Hanging on the Old Barbed Wire

Yesterday I posted a photograph of the front line defences of Donald Trump's battle with the encroaching sand.

Nearby in the sand, there are reminders of an earlier and much more serious battle. This is a remnant of the fields of coiled barbed wire that were erected in 1940 to keep Nazi Germany at bay. The metal object is a corkscrew picket, used to support the wire, and made from an eight foot long iron bar which had its bottom end bent into a spiral coil which was screwed into the ground. It also had three loops or "eyes", one at the top, one at midway and one just above the corkscrew spiral.

Millions of these pickets were produced during the first world war, and re-used in the second conflict. The horror of military barbed wire features, not only in the war poetry of Wilfred Owens and others, but also in the dark humour of the songs sung by the troops as they marched to the front line. 'Hanging on the Old Barbed Wire' is one such song.

If you want to find the lance-jack, I know where he is
I know where he is, I know where he is
If you want to find the lance-jack, I know where he is
He's scrounging round the cookhouse door.
I've seen him, I've seen him
Scrounging round the cookhouse door, I've seen him,
Scrounging round the cookhouse door.

The company sergeant...He's laying on the latrine floor

The quarter master...Miles and miles behind the lines.

The sergeant-major...Thieving all the squaddies' rum.

The buckshee private...Buried in a deep shell hole.

The C.O....Down in a deep dugout.

The brasshats...Drinking claret at Brigade HQ.

The politicians....Drinking brandy at the House of Commons bar.

The whole battalion...Hanging on the old barbed wire.