Hello, Soldier! Part 5

Those old-timers botched the contract, but we mean to put it through.

Knights Templars from Balmain, the Port, Monaro, Nhill, andl Ealin'.

We 'are wipin' up Jerus'lem; we were ready with a hose Spoutin' lead, a dandy cleaner that you bet you can rely on; And Moss Isaacs, Cohn, and Cohen, Moses, Offelbloom 'n' those Can all pack their bettin' bags, and come right home again to Zion.

PEACE, BLESSED PEACE.

HERE in the flamin' thick of thick of things, With Death across the way, 'n' traps What little Fritz the German flings Explodin' in yer lunch pe'aps, It ain't all glory for a bloke', It ain't all corfee 'ot and stoo, Nor wavin' banners in the smoke, Or practisin' the bay'net stroke-- We has our little troubles, too!

Here's Trigger Ribb bin seein' red 'N' raisin' Cain because he had, Back in the caverns iv his 'ead, A 'oller tooth run ravin' mad.

Pore Trigger up 'n' down the trench Was jiggin' like a blithered loan, 'N' every time she give a wrench You orter seen the beggar blench, You orter 'eard him play a toon.

The sullen sh.e.l.ls was pawin' blind, A-feelin' for us grim as sin, While now 'n' then we'd likely find A dizzy bomb come limpin' in.

But Trigger simply let 'er sizz.

He 'ardly begged to be excused.

This was no d.a.m.n concern of his.

He twined a m.u.f.fler round his phiz, 'N' fearful was the words he used.

Lest we be getting' c.o.c.k-a-whoop Ole 'Ans tries out his box of tricks.

His bullets all around the coop Is peckin' like a million chicks.

But Trigger when they barks his snout Don't sniff at it. He won't confess They're on the earth--ignores the clout, 'N' makes the same old sung about His brimmin' mug of bitterness.

They raided us there in the mud One day afore the dead sun rose.

Me oath, the mess of stuff and blood Would give a slaughterman the joes!

And when the sc.r.a.p is past and done, Where's Trigger Ribb? The n.o.ble youth Has got his bay'net in a Hun, While down his cheeks the salt tears run.

Sez he to me "Gorbli'--this tooth!"

A sh.e.l.l hoist Trigger in a tree.

We found him motherin' his jor.

"If this ache's goin' on," sez he, "So 'elp me, it'll spoil the war!"

Five collared Trigger on his perch, They wired his molar to a bough, Then give the anguished one a lurch, 'N' down he pitches. From that birch His riddled tooth is hangin' now.

This afternoon it's merry 'ell; Grenades is comin' by the peck; A big gun times us true 'n well, And, oh! we gets it in the neck.

They lick out flames hat reach a mile, The drip of lead will never cease.

But Trigger's pottin' all the while; He sports a fond 'n' foolish smile- "Thank Gord," he sez, "a bit of peace!"

THE HAPPY GARDENERS.

WE were storemen, clerks and packers on an ammunition dump Twice the size of Cootamundra, and the goods we had to hump They were bombs as big as water-b.u.t.ts, and cartridges in tons, Sh.e.l.ls that looked like blessed gasmains, and a line in traction-guns.

We had struck a warehouse dignity in dealing with the stocks.

It was, "Sign here, Mr. Eddie!" "Clarkson, forward to the socks!"

Our floor-walker was a major, with a nozzle like a peach, And a stutter in his Trilbies; and a limping kind of speech.

We were off at eight to business, we were free for lunch at one, And we talked of new Spring fashions, and the brisk trade being done.

After five we sought our dugouts lying snug beneath the hill, Each with hollyhocks before it and geraniums on the sill.

Singing "Home, Sweet home," we swept, and scrubbed, and dusted up the place, Then smoked out on the doorstep in the twi- light's tender grace.

After which with spade and rake we sought our special garden plot, And we 'tended to the cabbage and the shrink- ing young shallot.

So long lived we unmolested that this seemed indeed "the life."

Set apart from mirk and worry and the inci- dence of strife; And we trimmed our Kitchen Eden, swapping vegetable lore, Whi1e the whole demented world beside was muddled up with war.

There was little talk of Boches and of b.l.o.o.d.y battle scenes, But a deal about Bill's spuds and Billy Carkeek's b.u.t.ter-beans; Porky specialised on onion and he had a sort of gift For a cabbage plump and tender that it took two men to lift.

In the pleasant Sabbath morning, when the sun lit on our "street,"

And illumed the happy dugout with effulgence kind and sweet, It was fine to see us forking, raking, picking off the bugs, Treading flat the snails and woodlice and demolishing the slugs.

Then one day old Fritz got going. He had a hint of us, And the sh.e.l.l the blighter posted was as roomy as a 'bus; He was groping round the dump, and kind of pecking after it; When he plugged the hill the world heeled up, the dome of heaven split.

Then, 0 Gott and consternation! Swooped a sh.e.l.l a and stuck her nose In Carkeek's beans. Those beans came up!

A cry of grief arose!

As we watched them--plunk! another sh.e.l.l cut loose, and everywhere Flew the spuds of Billy Murphy. There were turnips in the air.

Bill! she tore a quarter-acre from the land- scape. With it burst Tommy's carrots, and we watched them, and in whispers prayed and cursed.

Then a wail of anguish 'scaped us. Boomed in Porky's cabbage plot A detestable concussion. Porky's cabbages were not!

There the Breaking strain was reached, for Porky fetched an awful cry, And he rushed away and armed himself.

With loathing in his eye, Up and over went the hero. He was savage Through and through, And he tore across the distance like a mad- dened kangaroo.

They had left a woeful sight indeed--frail cab- bages all rent, Turnips mangled, little carrots all in one red burial blent, Parsnips ruined, lettuce shattered, torn and wilted beet and bean, And a black and grinning gap where once our garden flourished green.

Five and fifty hours had pa.s.sed when came a German in his shirt.

On his back he carried Porky black with blood, and smoke and dirt.

"I sniped six of 'em," said Porky, "an' me pris'ner here," he sez- "I done in the crooel swine what strafed me helpless cabba-ges."

THE GERM

I TOOK to khaki at a word, And fashioned dreams of wonder.

I rode the great sea like a bird, Chock full of blood and thunder.

I saw myself upon the field Of battle, framed in glory, Compelling stubborn foes to yield As captives to my sword and shield-- This is another story.

We sat about in sun and sand, We broke old Cairo's images, Met here and there a swarthy band In little, friendly scrimmages, And here it is I start to kid No Moslem born can hit me.

The Germ then that had long laid hid Came out of Pharaoh's pyramid, And covertly he bit me.

For some few days I wore an air Of pensive introspection, And then I curled down anywhere.

They whispered of infection, And hoist me on two sticks as though I bore the leper's label, And took me where, all in a row Of tiny beds, two score or so Were raising second Babel;

But no man talked to any one.

And no bloke knew another.

This soldier raved about his gun, And that one of his mother.

They were the victims of the Germ, The imp that Satan p.r.i.c.ks in, First cousin to the Coffin Worm, Whose uncomputed legions squirm Some foul, atomic Styx in.