A breath, a whistle on the wind spelt their fate,
From Thudding factories they came of iron, copper steel and slate.
This time to huff and puff in the face of a different wind, blowing in from the continent.
their hearts like lions pride, though ragged trousers and mine born bent.

No names ,no land nor favours here,
though folk back home might find it queer.
Imagination confined, never exposed,
To the acts and esprit of those forgotten heroes.