My mum told me, when I signed on,
I’d never see her again. She was right.
It was four years before I got leave,
and by then, she’d gone. My brother took the farm.
But I never liked the land. See the world, that’s me!
The army treats you well,
if you don’t expect too much. It’s regular, like,
and a man can depend on things.
Oh, the barbarians – they’re not bad.
Kill a few, they run like stoats,
But on the whole, they’re quiet.
I see them with their children – like us
Although, I must say,
There’s always a – wall up,
They look at things different. But what can you expect?
We’re Romans and they’re not.

Every month, the mule train comes from Eboracum
With supplies and gold – my mum used to send things.
Now she’s gone, there’s nothing for me.
Some of the lads get letters,
but my brother never learned
And what can you say about a pig farm in Tusculum?
Yet it’s good, somehow, knowing he’s there.
When it’s damned cold and wet here,
It’s good to think of sunshine on his hills,
and the good Roman roads between here and home.