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The Fields of France

From the Album The Workhouse Child

When tiny feet are playing
The coldest heart shall warm
With futures shining in their eyes
A better world is born
The fields of France are resting
The sleep that never ends
Near monuments to avarice
Lie rows of fallen friends

When happy feet are dancing
Two hearts that dance as one
To celebrate a union
A love that’s just begun
The fields of France contented
Their deaths were not in vain
If those they loved and left behind
Would never know such pain

When tired feet are marching
Through endless reasons why
Their God was truly on their side
And God would never lie
The fields of France are restless
They’ve heard such words before
They stand beside a God that cries
I never spoke of war

When lifeless feet are laid to rest
Beneath a distant star
Those they loved and left behind
Are left to bear the scars
The fields of France are once again
Crying out in pain
As the wheel that’s turned by avarice
Comes around again


I was ten years old when we stopped on our last night in France after a lovely four-week holiday visiting my grandparents in Italy. It was dusk when I was out walking with my father, and we came across a field of white crosses that stretched out as far as I could see.

Of course, I had heard about both world wars and been told that millions of people had died in them, but they were just words. I never really understood why it was my father hated war so much when it always seemed so glamorous in the films. After seeing that field of crosses and realising that every one of them represented a person who was killed, I began to understand.