Now this song is both a feminist, and an anti-war song. And it needs to stand in that light.
I grew up in a wider family where nobody I knew had lost lives in the Second World War, although several had experienced things they could not talk about. But the twenty year long Vietnam War spanned from my childhood through to becoming a father. I knew of Agent Orange, Carpet bombing and the My Lai Massacre. I was in no doubt that the USA was the aggressor nation (as I still am), and so when it came to US armies and their soldiers I had not much more than contempt.
But what I realised – when I first heard this song sung by the American singer Ronnie Gilbert – was that whether or not your country was the aggressor, whether or not your country was the victor or the defeated; enormous pain and long term trauma is suffered by the soldiers and families of both sides – let alone the civilians. I was deeply moved by the song. So my contempt shifted, and I knew war should never happen again.
Here it is sung by Bri-anne Swan
Chorus The first time it was fathers The last time it was sons And in between your husbands Marched away with drums and guns And you never thought to question You just went on with your lives Cos all they taught you who to be Was mothers, daughters, wives
1: You can only just remember The tears your mothers shed As they sat and read their papers Through the lists and lists of dead And the gold frames held the photographs That mothers kissed each night And the door frames held the shocked And silent stranger from the frae
2: It was twenty one years later You had babies of your own The trumpet sounded once again And the soldier boys were gone And you drove their trucks and made their guns Attended to their wounds And at night you kissed their photographs And prayed for safe return.
3: And after it was over You had to learn again To be just wives and mothers Though you'd done the work of men So you worked to help the needy But you never trod on anyone's toes And the folk around the piano Struck a happy family pose.
4: Then your gardens grew to wither And your little boys were men You prayed that you were dreaming When the call up came again But you proudly smiled and held your tears As they bravely waved goodbye And the photos on the mantelpiece Always made you cry.
5: And now your growing older And in time the photos fade And in widowhood you sit back And reflect on that parade Of the passing of your memories While your daughters change their lives See more to their existence Than just mothers, daughters, wives.
Lyrics by Judy Small