Yesterday in Northern France I was reminded of the meaning of sacrifice. Not the one less holiday a year, cutting out a drink after work or inconvenient currency fluctuation, but the ultimate sacrifice of loss of life. I overheard a young schoolboy sum it up rather well when he said to his teacher at the Canadian Memorial at Vimy Ridge: “They died so we can be here”…

They’re worried about the Euro,
They are feeling the heat in Greece,
France has changed its Government,
Still no threat to peace.

The world in financial turmoil,
It’s been like this before,
This time they’re still talking,
Still no sign of war.

We’re worried about our future,
Shall I have that manicure?
Will we sacrifice our summer holiday?
To keep our standards secure.

There’s a place in France called Etaples,
Just inshore from the sea,
Where row upon row of headstones,
Sacrifices: Eleven-Thousand, Four-Three-Three.

Under the trees standing apart,
All alone and hidden from view,
No 9436 Chinese Labour Corps,
I will remember you.
© Baldock Bard 2012
E-mail: baldockbard(at)
Replace (at) with @