The Last Call Up
(From the Irish 12th. century)

There's a call up for Adam’s breed.
  The government that makes the call
Will stand no nonsense; try it on!
    Where will you hide? Behind that wall?

The draft’s in force this many a year;
  Some come, some go, and that’s the way.
Ever since Adam sold the pass
  All of us join in it one day.

The depo where we all join up
  Is just the same for high and low;
The minute that our papers come
  Earth is the barracks where we go.

The sergeant-major walks in front,
  As tough a bloke as there can be,
For though we never see his face,
  He keeps an eye on you and me.

I saw a young recruit last night,
  Just on the point of going west,
That chap was worth his weight in gold
    For his fair hair and his broad chest.

And if you’d hired him for a job
  The day before he got the word,
He would have cost a thousand quid,
  He looked so natty with his sword.

He had a little jug of beer
  Beside the pillow of his bed;
He took some mouthfuls for the road;
  He’ll take no more--the poor guy’s dead.

He liked his little boy all right,
  He likes his little daughter too;
They longed to join him on the draft;
  They didn’t want to see him go.

But when his footsoles showed up white,
  And when his nice fair hair was cut,
And when the flesh stuck to his bones,
  They wished him well, but just stayed put.

When he caved in around the waist,
  and his ecstatic eyes grew dim,
And then his chest stuck out too far.
  They tought a quid too much for him.

Of course, before it got him down
  They wanted him to stay at home,
But, seeing his name upon the board
  They couldn’t wait to see him gone.

A funny sort of draft it proved;
  He didn’t go to kill or raid;
He just went out upon a ride
  Convenient, with the neighbouts’ aid.

With two long poles laid side by side
  And wickerwork between the two,
Two chaops in front and two behind,
  All done in perfect silence too.

And no damn quartermaster’s store,
  And no packhorses for supplies,
And no truck stored with bags of meal.
  For victualling does not arise.

And no one needing spears or shields
  Or dress uniforms again--
Linen, just a yard or two.
  The same for officers and men.

Grant me, sweet God, to see them once,
  All the seed of Adam’s fall
East to west in endless ranks,
  Mobilizing at the call!

Source: The Irish Times, 1963-02-09