With the British Prime Minister sabre-rattling and playing the Grand Old Duke of York with his ten thousand men there have been statements made regarding the likelihood of conscription of the idle youth of Britain, who spoil the balancing of the Chancellor’s ledger.

We recall that the Grand Old Duke of York marched his men up to the top of the hill and marched them down again, in good order. However, marching up that English hill is not the same as marching them to the lowlands of Ukraine and the Russian borderlands.

In the event of Sir Keir’s Army getting itself in trouble with Russia it is perhaps time that minds were focussed, before it is all too late – as it usually is.

There are many fine anti-recruiting songs within the folk histories of Ireland, Scotland and Merrie England as befitting the cannon fodder of a warmongering and warfighting state par excellence. But a more recent one written by Paul Weller and recorded by The Jam on their Setting Sons album of 1979 perhaps expresses it best to modern youth.

Little Boy Soldiers (Paul Weller)

It’s funny how you never knew what my name was,

Our only contact was a form for the election.

These days I find that you don’t listen,

These days I find that we’re out of touch,

These days I find that I’m too busy,

So why the attention now you want my assistance –

What have you done for me?

You’ve gone and got yourself in trouble,

Now you want me to help you out.

These days I find that I can’t be bothered,

These days I find that it’s all too much,

To pick up a gun and shoot a stranger,

But I’ve got no choice so here I come – war games.

I’m up on the hills, playing little boy soldiers,

Reconnaissance duty at 5:30.

Shoot! Shoot! Shoot! and kill the natives,

You’re one of us and we love you for that.

Think of honour, King and country,

You’re a blessed son of the British Empire,

God’s on our side and so is Washington.

Come out on the hills with the little boy soldiers.

Come on outside – I’ll sing you a lullaby,

Or tell a tale of how goodness prevailed.

We ruled the world – we killed and robbed,

The fucking lot – but we don’t feel bad.

It was done beneath the flag of Democracy,

You’ll believe and I do – yes I do, yes I do,

Yes I do!

These days I find that I can’t be bothered,

To argue with them – well what’s the point,

Better to take your shots and drop down dead,

Then they send you home in a pine overcoat

With a letter to your mum. Saying:

Find enclosed one son – one medal and a note

to say we won…