Back to Blighty

Crossed the Channel today from Dunkerque to Dover, and as I wandered into the terminal to buy the ticket, found myself whistling 'Lili Marlene', a rather haunting song by Marlene Dietrich. I admit that the words going through my head weren't hers, though. They were an equally sad and less kind variant since immortalised by Ewan McColl, and known as the "D-Day Dodgers".

We are the D-Day Dodgers, out in Italy,
Always on the vino, always on the spree,
Eighth Army skivers and their tanks,
We go to war in ties like swanks.
For we're the D-Day Dodgers, in sunny Italy.

We landed at Salerno, a holiday with pay.
Jerry brought his bands out, to cheer us on his way,
Showed us the sights and gave us tea,
We all sang songs, the beer was free.
For we're the D-Day Dodgers, the lads that D-Day dodged.

Palermo and Cassino were taken in our stride,
We didn't go to fight there, we just went for the ride,
Anzio and Sangro are just names,
We only went to look for dames,
For we're the D-Day Dodgers, in sunny Italy.

On our way to Florence, we had a lovely time,
Drove a bus from Rimini, right through the Gothic Line,
Then to Bologna we did go,
Went bathing in the River Po,
For we're the D-Day Dodgers, the lads that D-Day dodged.

We hear the boys in France are going home on leave,
After six months service, a shame they're not relieved,
We're told to carry on, a few more years,
Because our wives, don't shed no tears,
For we're the D-Day Dodgers, in far-off Italy.

Once we had a "blue light" that we were going home,
Back to dear old Blighty, never more to roam,
Then someone whispered:'In France we'll fight,'
We said: 'Get lost, we'll just sit tight,'
For we're the D-Day Dodgers, the lads that D-Day dodged.

Dear Lady Astor, you think you know a lot,
Standing on a platform and talking tommy rot,
Dear England's sweetheart and her pride,
We think your mouth is much too wide -
That's from your D-Day Dodgers, in sunny Italy.

Look around the hillsides, through the mist and rain,
See the scattered crosses, some that bear no name,
Heartbreak and toil and suffering gone,
The lads beneath, they slumber on,
And they're the D-Day Dodgers, who'll stay in Italy.

A strange song, such pathos, such an evocative mix of positive and negative. I suppose that's connected to with how it feels at the end of a journey like this... a combination of glad to be home, and sad at stuff that's left behind .

The song, too, uses the word Blighty. Apparently, this was British soldier's slang for their British homeland, although paradoxically its derivation is a Hindustani word meaning "foreign".

And just for a few hours of being back on British soil, after three weeks away, I find myself ironically looking at the landscape and towns we pass through as though they too were foreign... Force of habit, I guess!