Their names were Willis and Wilfred and Frank,
And they all were friends of mine, Like all the kids in our one room school Back in that long ago time.
In the winters we skated on the George's pond, In the summer we all played ball. Then the war broke out far across the sea, "Please help us," came England's call.
The year was nineteen Thirty-nine When the Nazi bombs were hurled, At the little country of Poland And Hitler vowed he'd rule the world.
Like many a brave Canadian boy These three were in their teens, When they answered England's plea for help To turn back the Nazi fiends.
Frank put on the air force blue, And learned to pilot a plane With a few short weeks of training A squadron leader became.
In a night raid over Germany They dropped their lethal bombs, But their plane was caught in a searchlight While heading for England and home.
They all got out but the pilot, And he went down with the plane, And now a small white cross in France Bears the hero's name:
Willis was blond, with eyes so blue, And proud of the khaki he wore, A soldier brave was this teenaged boy, Yet he hated the thoughts of war.
After only short weeks of training He crossed the ocean to fight, For King and country and the loved ones And all he believed was right.
A German sniper in hiding Snuffed out this soldier's life, But fighting and killing were all around In this terrible wanton strife.
Willis sleeps in an apple orchard in France, With a plain white cross at his head, Just one of the many brave young lives Who are numbered among the dead.
Wilfred was dressed in the navy blue,
Our way of life he would save, He sailed on the minesweeper Guysborough A sailor staunch and brave.
The end of the war was nearing, The foe was crumbling fast, But a German U-boat hit it's mark And the Guysborough sank so fast.
"Twas" off the coast of Ireland The Guysborough sank from sight, And many a brave and hardy soul Was lost that terrible night.
Wilfred gave up his place in the lifeboat To a friend who was wounded bad, And while trying to swim to another boat The Atlantic claimed this lad.
There is no cross to mark his grave, For the North Atlantic is cruel, But Wilfred died a hero's death,
And may God rest his soul.
I often think of these three young boys Who became men before their time, And I wonder what life might have been Had they not all died in their prime.
I think of them still as teenaged boys, To me they will never grow old. I'm sure these three were among the flock When God gathered his sheep to the fold.
Their names were Willis, Wilfred and Frank Three boys who came from East Noel, And in the roll that is called up in heaven their names are all etched in gold.
A tribute to the memory of WILLIS NEIL AND WILFRED DENSMORE AND TO FRANK TOMLINSON
of East Noel who all died in active during world war two
composed on the eve of the 50th anniversary of D-DAY
