My Father Sings . . . Cruel War

Steve Ekim 17, 2022

A war was raging when my mom and dad were dating. My dad knew he would be called up for the draft. And he was. However, a heart murmur was sufficient for the powers that be to toss him back as a less than perfect specimen. My dad, happily imperfect, supplied himself with a simple diamond ring and made his way to my mom's apartment.

She was wearing her Lee jeans and the pale pink sweatshirt that later became her painting clothes. Every time she painted the kitchen or the bathroom or my bedroom, I remembered when she had told me the story of how Dad didn't have to go to war and married her instead.

That day he tossed a tiny box her way, "Here, I have something for you."

She caught it, green eyes sparkling at him, opened it, and then much noise and likely, kissing. After she'd admired it on her hand and kissed him again, she glinted up, sideways through eyelashes, teasing, "I presume this means we're engaged?"

"All right. Give it back," he said in mock bluster.

"Nope. Too late," she grinned at him. Judging by the way they greeted each other every evening afterward when my dad came home from work, we can only assume more kissing ensued.

As a child, singing this song with my parents, I always wondered why the girl didn't figure out sooner that all she had to do was set up a rhyme for Yes, rather than No -- like in the last verse when she ends with: "Than words can e'er express," so the boy had to finally say Yes. I thought she could have said in the verse earlier, "No one will ever guess," instead of "No one will ever know," and saved herself a whole verse of pleading. Though likely as not, boys being the illogical and emotional creatures they are, the young soldier was more moved by her pleading than by the requirements of the line.

And maybe not only boys think more through emotions than through rhyme and reason. I found myself singing this song over and over yesterday . . . realizing at last that it was in subconscious response to Fritz packing up for a business trip to California, leaving me at home to pine and sigh, i.e. deal with teenagers and carpools and a thermostat on the frizzle, so no heat in the house and frost on the grass.

"Won't you let me go with you?"

To pass as comrades, shoulder to shoulder against the miles, seems still to me the most desirable way to march along.

* * *

The cruel war is raging, Johnny has to fight.
I want to be with him from morning to night.
I want to be with him, it grieves my heart so.
Won't you let me go with you?
No, my love, no.

Tomorrow is Sunday, Monday is the day
That your captain will call you and you must obey
Your captain will call you, it grieves my heart so.
Won't you let me go with you?
No, my love, no.

I'll tie back my hair, men's clothing I'll put on
And I'll pass as your comrade, as we march along.
I'll pass as your comrade, no one will ever know.
Won't you let me go with you?
No, my love, no.

Oh Johnny, dear Johnny, I fear you are unkind
For I love you far better than all of mankind.
I love you far better than words can e'er express.
Won't you let me go with you?
Yes, my love, yes.

Songwriters: Noel Paul Stookey / Peter Yarrow