Sharp Street Shrine, March 2014

It's cold and it's windy But still that crowd meets To stand with respect At the top of Sharp Street. The Bearers stand at attention As though shrunken by age Since those seventy years When they occupied a world stage. Now they stand, booted and suited, With their Medals on display To pay their respects to Victims of an earlier day. Their banners are lowered As the tribute silence starts For the living and the dead All played their similar parts. The shrine is unveiled, The names on display, The heroes who fought and Died in those long past days. The Sharp Street Pals, one hundred And forty two died from this street Marched off to Belgium And the fates they would meet. Kitchener said they were needed And they didn't let him down Joining those Pals from The other parts of other towns. History has judged harshly The causes of their fate But the judgements of history By definition are too late. And nothing can detract From the courage and the glory, The Sharp Street Pals, and this little Street shrine tells part of their story. The Standards are raise as The ceremony ends One hundred years after the conflict Started for that battalion of friends. The people disperse And the solemn mood is gone But for just a little while, in Memory those Pals lived on.