Empire

The Commonwealth Games began life as the British Empire Games, making them the perfect inspiration for this week’s Three Tune Tuesday. Through three fascinating recordings from the early twentieth century, we explore how music reflected the rise, confidence, and changing legacy of the British Empire. From Harry Lauder’s comforting vision of soldiers carrying home across the globe, to the triumphant strains of Land of Hope and Glory, and finally an Irish folk melody that speaks to a culture finding its own voice, these records reveal how popular music could celebrate power, shape public opinion, and preserve identity. Rather than asking whether empire was simply good or bad, this episode examines how ordinary people experienced it—and how a few minutes of music can open a window into one of history’s largest and most complex stories.

Lyrics

The Foggy Dew

As down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I.
There armoured lines of marching men
In squadrons passed me by.
No pipe did hum, no battle drum
Did sound its loud tattoo
But the Angelus bell o’er the Liffy’s swell
Rang out in the foggy dew.

Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hung out that flag of war.
‘Twas better to die ‘neath an Irish sky
Than at Suvla or Sud el Bar.
And from the plains of Royal Meath
Strong men came hurrying through;
While Brittania’s sons with their long-range guns
Sailed in from the foggy dew.

oh the night fell black and the rifle’s crack
made perfidious Albion reel
mid the leaded rail seven tongues of flame
did shine o’re the lines of steel
by each shining blade a prayer was said
that to Ireland her sons be true
when the morning broke still the war flag shook
out its fold on the foggy dew

it was England bade our wild geese go
That small nations might be free.
Their lonely graves are by Suvla’s waves
On the fringe of the grey North Sea.
But had they died by Pearse’s side
Or fought with Cathal Bruagh,
Their graves we’d keep where the Fenians sleep
‘Neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

but the bravest fell, and the requiem bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide
In the springing of the year.
And the world did gaze in deep amaze
At those fearless men and true
Who bore the fight that freedom’s light
Might shine through the foggy dew.

then back through that glen I rode again
and my heart with grief was sore
for I parted then with valiant men
whom I never shall see more
and back to and fro in dreams I’ll go
and I’ll kneel and pray for you
oh slavery fled oh glorious dead
when you fell in the foggy dew

It’s Just Like Bein’ at Hame

A Highland regiment was forced to start,
To a distant land across the foam;
Whilst a poor old mither, with a heavy heart,
Waited anxiously at home.
Soon her sad face turned into a smiling one,
When a letter came from across the sea
For it said “Don’t cry! Don’t you sigh!
I’m as happy as can be”:

There’s a piper playing in the morning,
An auld Scotch tune so fine
There’s a tartan pladdie buckled on each laddie
Oh it’s just like Auld Lang Syne.
I can hear them praising Bonnie Scotland,
Bonnie Scotland’s fame,
So don’t sigh dear, Am a’richt here
It’s just like being at hame.

The fierce fight lengthened and the months dragged on,
Whilst the roll call shorten’d every day;
Though they saw their comrades falling, one by one
Yet they bravely fought their way;
For the handful left had sworn to do or die,
And with one long cheer they forged ahead;
And a Highland lad fought like mad,
As mither proudly read:

The flag was planted beneath the scorching sun,
Where the white man’s rule will ever reign;
And the brave Scots soldiers who had fought and won
Were returning home again.
And the Highland mither watched the passing ranks
For the face of one she loved so dear,
And in frenzied joy, kissed her boy,
As he whispered in her ear: