Beat the drums louder, pipe the pipes faster,
That is the way to drown out disaster

The Soldiers all huddled on sand dunes.
They had been fighting for days without sleep.
To end up on a beach and wait for a boat.
Shot-up, bombed, and worse, with nothing to eat.

Long lines of soldiers leading into the sea,
Others lay face down, in the incoming surf,
They had paid the price of a soldier in war.
Then the boats come in and took off some more.

The backdrop of smoke from the township burning.
The dark silhouettes on the smashed up jetty.
The diving planes screamed in, each in it’s turn,
Adding still more death and destruction.

Then in the night, the sound of men singing,
A group of Welsh Guardsmen, in dry throated harmony.
And down on the shore, flashing and sparkling,
The fluorescent sand shone in all it’ brilliance.

The kind hearted people met those who returned
With tea and cakes, and cigarette rations.
They were so pleasant in smiling kindness,
No-one would have guessed at their Soldier’s plight.
For this was the Army’s greatest retreat.

The masters in Whitehall, the masters still,
Their mistakes and blunders merely bad luck?
So Generals get Knighthoods, politicians get votes,
A medal for the soldiers for the hell of Dunkirk.

Beat the drums louder, pipe the pipes faster,
That is how they covered up disaster.