When we first met up we all laughed and joked,
different accents and funny talks,
drunken nights where many choked,
after all the training we learnt to walk,

Those early days were so much fun,
bonds of friendship amongst us made,
for others first time to fire a gun,
some of us even learnt a trade,

Basic training now over and done,
shipped out to different battalions,
fitness and stamina we were born to run,
we felt like men, we were stallions,

Eighteen and full of pride,
new friendships again to trade,
differences were always set aside,
this was the way we were made,

Skills honed in ways to kill,
this became our bread and butter,
always on the move no time to be still,
in our crowd we had the joker and the odd nutter,

Across the seas we were sent,
we knew the risks, we were on the same side,
no mansions or rooms if lucky just a tent,
in our minds the time to kill was for us to decide,

Those first metal tags hanging round your neck,
name, number, religion and blood group too,
embedded details for your kin, what the heck,
scary details of you, but only for others to view,

On a different shore but still part of the homeland,
reinforcing the police patrols to keep the peace,
it was our job being there we had to make a stand,
keeping your head down on those missiles release,

Petrol bombed and shots in the dark,
given a set of cards for rules to fire,
you never forget the sound of that rifles bark,
when you see someone fall and lie very still you know its dire,

Many years of this futile intense,
political wrangling eventually cleared this mess,
for those who lived in those times nothing made sense,
memories cruel and kind made you who you are nonetheless.