Rhymes of a Red Cross Man Part 13

We've finished with trousers of scarlet, They're giving us breeches of blue, With a helmet instead of a cap on our head, Yet still we're the little piou-piou.

Nous les aurons!

The jesting, unresting piou-piou; The cheering, unfearing piou-piou; The keep-your-head-level and fight-like-the-devil; The dying, defying piou-piou.

_a la bayonette! Jusqu'a la mort!

Sonnez la charge, clairons!_

Bill the Bomber

The poppies gleamed like b.l.o.o.d.y pools through cotton-woolly mist; The Captain kept a-lookin' at the watch upon his wrist; And there we smoked and squatted, as we watched the shrapnel flame; 'Twas wonnerful, I'm tellin' you, how fast them bullets came.

'Twas weary work the waiting, though; I tried to sleep a wink, For waitin' means a-thinkin', and it doesn't do to think.

So I closed my eyes a little, and I had a niceish dream Of a-standin' by a dresser with a dish of Devon cream; But I hadn't time to sample it, for suddenlike I woke: "Come on, me lads!" the Captain says, 'n I climbed out through the smoke.

We spread out in the open: it was like a bath of lead; But the boys they cheered and hollered fit to raise the b.l.o.o.d.y dead, Till a beastly bullet copped 'em, then they lay without a sound, And it's odd--we didn't seem to heed them corpses on the ground.

And I kept on thinkin', thinkin', as the bullets faster flew, How they picks the werry best men, and they lets the rotters through; So indiscriminatin' like, they spares a man of sin, And a rare lad wot's a husband and a father gets done in.

And while havin' these reflections and advancin' on the run, A bullet biffs me shoulder, and says I: "That's number one."

Well, it downed me for a jiffy, but I didn't lose me calm, For I knew that I was needed: I'm a bomber, so I am.

I 'ad lost me cap and rifle, but I "carried on" because I 'ad me bombs and knew that they was needed, so they was.

We didn't 'ave no singin' now, nor many men to cheer; Maybe the shrapnel drowned 'em, crashin' out so werry near; And the Maxims got us sideways, and the bullets faster flew, And I copped one on me flipper, and says I: "That's number two."

I was pleased it was the left one, for I 'ad me bombs, ye see, And 'twas 'ard if they'd be wasted like, and all along o' me.

And I'd lost me 'at and rifle--but I told you that before, So I packed me mit inside me coat and "carried on" once more.

But the rumpus it was wicked, and the men were scarcer yet, And I felt me ginger goin', but me jaws I kindo set, And we pa.s.sed the Boche first trenches, which was 'eapin' 'igh with dead, And we started for their second, which was fifty feet ahead; When something like a 'ammer smashed me savage on the knee, And down I came all muck and blood: Says I: "That's number three."

So there I lay all 'elpless like, and b.l.o.o.d.y sick at that, And worryin' like anythink, because I'd lost me 'at; And thinkin' of me missis, and the partin' words she said: "If you gets killed, write quick, ol' man, and tell me as you're dead."

And lookin' at me bunch o' bombs--that was the 'ardest blow, To think I'd never 'ave the chance to 'url them at the foe.

And there was all our boys in front, a-fightin' there like mad, And me as could 'ave 'elped 'em wiv the lovely bombs I 'ad.

And so I cussed and cussed, and then I struggled back again, Into that bit of battered trench, packed solid with its slain.

Now as I lay a-lyin' there and blastin' of me lot, And wishin' I could just dispose of all them bombs I'd got, I sees within the doorway of a shy, retirin' dug-out Six Boches all a-grinnin', and their Captain stuck 'is mug out; And they 'ad a nice machine gun, and I twigged what they was at; And they fixed it on a tripod, and I watched 'em like a cat; And they got it in position, and they seemed so werry glad, Like they'd got us in a death-trap, which, condemn their souls! they 'ad.

For there our boys was fightin' fifty yards in front, and 'ere This lousy bunch of Boches they 'ad got us in the rear.

Oh it set me blood a-boilin' and I quite forgot me pain, So I started crawlin', crawlin' over all them mounds of slain; And them barstards was so busy-like they 'ad no eyes for me, And me bleedin' leg was draggin', but me right arm it was free... .

And now they 'ave it all in shape, and swingin' sweet and clear; And now they're all excited like, but--I am drawin' near; And now they 'ave it loaded up, and now they're takin' aim... .

Rat-tat-tat-tat! Oh here, says I, is where I join the game.

And my right arm it goes swingin', and a bomb it goes a-slingin', And that "typewriter" goes wingin' in a thunderbolt of flame.

Then these Boches, wot was left of 'em, they tumbled down their 'ole, And up I climbed a mound of dead, and down on them I stole.

And oh that blessed moment when I heard their frightened yell, And I laughed down in that dug-out, ere I bombed their souls to h.e.l.l.

And now I'm in the hospital, surprised that I'm alive; We started out a thousand men, we came back thirty-five.

And I'm minus of a trotter, but I'm most amazin' gay, For me bombs they wasn't wasted, though, you might say, "thrown away".

The Whistle of Sandy McGraw

You may talk o' your lutes and your dulcimers fine, Your harps and your tabors and cymbals and a', But here in the trenches jist gie me for mine The wee penny whistle o' Sandy McGraw.

Oh, it's: "Sandy, ma lad, will you lilt us a tune?"

And Sandy is willin' and trillin' like mad; Sae silvery sweet that we a' throng aroun', And some o' it's gay, but the maist o' it's sad.

Jist the wee simple airs that sink intae your hert, And grup ye wi' love and wi' longin' for hame; And ye glour like an owl till you're feelin' the stert O' a tear, and you blink wi' a feelin' o' shame.

For his song's o' the heather, and here in the dirt You listen and dream o' a land that's sae braw, And he mak's you forget a' the harm and the hurt, For he pipes like a laverock, does Sandy McGraw.

At Eepers I mind me when rank upon rank We rose from the trenches and swept like the gale, Till the rapid-fire guns got us fell on the flank And the murderin' bullets came swishin' like hail: Till a' that were left o' us faltered and broke; Till it seemed for a moment a panicky rout, When shrill through the fume and the flash and the smoke The wee valiant voice o' a whistle piped out.

'The Campbells are Comin": Then into the fray We bounded wi' bayonets reekin' and raw, And oh we fair revelled in glory that day, Jist thanks to the whistle o' Sandy McGraw.

At Loose, it wis after a sconnersome fecht, On the field o' the slain I wis crawlin' aboot; And the rockets were burnin' red holes in the nicht; And the guns they were veciously thunderin' oot; When sudden I heard a bit sound like a sigh, And there in a crump-hole a kiltie I saw: "Whit ails ye, ma lad? Are ye woundit?" says I.

"I've lost ma wee whustle," says Sandy McGraw.

"'Twas oot by yon bing where we pressed the attack, It drapped frae ma pooch, and between noo and dawn There isna much time so I'm jist crawlin' back... ."

"Ye're daft, man!" I telt him, but Sandy wis gone.

Weel, I waited a wee, then I crawled oot masel, And the big stuff wis gorin' and roarin' around, And I seemed tae be under the oxter o' h.e.l.l, And Creation wis crackin' tae bits by the sound.

And I says in ma mind: "Gang ye back, ye auld fule!"

When I thrilled tae a note that wis saucy and sma'; And there in a crater, collected and cool, Wi' his wee penny whistle wis Sandy McGraw.

Ay, there he wis playin' as gleg as could be, And listenin' hard wis a spectacled Boche; Then Sandy turned roon' and he noddit tae me, And he says: "Dinna blab on me, Sergeant McTosh.

The auld chap is deein'. He likes me tae play.

It's makin' him happy. Jist see his een shine!"

And thrillin' and sweet in the hert o' the fray Wee Sandy wis playin' 'The Watch on the Rhine'.

The last scene o' a'--'twas the day that we took That bit o' black ruin they ca' Labbiesell.

It seemed the hale hillside jist shivered and shook, And the red skies were roarin' and spewin' oot sh.e.l.l.

And the Sergeants were cursin' tae keep us in hand, And hard on the leash we were strainin' like dugs, When upward we shot at the word o' command, And the bullets were dingin' their songs in oor lugs.

And onward we swept wi' a yell and a cheer, And a' wis destruction, confusion and din, And we knew that the trench o' the Boches wis near, And it seemed jist the safest bit hole tae be in.

So we a' tumbled doon, and the Boches were there, And they held up their hands, and they yelled: "Kamarad!"

And I merched aff wi' ten, wi' their palms in the air, And my! I wis prood-like, and my! I wis glad.

And I thocht: if ma la.s.sie could see me jist then... .

When sudden I sobered at somethin' I saw, And I stopped and I stared, and I halted ma men, For there on a stretcher wis Sandy McGraw.

Weel, he looks in ma face, jist as game as ye please: "Ye ken hoo I hate tae be workin'," says he; "But noo I can play in the street for bawbees, Wi' baith o' ma legs taken aff at the knee."

And though I could see he wis rackit wi' pain, He reached for his whistle and stert.i.t tae play; And quaverin' sweet wis the pensive refrain: 'The floors o' the forest are a' wede away'.

Then sudden he stoppit: "Man, wis it no grand Hoo we took a' them trenches?" ... He shakit his heid: "I'll--no--play--nae--mair----" feebly doon frae his hand Slipped the wee penny whistle and--_SANDY WIS DEID._

And so you may talk o' your Steinways and Strads, Your wonderful organs and bra.s.ses sae braw; But oot in the trenches jist gie me, ma lads, Yon wee penny whistle o' Sandy McGraw.