By Mildred J. Bove
They used to be neighbors of ours – Our Boys,
Who shared in our cares, in our sorrows and joys,
We watched them grow up from their infancy days,
We knew them, Our Boys, as “The Shamrocks,” or “Bays.”
Remember the ball games on Sundays they’d play?
Neighbor, do you ever think where Our Boys are today?
They’re far, far away from “the beach-heads” they knew,
From Tappens, from Roeder’s, from Boys’ Scout Beach too.
No longer at Nostrand they cheer, or they shout
As Arch Bove doubles, or the umpire yells “out!”
As Mickey De Sola tries to make it a “double”
And Ray Riley yells “Hey Guy, you’re in trouble
If you think on “a single” two bases you’ll get.
On my wing from the outfield, if you do you’re all wet
Billy Carney was catcher, the pitcher Jed Hart,
Bobby Danzilo on third-and folks could he start
Those old “double plays” with Bove and Farr?
But all this was yesteryear- now see where they are!
No longer their beach-heads are those round “the Bay”
But by Cherbourg, Salerno, or New Britain way,
Where Jimmy Mascola, many others as well,
Are showing the Huns the direct way to Hell.
Risking their lives for us folks day by day.
For you and for me and their well-beloved “Bay.”
The Daltons, the Carneys, the Smith Brothers too,
The Bells, Syers and Maisaks, all Americans true,
The Mascolas, the Halloways, the Clares, and the Farrs.
Just look in the windows and count all the stars
Who are giving their all, folks, for you and for me;
That their children may live in a land that is free,
Free to worship their God as their conscience dictates,
Free to voice their opinions in a United States.
United-to fight against every foreign ism
That would wreck our loved land in another cataclysm
Of war, with its horrors of bloodshed and pain-
God grant that their efforts may not be in vain!
That Richard and Jimmy and Andy ne’er know,
The long nights of waiting, the anguish, the woe
Of seeing their sweethearts, their husbands, their sons,
March off to the front-where forever the guns
Belch death to someone; be he German or Jap,
But instead, peace will flourish all over the map,
And folks, when you read this, say one little prayer,
That God may protect all OUR BOYS “over there.”
Courtesy of Mildred’s Son Richard Bove
Originally Posted on Sheepshead Bay Memories Facebook Page.
Click on the GB Stories Tab for a printable copy of this poem.