His name is Bispam Tragacanth
He strides around the Stray.
The War made him a hero,
Then it took his wits away
His toecaps shine like mirrors
And his buttons are brass-bright
As ramrod-straight he marches round
Defending chosen bits of ground
Responding to the bugle sound
That calls him to the fight.
For he has seen the sabre flash,
Has heard the cannon’s roar
Has seen his comrades tumbled
With their horses in the gore.
He’s seen the colours drooping
As the standard-bearer fell,
And spurring on his trusty steed
He undertook his valiant deed,
Retrieved the colours with no heed
To sabre, shot and shell
And now he sits upon the Stray
And dreams of glory days.
He doesn’t know that he’s grown old,
Befuddled, in a haze.
And though the louts may mock him,
Or simply pass him by,
Not one dares look into his eyes
Where fighting spirit never dies
And Sergeant Tragacanth still cries
“Come on Lads ….Do or Die!”