Sun-dried mud on youthful faces.

Waiting for the shrill sound of whistles.

Rolling thunder, foot by foot.

Sending earth tossed to heaven.

Drips of crimson foam splash mates,

along the trench lines.

Orders barked with the shrill whistles.

"Over the top boys!"

Being met with rat a tat from the bloody Hun guns.

O what a grand sight as the Black Watch moved.

Once more the youth of Britain fed,

the Fields of Flanders.

We the proud, the youth, lived and died on Flanders fields.

I honour all fallen soldiers, in every war on this Armistice Day.

Eleven o'clock in the morning - the "eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month."

This was to be the war to end all wars.