Growing up in Liverpool in the late 50's we were surrounded by bomb sites it was where we played. But my granny and grandad seemed to have far more vivid memories of the first great war. This was a true story she told often.....*
Poor Frank Our poor Frank A willing young lad from the 'pool My granny’s little brother The eye-light of his mother Off to France where Kitchener led The war to end all wars they said Christmas indeed but Christmas in dread
Poor Frank Poor willing Frank Who knew life could be so cruel My granny’s little brother Tore the heart from his mother Off to France to fight the war Who knows what terrors his young eyes saw Who even knows what that ****** war was for
Poor Frank Our poor Frank Yet he came home to walk up the path “Frank’s home, Frank’s home!” my granny’s sister's screeched And the girls all jostled and laughed - and ran to the door But Frank, poor Frank, wasn't there Poor Frank, he would never come home anymore.
My granny’s little brother From the womb of his poor mother To the blood rich fields lost in France.