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Sharp Street Shrine, March 2014


It's cold and it's windy

But still that crowd meets

To stand with respect 

At the top of Sharp Street.


The Bearers stand at attention

As though shrunken by age

Since those seventy years

When they occupied a world stage.

Now they stand, booted and suited,

With their Medals on display

To pay their respects to

Victims of an earlier day.

Their banners are lowered 

As the tribute silence starts

For the living and the dead

All played their similar parts.


The shrine is unveiled,

The names on display,

The heroes who fought and 

Died in those long past days.

The Sharp Street Pals, one hundred

And forty two died from this street

Marched off to Belgium

And the fates they would meet.

Kitchener said they were needed

And they didn't let him down

Joining those Pals from 

The other parts of the town.


History has judged harshly

The causes of their fate

But the judgements of history 

By definition are too late.

And nothing can detract 

From the courage and the glory,

The Sharp Street Pals, and this little

Street shrine tells part of their story.

The Standards are raise as

The ceremony end 

One hundred years after the conflict 

Started for that battalion of friends.


The people disperse 

And the solemn mood is gone

But for just a little while in

Memory those Pals lived on.



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Sharp Street Shrine, 2014