvery light.
Making the sacred monument a grand, a solemn sight.
All praise to the donor for the beautiful gift he gave.
In honour of each dear lad who lies in a foreign grave.
Years hence, the memorial a brave story shall unfold.
And the noble heroes’ deeds shall oft and oft be told.
Their names by every passer by for ever will be seen
Keeping their sacred memories, their deeds forever green
And when of the great Judgement Day “Reveille” sounds for all.
The gallant dead at once will rise at their Great Maker’s call
Oh! Mother, when the trumpet loud and shrill.
Shall bid your son arise at the Almighty’s will.
From death’s majestic sleep supreme
And wake, as from a deep sweet dream.
Your eyes no longer shall be dewed with tears
With thought of sorrowing days, in bygone years.
When you behold him chosen among the best.
Your broken heart shall surely rest.
Harriett Wood Hill
Published in the Prescot Reporter 22nd September 1916
I have transcribed the following verse which was published in the Prescot Reporter 22nd September 1916 on the occasion of the Lucas War Memorial being donated to the people of Prescot. Every year on the anniversary of the unveiling, they held a monument day and families would travel from the neighbouring townships to remember the fallen. I think the verse is appropriate to all the Fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters and also the sweethearts, of all those who fell in action or died of wounds received.
“THE DEAD HEROES OF PRESCOT”
Unveiled the memorial stands in the breeze,
In honour of Prescot’s brave lads noble deeds.
Their names shall be carved on the monument bold.
On the Lucas memorial in letters of gold
For England they’ve fought, for England they’ve died
Leaving heartbroken mothers and many a fair bride
Each weeping mother will gaze with fond pride.
On the name of her son who hath fought, who hath died.
To keep England’s flag floating high in the breeze.
O’er the hills, purple mountains and lovely blue seas.
For her darling she prays, for her loved one she weeps.
His fond kiss his last look. In her memory she keeps.
Oh! happy Sabbath morn when church bell joyful ring
Twill seem as if the very bell the heroes’ praises sing.
And also the sun unwraps the scroll with glorious glistening light.
As if to honour the lads who fell in bitter fight.
And silently and reverently the people wend their way
To the jewelled old church to sing, to kneel, to pray
At night the golden moon peeps behind the old church tower.
From the lofty belfry come the chimes of midnight’s solemn hour
Above beneath, around the moon throws silvery light.
Making the sacred monument a grand, a solemn sight.
All praise to the donor for the beautiful gift he gave.
In honour of each dear lad who lies in a foreign grave.
Years hence, the memorial a brave story shall unfold.
And the noble heroes’ deeds shall oft and oft be told.
Their names by every passer by for ever will be seen
Keeping their sacred memories, their deeds forever green
And when of the great Judgement Day “Reveille” sounds for all.
The gallant dead at once will rise at their Great Maker’s call
Oh! Mother, when the trumpet loud and shrill.
Shall bid your son arise at the Almighty’s will.
From death’s majestic sleep supreme
And wake, as from a deep sweet dream.
Your eyes no longer shall be dewed with tears
With thought of sorrowing days, in bygone years.
When you behold him chosen among the best.
Your broken heart shall surely rest.
Harriett Wood Hill
Published in the Prescot Reporter 22nd September 1916