I had seen our splendid soldiers in their khaki uniforms,
And their leaders with a Sam Brown belt;
I had seen the fighting Britons and Colonials in swarms,
I had seen the blue-clad Frenchmen, and I felt
That the mighty martial show
Had no new sight to bestow,
Till I walked on Piccadilly, and my word!
By the bonnie Highland laddies
In their kilts and their plaidies,
To a wholly new sensation I was stirred.

They were like some old-time picture, or a scene from out a play,
They were stalwart, they were young, and debonnair;
Their jaunty little caps they wore in such a fetching way,
And they showed their handsome legs, and didn’t care—
And they seemed to own the town
As they strode on up and down—
Oh, they surely were a sight for tired eyes!
Those braw, bonnie laddies
In their kilts and their plaidies,
And I stared at them with pleasure and surprise.

I had read about the valour of old Scotland’s warrior sons—
How they fought to a finish, or else fell;
I had heard the name bestowed on them by agitated Huns,
Who called these skirted soldiers ‘Dames of Hell’;
And I gave them right of way
On their London holiday,
As I met them swinging down the street and Strand,
Those bonnie, bonnie laddies
In their kilts and their plaidies,
And I breathed a blessing on them and their land

Now the world is all rejoicing that the end of war has come—
And no heart is any gladder than my own,
That the brutal, blatant voices of the guns at last are dumb,
And the Dove of Peace from out her cage has flown.
Yet, when men no more march by,
Making pictures for the eye,
There’s a vital dash of colour earth will lack,
When the brave Highland laddies
Drop their kilts and their plaidies,
And return to common clothes of grey or black!