To Scotland’s toughest outfit I was drafted,
Where, at drill, weapons and bull we grafted,
Until they judged us fit to take our place,
And serve with other Jocks of our race. 

The Highland Light Infantry was the unit’s name,
The “Poison Dwarfs”, of warfare’s fame;
Formed in 1777 to fight the French,
And many another, in pub and trench.

Then on Cyprus among the Turks and Greeks
We stored our kilts and donned short breeks;
Where Colonel Grivas opposed the Queen, 
And would from Empire Cyprus wean.

Independence from Britain was the aim,
Enosis was the slogan and the flame
To ignite Cypriot passions for their land,
And take the island from the imperial hand.

What I recall are the stony, dusty roads
To Famagusta, to take and pick up loads 
Of this or that; the unrelenting, fierce, hot sun
On tender Scottish skins; my ever-present gun.

Sometimes in the Med’s warm, waveless sea
We washed off the sweat. We drank strong tea
And lots of Coke. The beer was not to my taste,
And of necessity we all were chaste.

We all turned dark brown in time, even those
With white city faces. We would pose
For photos by the rocks or on the sand,
And send them home to our own dear land.

We lived in tents with sandbagged walls
And answered innumerable bugle calls
Reveille, guard duty and the Last Post.
And ate tatties, hash, mushy peas and toast.

Then came the day for which we longed,
Not caring who we might have wronged,
Embarking on the home-bound trip, 
Packed aboard an old and rusty ship.

After leave, we left our home again 
For Luneburg in Germany, to be the bane
Of the CO’s life, carousing in the pubs,
And getting thrown out of all the clubs.

Installed in a fancy Luftwaffe barrack,
There was no cause to feel a lack
Of anything. It was a cushy billet there,
But Glesca’ boys, they like a tear.

On an exercise to Denmark we once did go,
We were supposed to be the Soviet foe.
That is, until the word it got around
That we could be by friendly Danish found. 

The rumour was that after kindly interrogation
By representatives of this pleasant nation,
The captors treated all their prisoners to
A veritable feast, we swore it to be true.

So some of us, daring, slipped out
Of camp, but to our dismay, doubt
Set in, and as our courage slipped away
We slunk back in to fight another day.

Hamburg was the place to spend one’s leave,
To drink in bars until we began to weave
Along the streets, searching for the Reeperbahn
And all the verboten attractions known to man.

Many Jocks came home with new tattoos
Obtained under the influence of the booze;
Others, it was rumoured, got a dose of clap
When their legs around a fraulein they chose to wrap.

Soon the two years of service it was ending,
And to civilian life we returned, intending
To take up where we left off. Easier said
Than done. These two years changed my head.

But that’s another story. Suffice to say
That I have not forgotten, and to this day
Remember the HLI with some affection,
And remain quite proud of my connection.