14th Field Artillery Regiment Assn

Fiddler's Green
Steel Warriors
Constitution and By Laws
Crest History
Lineage & Honors
Battalion's Lineage
History of Fort Sill
History of Satanta
Where We've Been
Guns, Howitzers, Rockets
Honor Roll
In Memoriam
Association Officers
Chaplain's Corner
QM Store
Our Ladies
Hamilton Regimental Room
Fiddler's Green
1st Bn Reflections
2d Bn Reflections
3d Bn Reflections
4th Bn Reflections
5th Bn Reflections
6th Bn Reflections
America's Heroes
Regimental Moments
Reunion 2018
Reunion 2016
Reunion 2014
Reunion 2012
Reunion 2010
Reunion - 2008
Reunion 2006 Photos(1)
Reunion 2006 Photos(2)
Reunion - 2004
Membership Registration
Active Members
Former Members
Honorary Members
Inactive Members Roster (A-S)
Inactive Members Roster (S-Z)
News Archives 2015
News Archives 2014
News Archives 2013
News Archives 2012
News Archives 2011
News Archives 2005 - 2010
Blank page
Buddy Search


Imagine the late 1800s, in Southwest Oklahoma, in the shadows of the Wichita Mountains, is a battery of towed cannon camped for the night. Around the campfire the conversation turns to life in the hereafter. A old veteran section chief passes on his account of the destiny of Redlegs, and the young cannoneers listen intently.
The Section Chief explains that the souls of the departed eventually end up in heaven or hell. Heaven lies about 8 miles down the dusty road to eternity, and Redlegs get there by turning right at the first crossroads. From this same junction, hell is about nine or ten miles straight ahead. A little way down the road to hell, there is a sign pointing to a trail that reads "Fiddler's Green--Artillerymen Only."
He then teaches them the following poem:
                   Fiddler's Green
Halfway down the trail to hell in a shady meadow green
Are the souls of all dead Redlegs camped near a good old-time canteen,
And this eternal resting place is known as Fiddler's Green
Marching past straight through to hell, the Infantry are seen, accompanied by the Engineers, Cavalry and Marines,
For none but the shades of Artillerymen dismount at Fiddler's Green
Though some go curving down the trail to see a warmer scene, no Redleg ever gets to hell ere he's emptied his canteen.
And so rides back to drink again with friends at Fiddler's Green
And so when man and horse go down beneath a saber keen, or on a roaring charge of fierce melee you stop a bullet clean.
And the hostiles come to get your scalp just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head and go to Fiddler's Green.

The campfires die out, and the Redlegs doze off to sleep,

Knowing Fiddler's Green awaits them and all their cannon-cocking brethren in the life hereafter.