A Place called Monte Cassino
By Terence Anthony.
I’m always looking back to 1944,
That was the year my brother was killed in the Second World War;
At a place called Monte Cassino, that I’d never heard of before,
Until they gave me the news that my brother was killed in the war.
So many men and boys, picture the bloody scene,
The carnage and the noise, then think of what might have been,
If all those brave young soldiers had never had to go to war,
To places like Monte Cassino, that they’d never heard of before.
Through the fields of Europe, where men marched into Hell,
And across the Pacific Ocean, blood rising with the swell;
The deserts and the forests, the high ground and the low,
Sometimes in a burning furnace, sometimes in the freezing snow.
The bid to rule the cruel sea, and dominate the sky,
When fighting for democracy, so many have to die;
But everyone, regardless, is some poor mother’s son,
Reluctantly in battledress, until the war is done.
I was almost fifteen when my brother Tom was killed,
Falling down with all those fine young men,
On that bloody battlefield, four thousand miles from home,
And I would never hear his voice again.
Yes, I was Tom’s kid brother, and he looked after me,
Protecting arms, wherever I might be,
We lived and laughed, did crazy things, that sometimes brother’s do,
Until he joined the military in 1942.
Then through the towns and villages, that once knew love and peace,
But hate can be contagious, it will bring its own disease,
Taking hold of innocence, and tearing it apart,
It destroys our common sense, and damages the heart.
Just like Monte Cassino, where Tom, my best friend died,
And when I heard the dreadful news, I just broke down and cried,
I’m sorry now, my brother, that it could never be,
Protecting arms around you, like yours were there for me.