WHEN SCARBOROUGH HAD
LAND
BY
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.
