The Song of the Hunts. Cyclists.

Written & composed for the Battalion by Pte. Howson. 

(before 19th December 1914.)

To date it has not been possible to find a tune which fits the song!

A little while ago

We were quite content to grow

To be citizens of quiet Huntingdon,

Or we sang upon the wains

In the quiet English Lanes :

Now we're Soldiers of the Empire - everyone.



Cheer, Ho! Cheer, Ho!

Where the frosty breezes blow,

And the morn comes riding in upon the tides;

We are out upon the sands,

And we're up the cliff in bands,

Hunting out the sneaking spy where'er he hides.


We've signed to go to France,

And we hope we get a chance,

For we've all come out for duty and for fun;

We're the Hunts. Battalion boys,

And we're all our mothers' joys,

But we're also sons of Britain - everyone.



Cheer Ho! Cheer Ho!

The merry sea - winds blow,

As they toss the glittering waves upon the shore;

So our purpose is our pride,

As we wrestle with our tide,

For the glory of Old England - evermore


Little soldier, never fret,

Though we're not quite Tommies yet -

And although we are the Army's youngest son,

Yet our glory's not remote,

For we wear a tawny coat,

So we must be British Lions - everyone.



Cheer Ho! Cheer Ho!

Where the rocking sea -winds blow,

We're the Army and the Navy rolled in one -

The land and sea connected,

So if you'd feel protected

Keep behind the little Corps from Huntingdon.


Abaft the harassed fleet

We're the first the foe to meet,

Should he dare to set his foot on England's shore;

If we do our waiting well

They may need us - who can tell ?

Where the little Belgian armies fell before.



Cheer Ho! Cheer Ho!

Do we dream this thing? Oh, no !

We have waked from simple slumbers by the gun,

And the thing that we're about

Is to wipe the "Germ - Hun" out

Or to die like British Soldiers - every one.


If you can help with any data on this Huntingdonshire Cyclist please contact me at

Return to Soldiers Section.  Return to Main Menu.


. .  Martyn Smith   .