Robert's grand daughter, Deserter's great niece, holds the paper pardoning the actions of yesteryear.
She edges forward, placing the pardon under a wreath of poppies, a warm tear of redemption rolls down her cheek as she remembers her father's description of his older brother. "He was the best brother you could ever hope for".
The group of relatives bow their heads in silent prayer. Deserter can now rest in peace, a peace he now shares with his darling Grace who joined him 10 years ago...
... The mists of time clear ...
"Ready Lads!"...
..Deserter's thoughts flood back to his present as he waits at the scaling ladder for 'zero hour'. Suddenly the heavy artillery falls silent.
Furtive glances over the trenches reveal nothing of the enemy through the mist. Prayers are murmured and loved ones thought of.
...Peep! The whistles blow as the first unfortunate men climb up into the abyss.
A surge of adrenalin courses through Deserter's body as he climbs the ladder his mind full of wild thoughts beyond his control.
Suddenly all hell is let loose. The intense rattle of machine gun and rifle fire sound like twigs burning and crackling in a roaring fire. Deserter's eardrums almost burst as shells explode to the front and side of him in this unimaginable vision of purgatory.
Deserter very cautiously jogs up and down through shell holes occupied by the dead and dying, through snipped barbed wire across 'no man's land'.
Allied shells burst just ahead of Deserter's platoon in a creeping barrage whilst German shells burst behind.
Deserter's brain takes in the mud, the mire; the flames, the fire. God please help! Suddenly it is all too much, thoughts of his best friend, poor Bertie flood back and Deserter's mind flips, the grip of shell-shock takes hold and he becomes a headless wreck.
His only thoughts are to get out. To somehow make his way home to Grace, Mum, Dad and his brother Robert.
Chance brings opportunity. To his left, the remains of a wall at the edge of a wood loom into view through the morning fog.
Over the wall he goes and, once there he lays flat, face downwards, wondering what will happen next.
A few yards away the majority of his platoon forge on, some lay dead, some gone delirious just like Deserter.
Deserter cannot help crying and praying for the Lord to help him. The bullets still flying within an inch at times."
As time passes the barrage seems to move focus away from Deserter's wall and he sees a window of opportunity to crawl, snake-like and unseen into the nearby wood.
Seconds turn into minutes turn into hours as daylight fades and night takes hold. He falls into a fitful, fearful sleep...
A gasp as he comes to. The deep fug of sleep diminishes and memories return. What to do? He now knows he has done the unthinkable. He has left his platoon in the heat of battle. He will be looked for soon. Deserter manages to steer his way through dense trees and bracken to the other side of the wood as daylight breaks across the cracked horizon.
In the middle distance he sees a small river with a bridge intact, even after all the fighting. It just might afford him cover until the cloak of the next night. He scurries to the bridge and tries to bury himself in the reeds at the edge of the river.
The day wears on as does the cold, gripping Deserter's fearful heart.
In the early afternoon, he hears footsteps.
"He can't have got far, not in this mud and slime." It is a search party. In blind, icy panic, Deserter exits the freezing water and tries to run back up to the wood but he is too slow, the three chasing men easily catch him. Deserter's fate is sealed...
lyrics
As I watch over them
The paper in her hand
I know my name lives on
And hasn't turned to sand
Place it so gently now
There for all to see
No more than broken trees
The pardon they gave me
Never too late
No it's Never too late
Too late to tell the truth
And as they walk away
Tears are in their eyes
One last glance for me
In the broken war-torn skies
Mama
I’m so afraid
My best friend’s body
Lying next to me
Can’t take the pain
That’s in my head
Stay here and I’ll end up dead
Help me
Please help me
I have to run
It’s my only chance
No place for me in this madman’s dance
Must get home
Where I’ll be free
See my loved ones who care for me
Gazing down to
Where the poppies grow
Like drops of blood
Amongst the winter’s snow
A hero’s send off
For the fallen ones
While three hundred die
With bullets fired from ‘friendly’ guns
War is not a game
Home
I’ve got to get home
The mud
The mire
The flames the fire
Please help me
I hear them
Their footsteps closing in on me
These angry faces will be the last I’ll ever see
And now the blindfold that is meant for me
The air is thick with blood that’s laced with fear
God help me!
Please help me get away from here
To you it’s just a game
War is just a game
The thoughts of home flood in
To save me from the truth
A thousand memories
The bleeding bloom of youth
And there before me
My Mother beckons me
To give me comfort for
The day I will not see
War is not a game
War is not a game
War is not a game
supported by 9 fans who also own “A Deserter's Tale”
Another very good release from Canadian Rick Miller. I don't think that this gentleman can put out a bad record even if he tried. If you follow this artist and like his style of music that will not change with this release. lloydd
supported by 9 fans who also own “A Deserter's Tale”
Although the 3 guest vocalists on this album sing wonderfully, and the songs are diverse and creative, I still prefer the voice of Peter Falconer. Still, I highly recommend this album, aware that my preference is somewhat of a bias. Some of the guitar playing on here is incredible. Despite the new vocalists, the sound of this album is still distinctly Drifting Sun. Personally, I give it 7.5/10. Alrihkh
supported by 9 fans who also own “A Deserter's Tale”
When you like your prog to be more beautiful and/or accessible than prog-proggy, than this is for you! Melodic as hell and yes, Peter Falconer is quite a singer! That wouldn't go half the way without the solid songs of Pat Sanders. A great combination of skills ;-) Carsten Pieper
