The Green Fields Of France
The Men They Couldn't Hang Lyrics
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Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside?
And rest for awhile in the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done.
And I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916,
Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?
Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly?
Did the rifles fir o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles sound The Last Post in ?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you died back in 1916,
To that loyal heart are you forever 19?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Forever enshrined behind some glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?
The sun's shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard that's still No Man's Land
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.
And I can't help but wonder, no Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you "The Cause?"
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.
The Men They Couldn't Hang's song The Green Fields of France is a haunting and melancholic tribute to Private William McBride, a nineteen-year-old soldier who lost his life during World War I. The song is told from the perspective of an unknown individual who stumbles upon McBride's graveside and engages in an imaginary conversation with him. The lyrics are contemplative and pose a series of poignant questions aimed at understanding McBride's experience during the war and the futility of his sacrifice.
The song's chorus, "Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly? Did the rifles fir o'er you as they lowered you down? Did the bugles sound The Last Post in ? Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?" is particularly emotive, as it symbolizes the traditional military funeral practices that McBride would have received. The use of rhetorical questions throughout the song encourages the listener to reflect on the senselessness of war and how the horrors of conflict are often glossed over by patriotic rhetoric.
The final verse of the song is particularly poignant, as it highlights how the sacrifice of soldiers like McBride is often forgotten or rendered meaningless with time. The chorus repeats the words "and again, and again, and again" in a repetitive and almost despairing tone, which suggests that war is a never-ending cycle of violence and that the loss of young lives like McBride's will continue with each new military conflict.
Line by Line Meaning
Well, how do you do, Private William McBride,
Greetings, Private William McBride.
Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside?
May I sit beside your grave to rest?
And rest for awhile in the warm summer sun,
Take a break from walking under this warm sun.
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done.
I've been walking all day and am quite exhausted.
And I see by your gravestone you were only 19
I see from your gravestone, you were just nineteen.
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916,
You joined the fallen in 1916.
Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean,
I hope you died a quick and painless death.
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?
Or was it a slow and gruesome death, Willie McBride?
Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly?
Did they beat the drum slowly and play the pipes softly at your funeral?
Did the rifles fir o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did they fire rifles over you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles sound The Last Post in ?
Did the bugles sound The Last Post during your funeral?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
Did they play the tune Flowers of the Forest on the pipes?
And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
Did you have a wife or a lover left behind?
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined?
Is your memory revered in the heart of a loved one?
And, though you died back in 1916,
Even though you died in 1916,
To that loyal heart are you forever 19?
Are you still forever nineteen in that loved one's heart?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Or are you just a nameless stranger?
Forever enshrined behind some glass pane,
Forever enshrined behind a glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
In an old photograph, ripped, stained, and worn.
And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?
Slowly fading to yellow in an old leather frame?
The sun's shining down on these green fields of France;
The sun is shining on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The gentle wind blows while the red poppies sway.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
The trenches have vanished under the plow long ago.
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
No more gas, barbed wires, or gunshots today.
But here in this graveyard that's still No Man's Land
But in this graveyard, which is still No Man's Land,
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
The countless white crosses stand in silent witness
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man.
To the insensitivity of man to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.
And to an entire generation of people who were killed and doomed.
And I can't help but wonder, no Willie McBride,
And I can't help but wonder, Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Do those buried here even know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you 'The Cause?'
Did you truly believe the 'cause' they told you?
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Did you truly think this war would end all wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame,
The suffering, sorrow, glory, and shame,
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
The killing and dying was all without gain.
For Willie McBride, it all happened again,
Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.
And again, and again, and again, and again.
Writer(s): Trad, Eric Bogle, John Loesberg
Contributed by Noah M. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
@Fizzfearon
I’m 57, I thought I’d heard everything worth listening to… this my friends is another level…. Just wow😮😢
@abcasurname1544
Cush sang this perfectly. With heart, soul, feeling and the right amount of anger. Loved him for it. Safe journey my friend xx
@renegadeveteran1215
First time hearing this, at age 64 i cannot believe how i missed this band, superb.
@gaz4840
Saw them in the 80s, listen to album Night of a thousand candles, some classic stuff
@rjjcms1
John Peel used to play them sometimes on his show.
@1998TDM
It gladdens my wee heart to see so many great comments about the Men. One of my all time favourite bands. I still put their CD's on and regress 30 odd years.
@jeremyhoughton3998
Saw this band, along with The Pogues, The Mekons, The Three Johns, and many more at a free festival held in Battersea Park back in the '80's put on by the GLC the year that Maggie shut them down. It was like a mini-Glastonbury. One day, about 5 or six stages, one main and others, smaller, for C&W, electro and so on. It got no media coverage - nothing in the papers, local or national news. Probably about 250k went. Completely free and one of the best days out I've had. TMTCH were superb, The Pogues were bonkers, Shane was pissed (as usual) and the memories will live with me forever.
@branchenergy
I was there too. Absolutely superb day.
@Spectrescup
The 'newspapers' didn't write about music, save for articles about the personal lives of the more famous singers or anyone with the temerity to be unapologetically homosexual.
In a strange way, it was probably healthier for the music scene in the UK. They left us alone, so underground scenes could remain underground for that much longer.
I mean, there were 4 weekly music papers at one stage, so there was clearly more than enough to write about, and if the Daily Express kept well away all the better.
@mckendrick4046
Rest in Peace, Stefan. To this loyal heart he's forever nineteen.