Corporal Fox

By Nick Griffin, British National Party

The BNP ran this ad on BBC TV.

My God, it was cold in the Falklands
When the stars and the flares shone out clear,
But at least I had mates to share jokes with
It’s much colder and lonelier here.
And that sharp piece of Argentine shrapnel
It’s hurt me for many a year
But not like when you look straight through me,
Pretending I’m not even here.

My God, we were thirsty in Kuwait
And choking in dust we went dry
But we shed a few tears for our Gary
When a mine took his legs and he died
And knowing the next step could kill me
I thought it had taught me of fear
’Til I see how you look straight through me
Pretending I’m not even here.

My God, I was angry to hear it
When “home” from the army I came:
There were flats for Iraqis and Afghans
But never a one with my name.
I thought that the council would sort it
’Til a desk clerk with spiky green hair
Said “next please” and looked straight through me
Pretending I just wasn’t there.

So I swear and I curse and I mutter
Though the anger is mainly inside
Without hope there’s no disappointment
There’s no one out there on my side.
I know the White Lightning will kill me
Don’t you see that I really don’t care?
It helps me to look straight through you
And pretend that I’m not quite all there.

So I live where the police cars can’t see me
In my rags and my old cardboard box
And there’s no one would notice me vanish
Except for my mate, Corporal Fox.
Two broken old squaddies together
In winter we share the same lair
And I bring him some bones from our Colonel
So he doesn’t pretend I’m not there.

Author Nick Griffin gives a brief word sketch of the inspiration behind Corporal Fox, one of more than a dozen songs he has written:

I have a very early childhood memory of seeing a bearded tramp with a fox on a lead. It was many years later, when I heard that around 20% of Britain’s homeless are ex-servicemen, that I remembered him and realised that most “tramps” in the early 1960s would have been veterans of the Second World War. Different wars have been fought since then, of course, but the disgrace of old soldiers without homes stays the same. Having promoted his fox to Corporal, the veteran of two recent conflicts brings him chicken bones from the bin outside KFC so he doesn’t lose his only companion. He seems to be going mad — or is it the society that lets such men down so badly that’s truly crazy?

I only wrote the words, Dave Hannam did the real work by coming up with such a superb tune, and singing it so well. He’s already sung it in several “mainstream” folk clubs and tells me that he has reduced some listeners to tears (not in the way that I would if I tried to sing it!) I’m pleased to say that, with our own professional studio now up and very nearly running, this and various other fine songs — new and old alike — will soon be appearing on a growing range of professionally produced CDs.

That said, we’ve got a good first crop of folk song writers and singers, and even a classical piano CD recorded by our Press Officer (already on sale via Excalibur), but so far we’re lacking some youngsters doing patriotically-inspired rock and dance music. And are there any budding Mike Oldfields out there? Lyrics encouraging or condoning race-mixing, homosexuality, drugs and similar decadence, and that tired old “Oi” sound, are not required, but if you are making any kind of music that you think may be suitable, please get in touch.

Length: 4 minutes 37 seconds (20.26 MB)