I have been persuaded to turn this culture spot into a trilogy, so here it is, part 2
Now the Lord of the Realm has glorified the Charge of the Light Brigade,
And the thin red line of the Infantry, when will their glory fade?
There are robust rhymes on the British Tar and classics on Musketeers,
But I shall sing, till your eardrums ring, of the Muddy Old Engineers.
Now it’s all very fair to fly through the air, or humour a heavy gun,
Or ride in tanks through the broken ranks of the crushed and shattered Hun.
And its nice to think when the U-Boats sink of the glory that outlives the years,
But whoever heard an haunting word for the Muddy Old Engineers?
Now you musn’t feel, when you read this spiel, that the sapper is a jealous knave,
That he joined the ranks for a vote of thanks in search of a hero’s grave
No your mechanised cavalrys’ quite alright and your Tommy has drained few peers,
But where in hell would the lot of them be, if it weren’t for the Engineers,
Oh they look like tramps but they build your camps and sometimes lead the advance,
And they sweat red blood to bridge the flood to give you a fighting chance
Who stays behind when its getting hot, to blow up the roads in the rear?
Just tell your wife she owes your life to some Muddy Old Engineer,
Some dusty, crusty, croaking, joking Muddy Old Engineer.
No fancy crest is pinned to their chest, if you read what their cap badge says,
Why ‘Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense’ is a queersome sort of praise,
But their modest claim to immortal fame has probably reached your ears,
The first to arrive, the last to leave, the Muddy Old Engineers,
The sweating, go getting, uproarious, glorious Muddy Old Engineers.