In many towns are many streets of silent houses
Where broken hearts beat quickly under mothers’ blouses
Telegrams are opened, and, with trembling lips, are read
Husbands, sons and brothers may be missing, presumed dead

Soldiers from Great Britain, Canada and France
Will no longer be attending any local dance
Some will return as wounded, others sadly not
Never to watch a newborn, sleeping in their cot

Many of the fallen given graves and laid to rest
Unable to wear medals, proudly on their chests
Thousands more were killed, their bodies never found
Without a hope of burial in consecrated ground

In some of the silent houses, when another telegram arrived
Telling mums, wives, and siblings ‘Tommy’ had survived
Silence turns to laughter, and the joy that it arouses
But let us not forget, there were still many silent houses