And off a brave man goes to Fiddler’s Green.
The last surviving British cavalryman from the First World War has died at the age of 108.
Albert Marshall lied about his age to sign up for service in the Great War and even volunteered to return to the front line after being injured and sent home to convalesce.
In 1998, he was awarded the Legion d’Honneur, France’s highest honour, in recognition of his gallantry.
He was believed to be the second oldest man in England.
His son, John Marshall, 73, said his father died in his sleep on Monday at his home in Ashtead, Surrey, from pneumonia and old age.
He added: “He went to join up (in 1915) and the man behind the desk said ‘How old are you lad?â€â€™.
“My father replied 17, but the man said ‘Would you leave the room’. He went outside then came back in after a bit and the man asked him again how old he was. ‘Eighteen,’ my father said, and was allowed to join up.
“We as a family never knew a thing about his war experiences. We knew he was in the First World War, obviously, but it was not a subject spoken about.
“It was only when he joined the veterans’ association and all the media attention he received after his 100th birthday that we learnt about what he did.”
Mr Marshall, known as Smiler, was born on March 15, 1897, the year of Queen Victoria’s diamond jubilee, in Elmstead Market, a small Essex village.
He had a life-long passion for working with horses and in January 1915, aged 17, joined the Essex Yeomanry.
His carer, Graham Stark, a volunteer from the World War One Veterans’ Association, said: “The young men that joined up didn’t think they were being brave.
“The old Victorian values just kicked in. People didn’t put themselves first – it was a duty. We consider them heroes but they wouldn’t consider themselves in that way.”
‘Tis a far different story than what is so common these days.
The soldier took part in his first major battle during the autumn of 1915 at Loos in northern France.
Mr Marshall once said: “The cavalry’s job in winter was to hold the front line. There were three lines of trenches, mud and devastation.”
Mr Stark said the old soldier told him he worked in small mounted units of four. One man would hold the reins of the other three horses while his comrades fought the enemy on foot.
While serving in Flanders he was shot through the hand and spent 1917 convalescing in a Newcastle hospital but volunteered to return to the front and was back in position by spring 1918, now with the Machine Gun Corps.
Sleep well, Albert Marshall. You’ve earned the rest.
By the way, Fiddler’s Green is a reference to an old poem, embraced by American cavalrymen and carried on today by some tankers and scouts. It goes as follows:
Fiddler’s Green
Half way down the trail to Hell
In a shady, meadow green,
Are the souls of all dead troopers camped
Near a good, old-time canteen,
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddler’s Green.Marching past, straight through to Hell
The Infantry are seen,
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery, and Marines,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddler’s Green.Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene,
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he’s emptied his canteen.
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddler’s Green.And so when horse and man go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge or fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalpJust empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddler’s Green.