The Happy Warrior Read Online Free Page B

over —
    Come early, don’t miss the show!”
    They faced off in their tunnelled rows,
    Lines of green on grey;
    A whistle blew the grave command,
    Then all was disarray.
    Metal streamers filled the air
    In intersecting lanes.
    Deadly ribbons tore their flesh
    And hammered through their veins.
    They died in droves amongst the groves
    And in the fields of France,
    Pirouetting line on line,
    Danced their deathly dance.
    The neverending rending
    Of the earth and of the air
    Saw fragments once were living men
    Now scattered everywhere.
    They hung upon the sagging wire
    Like clothing spread to dry,
    Khaki flags of flapping rags,
    Stark against the sky.
    The living mud entrapped them,
    Drew them down in watery holes,
    Tightly clung, enwrapped them,
    Filled their eyes, took their souls.
    The beast of carnage sucked the flesh
    And marrow from their bones;
    Belched the stark white excrement
    Back to the killing zones.
    Where is war’s nobility?
    What price war’s romance?
    Their blood as tears the angels shed,
    The agony of France.
    A generation bled to death,
    Sacrificed in Christian war,
    Fodder to the holy beast
    To sate its hungry maw.
    They waited for the final curtain,
    But the curtain never came.
    And the show went on forever
    To popular acclaim.
    Greg Brooks
----
    Camp Topics
    I wonder what they’re doing now
    In France and Germany;
    I wonder why our Government
    Sent us across the sea?
    Wonder where the others are,
    That left soon after we;
    I wonder what we’re going to have
    Next Sunday night for tea?
    I wonder why we’ve got to lead
    Our horses thro’ the sand,
    While officers and NCOs
    Can canter round the land,
    I wonder why our boys go out,
    And act so very queer
    I wonder is it natural,
    Or is it only beer.
    I wonder if the 3rd Brigade
    Are going to start the band;
    I wonder will they practice in
    Some distant foreign land,
    Or if they wake the Colonel up,
    And all his staff as well,
    I wonder will he tear his hair
    And order them to ?
    I wonder when the heads will wake
    And issue us our pay;
    I wonder do they understand
    We’re all stone broke today:
    And if this state of things goes on
    I wonder what they’ll say,
    When half the men clear out and get
    A ship to old SA?
    I wonder when our government
    Will start a decent store;
    We’re paying more for foodstuffs now
    Than e’er we have before.
    I wonder when the trumpeters
    That practice on the plain
    Will be shot as peace disturbers
    Or be sent back home again?
    I wonder why we march to church,
    And stand well in the rear;
    I wonder why the clergy preach
    Too soft for us to hear;
    I wonder did the angels blush
    When at this said parade,
    A gambler netted thirty bob ,
    Without the clergy’s aid?
    I wonder, yes, I wonder,
    What the is in the wind;
    I wonder, yes I wonder,
    How on earth this show will end.
    I wonder, yes I wonder.
    How my dear ones are tonight.
    That settles all my wondering, so —
    I’ll bid you all goodnight.
    BAC
    (AWM 1 DRL 572)
----
    When Your Number’s Up
    You may dodge fatigues and duty if the Sergeant’s on your side
    You may shirk a kit inspection and some have even tried
    To avoid (and quite successfully) an airman flying low
    But you cannot dodge your bullet when your number’s up to go
    For this is a law of warfare not every man must die
    Since some must live to tell the tale and no-one shall say why;
    Bill Jones is killed while Tom is spared but so the gods decree
    And it’s no use trying to dodge it for the likes of you and me.
    There was Jimmy Green of the Durhams; he’d done his buckshee year,
    Waiting to go with the transport, busy packing his gear,
    â€œOne more shot at the blighters! Lend us a Bondook!” he cried,
    Popped his head over the parapet, stopped an explosive and died.
    And I shan’t forget that afternoon when Ginger Cook came down
    The muddy ditch we called a trench to speak to Topper Brown.
    He lit a fag, said “So long,