When Scarborough had land Jan 12th, 2012
by
James Bredin
I remember Scarborough proud Protestant and blue,
With portraits of the Queen near every pew.
No Sunday shops, no music hops, no liquor on
display,
Where the Lodges and the Legions marched each
Victoria Day.
Where ensigns flew, Union Jacks too, unique uniforms
on parade.
A raucous rush of pompous pride by pals from every
trade,
As they beat the drum down Danforth Road on the
twenty fourth of May,
Out to the country and back by Byng, again on
Dominion Day.
Those were loyal times before the war for king and
queen and all,
For more than a few, this love did cause, their
ultimate downfall.
It did at Dieppe and D-day too like their seniors
at the Somme,
They died for king and country; they did it for a
song.
And soon they were forgotten, those who fought for
king and crown,
Though those lucky to return had saved the country
and the town.
They would walk again forever with their flags
flying high,
Marching medals of the heroes that no one could deny.
Except the town of Scarborough was down on the
drawing board,
And those fields and sheep and meadows didn't fit
the grand accord.
No newcomers paid attention as the veterans vied
for space,
And their parades of marching medals only had an old-time grace.
And Scarborough changed by day and night from a
township to a city,
Old soldiers faded fast and few and no one had
much pity.
And the immigrants came in wave after wave from
places far and wide,
As the soldiers went to grave after grave with
their flags and faded pride.
But still a few survive today and I'm sure they
are not pleased.
'bout the changes to the town and how Scarborough
had been squeezed,
From a township to a city where no one cared for
esprit de corps,
So they amalgamated with Toronto and Scarborough
was no more.
And culture clash and bureaucrat and ever changing
rules,
Of mandarin and moguls and Tamils dressed in
jewels,
While traffic roared and the buildings soared
sometimes to sixty stories,
Where women wrapped in saris sashayed in all their
glories.
They had lost the town without a fight, those men
from long ago.
And everything was centralized; they said to save
some dough,
But the authorities had lied again; it was all
politically correct,
And no one marched, no flags did fly and no one
did protest.
There are sometimes you still can hear it, the distant
drone of pipes,
And men in kilts still carry on, just watched by
boys on bikes.
They're just a faint reminder now of the many
marching bands,
When those with flags and medals marched and
Scarborough had some land.
