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When I was a lad, just a boy on a farm and days were peaceful and long,
Each morning I woke with a smile on me face which stayed the entire day long,
I helped me old Dad and was happy, just doin’ what had to be done,
And Dad and me was a real good team, we called ourselves “Andy and Son”.

Dad’s pride in the farm was a joy to behold, he worked every day until dark,
Up fresh every day and rarin’ to go, a long time before the first lark.
We was Andy and Son, a jolly good team and the business was our pride and joy,
Dad dreamed of the future in years yet to come, when we’d be joined by my boy.

Then, one day on the wireless we heard it, the news we’d bin dreadin’ to hear,
We was at War, said the man on the wireless. “Oh, God,” cried me Mother in fear.
She was sure she heard bombers already, there was Jerries outside our back door,
And Dad went pale – he knew what it meant, after all he’d bin there before.

Y’ know what this means, son, he told me. “They’ll need soldiers t’ send overseas,”
I knew what he’s suffered the first time. Says I,”Not me father again, please!”
I quietly went down and enlisted. Just fifteen but they didn’t care,
I lied through me teeth and I signed up, and they gave me three days to prepare.

Me Mother went into hysterics. “Too late,” I told her, “It’s done.”
“Look after the farm, Dad,” I told him. “Keep it for Andy and Son.”
And Dad looked at me very proudly, but he couldn’t hide his great fear.
“When I get back here, six months from now, be sure I’ll be wantin’ me share.”

Now I’m not goin’ to tell y’ what happened in the four years that I was awy,
There’s bin too many words writ about it, people with too much t’ say.
They don’t know of the bombs and the dyin’, of the noise and dust and the mud,
The terrible war that took such a toll, that obscene spillage of blood.

I’m home agin now with only one leg, and that’s not as good as it were,
Mum, Dad and me just get on with life. I’m done with salutin’ and “Sir”.
Mum talks of the time when I take me a wife, she just goes rabbitin’ on,
Dad jokes of the time when Andy and Son, becomes Andy and Son and Grandson.

There’s cows to be milked and sheep to be shorn and fields we’re needin’ to sow,
An’ I have me secrets, even from them, this thing I don’t want them to know.
A pity it is I’m a solitary child, the only son they ever had,
For that mine that I stood on has sadly ensured, I’ll never be nobody’s Dad.

In the fullness of time I imagine, one day the the hurtin’ grows less,
I’ll tell Mum and Dad of me secret. I’ll have to in fairness I guess.
I’ll shatter their dreams when I tell them, of all the grandchildren they’ve missed.
I’ll tell me Dad that Andy and Son, when he’s gone, will cease to exist.

THE END

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