In light of Remembrance Day, let me preface this writeup by giving the context for that most famous bugle call, The Last Post -- that as its practical function was to signal the completion of sentry post inspections, thus to signal the very end of the day, it also signaled to any men wounded or lost out there on the battlefield that the day's fighting was over and they could safely make their way home. Played in the context of a military funeral, one can imagine that it is singalling a lost soul that it can safely make its way home.
There are similar end-of-day bugle calls used at funerals of other militaries -- Taps, Taptoe, Sonnerie aux Morts, Il Silenzio, and so forth -- bugle calls to the dear departed. But what of those who remain? What songs are there for them?
The German military funeral has something altogether different than the supernatural connotation of The Last Post, for it is a simple lament ,by a common soldier, for the loss of a friend. Eschewing national pride and grand military sentiment, it offers a plain recounting of that which every soldier knows -- that one day you have a friend, the next day he is gone, and you might follow him the day after.
Der Gute Kamerade
Ich hatt' einen Kameraden,
Einen bessern findst du nit.
Die Trommel schlug zum Streite,
Er ging an meiner Seite,
In gleichem Schritte und Tritt --
In gleichem Schritte und Tritt.
Eine Kugel gam geflogen:
Gilt's mir oder gilt es dir?
Ihn hat es wegerissen,
Er liegt zu meinen Füßen
Als wär's ein Stück von mir,
Als wär's ein Stück von mir.
Will mir die Hand noch reichen,
Derweil ich eben lad.
Kann dir die Hand nicht geben,
Bleib du im ew'gen Leben,
Mein guter Kamerad --
Mein guter Kamerad.
It is impossible to translate a song or poem strictly if one wishes to have it rhyme. Thus what follows is my attempt at an English version of the song, not perfectly faithful to translation, but, I should hope, faithful to the spirit.
I had a good comrade,
Better friend you could not find,
The drum called us to battle,
He walked close by my side,
With the same pace and stride --
With the same pace and stride.
A bullet came a-flying,
Was it aimed for you or me?
My friend was swept away,
He lay there at my feet,
Like he was part of me --
Like he was part of me.
He reached out for my hand,
While I was still loading,
I could not hold your hand,
As you met eternity,
My friend so dear to me --
My friend so dear to me!
That's all. Never mind the banners flying over head, never mind the speeches the captain gives to steel the men for battle, never mind the medals pinned upon gilded lapels, never mind the garlands and strewn rose petals, never mind the cheers and the band's bright blowing -- all of that in all the world won't bring a friend back.
The most you can do is sing for them, and hope they hear, somewhere.