DURING both the First and Second World Wars, there were Army training camps based in Chipping, with a rifle range set up higher in the fells.

The soldiers would travel by train into Longridge and march along the country lanes to camp.

One day while digging in the fields to locate drains, villager Michael Neary began to think of the lads and men who trained there — but never returned from battle — and wrote a poem to remember them.

Said Michael: “My mother told me the camp had been next to the field in which I was working. so I wrote this poem.”

We were only lads you know Just our fathers’ sons, Working here in Lancashire On farms, in mills and homes.

Some worked on the fells you know Some worked down the mine, We were fit and strong you know Proud to stand in line.

They taught us how to march you know And shoot those bloody guns, We were only lads you know Just our mothers’ sons.

So when those bright red berries Fall from the hawthorn tree, And you are safe in Lancashire Please, please pray for me.

My names upon the cenotaph With the other lads who fell, Some they’ve gone to heaven But most have been through hell.