6-4 CAV Bostick Fiddler's Green

6-4 Cav opened the new MWR facility on FOB Bostick this Thursday. Fiddler’s Green was assembled from lumber recycled when the floor boards of tents were recovered prior to the start of our latest barracks construction project. Recycled materials were key to the project to allow it to be built rapidly without “stealing” wood from barracks construction projects on the forward Ops.

Members of all of the organizations on FOB Bostick were present for the event, from the left Roland from KBR, Lance CPL Maltry from the USMC ETT, LTC Markert, 1LT Mayberry who runs FOB Bostick for the Squadron, SSG Baker who supervised the project for the Mayor’s Cell, and SSG Winger from our supporting EOD team.

The new facility provides access to TVs, tons of books, a great movie room, and place to play games, and a porch outside for BBQs and such. It is a significant improvement over the tent that it replaced.

Our thanks to the Soldiers who suggested it and everyone who had a hand in getting the hard work required to build it completed.



Soldier’s from 6-4 Cav check out the new MWR center named Fiddler’s Green in recognition of our Cavalry heritage.



The origin and author of "Fiddler's Green" is unknown. It was believed to have originated in the 1800's and was composed as a song sung by the soldiers of the 6th and 7th Cavalry. Its first known appearance in published form was in a 1923 Cavalry Journal.

"Fiddler's Green"

Halfway down the trail to Hell,
In a shady meadow green
Are the Souls of all dead troopers camped,
Near a good old-time canteen.
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddlers' Green.
Marching past, straight through to Hell
The Infantry are seen.
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marines,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.
Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene.
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen.
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers' Green.
And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And go to Fiddlers' Green.