aka When This Blasted War is Over / When This Lousy War is Over / When This Ruddy War is Over
Original song: Music by Charles Crozat Converse (1868)
Lyrics by Joseph M. Scriven (1855)
Original Lyrics
What a friend we have in Jesus,
all our sins and griefs to bear!
What a privilege to carry
everything to God in prayer!
O what peace we often forfeit,
O what needless pain we bear,
all because we do not carry
everything to God in prayer!
Have we trials and temptations?
Is there trouble anywhere?
We should never be discouraged;
take it to the Lord in prayer!
Can we find a friend so faithful
who will all our sorrows share?
Jesus knows our every weakness;
take it to the Lord in prayer!
Are we weak and heavy laden,
cumbered with a load of care?
Precious Savior, still our refuge–
take it to the Lord in prayer!
Do your friends despise, forsake you?
Take it to the Lord in prayer!
In his arms he’ll take and shield you;
you will find a solace there.
Parody Lyrics
Max Arthur p97
When this bloody war is over,
No more soldiering for me.
When I get my civvy clothes on,
Oh, how happy I shall be!
No more church parades on Sunday,
No more putting in for leave,
I shall kiss the Sergeant-Major
How I’ll miss him; how he’ll grieve.
Sometimes the last four lines were sung as:
No more going in the trenches,
No more asking for a pass
You can tell the Sergeant-Major
To stick his passes up his arse.
Or:
I shall sound my own reveille,
I shall make my own tattoo:
No more NCOs to curse me,
No more bloody Army stew.
When this bloody war is over
Guards’ fatigues will be no more
We’ll be spooning with the wenches
As we did in days of yore.
NCOs will then be navvies,
Privates own their motor cars,
No more “sirring” and saluting,
No more tea dished out in jars.
Brophy p57
When this blasted war is over,
Oh, how happy I shall be!
When I get my civvy clothes on,
No more soldiering for me.
No more church parades on Sunday,
No more asking for a pass,
I shall tell the Sergeant-Major
To stick his passes up his arse.
When this blasted war is over,
Oh, how happy I shall be!
When I get my civvy clothes on,
No more soldiering for me.
I shall sound my own revally,
I shall make my own tattoo:
No more N.C.O.s to curse me,
No more bleeding Army stew.
Some units sand this additional stanza:
N.C.O.s will all be navvies,
Privates ride in motor cars;
N.C.O.s will smoke their woodbines,
Privates puff their big cigars.
No more standing-to in trenches,
Only one more church-parade;
No more shivering on the the firestep,
No more Tickler’s marmalade.
Pegler p364
When this lousy war is over,
No more soldiering for me.
When I get my civvie clothes on,
Oh, how happy I shall be.
No more church parades on Sunday,
No more asking for a pass.
I shall tell the sergeant major
To stick his passes up his arse.
When this lousy war is over,
Oh, how happy I shall be.
When I get my civvie clothes on,
And I return from Germany.
I shall sound my own reveille,
I shall make my own tattoo:
No more NCOs to bollock me,
No more rotten army stew.
NCOs will all be navvies,
Privates ride in motor cars.
Officers will smoke their Woodbines,
Privates puff their big cigars.
No more “Stand-To” in the trenches,
Never another church parade,
No more shiv’ring on the the fire step,
No more Tickler’s marmalade.
Nettleingham p21
When this ruddy war is over,
O! how happy I shall be!
When this ruddy war is over
And we come back from Germany.
No more blooming kit inspection,
No more church parade for me.
When this ruddy war is over,
You can have your R.F.C.
When this ruddy war is over,
Oh! how happy we shall be!
When this ruddy war is over
And we come back from Germany.
Roll on, when we go on furlough;
Roll on, when we go on leave,
Then we’ll catch the train for Blighty,
Though we’ll leave the girls bereaved.
Songs that Won the War p.92
No More Soldiering
When this rotten war is over,
No more soldiering for me.
When I get my civvy clothes on,
Oh, how happy I shall be!
No more church parades on Sunday,
No more putting in for leave,
I shall kiss the Segeant-Major,
How I’ll miss him; how he’ll grieve.
When this rotten war is over,
No more soldiering for me.
When I get my civvy clothes on,
Oh, how happy I shall be!
I shall sound my own reveille
I shall make my own tattoo:
No more N.C.O’s to curse me,
No more rotten Army stew.
When this rotten war is over,
Oh, how happy we shall be;
When this rotten war is over,
And we return from Germany.
Roll on, when we go on furlough,
Roll on, when we get our leave,
Then we’ll catch the train for Blighty,
And leave our “only” girl to grieve.