Chapter 3

Then people talked of Joey as the dearest friend they had; They were chummy with his uncles, or ac- quainted with his dad. Joe goes to France, and presently he figure as the best Two-handed all-in fighter in the armies of the West, And men of every age at home and high and low degree, We gather now, once went to school with Sergeant Brown, V.C.

Then Hayes and Jo, in Flanders met, and very proud was Hayes To shake a townsman by the hand, and sing the hero's praise, "Oh, yes," says Jo, "I'm doin' well, 'n' yet I might do more. If I was in a hurry, mate, to finish up this war I'd lay out every Fritz on earth, but, strike me, what a yob A man would be to work himself out of a flamnin' job!"

Now Jo's a swell lieutenant, and he's keepin' up the pace. Ha "Record" says Lieutenant Brown's an honor to the place. The town gets special mention every time he scores. We bet If peace don't mess his chances up, he'll be Field-Marshal yet. Dad, mother and the uncles Brown and all our people know That Providence began this war to find a grip for Jo!

THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.

I SAID: "I leave my bit of land- In khaki they've entwined me, I go abroad to lend a hand." Said she: "My love, I understand. I will be true, and though we part A thousand years you hold my heart"- The girl I left behind me.

I went away to fight the Huns- No coward thought could bind me, I sizzled n the tropic suns, I faced the bayonets and the guns. And when in daring deeds I shone One little woman spurred me on- The girl I left behind me.

Out there, in grim Gallipoli. Hard going they assigned me, I pricked the Turk up from the sea; I riddled him, he punctured me; And, bleeding in my rags, I said: "She'll meet me somewhere if I'm dead- The girl I left behind me.

In France we broke the German's face- They tried with gas to blind me. In mud we bogged from front to base, And dirt was ours, but not disgrace. They carved me till I couldn't stand. Said I "Now for the Lodden, and The girl I left behind me.

I came ashore, and struck the track; For dust you scarce could find me. The dear girl gave no welcome back- Shed changed her names and state, alack! "You've been a time, I must say, Ned, In finishing your old war." Said The girl I left behind me.

I flung a song up to the skies. For battles gods designed me. I think of Fifi's laughing eyes, And Nami, dusk, but sweet and wise, And chortle in my heart to find How very far I've left behind- The girl I left behind me

HOW HERMAN WON THE CROSS

ONCE in a blue eternity they gave us dabs of rum To close the seams 'n' keep the flume in liquor-tight condition; But, soft 'n' sentimental, when the long, cold evenin's come, I'd dream me nibs was dronking' to the height of his ambition, With rights of suction over all the breweries there are, Where barrels squat, like Brahma gods, in Mother Hardy's bar.

I had me fit of longin' on the night the Ger- mans came, All breathin' lioke a gas attack. The air was halcholic. We smelt 'em in the darkness, 'n' our rage went up in flame. It was envy, squealin' envy, put the ginger in the frolic. We shot 'em full of spelter, then went over it to spite The swines what drunk the liquor that was ours by common right.

"If this ain't stopped, 'n' quick," sez we, "there won't be left a drop To celebrate the vict'ry when we capture their position." I'm prowlin' blind, when sharp there comes a fond, familiar plop- Swung round a post, a German in a pitiful condition Looms over me. He's sprung a cork, and shales a flask on high, 'N' sings of beer that touchin' it would make a butcher cry.

Sez he: "Berloffed kamarid, you haf some drinks mit you." I meant to spike him where he waved, but altered me intention. 'N' "If you put it thus," sez I, "I don't care if I do." We had a drink together. There's a tem- por'y suspension Of hostilities to sample contraband 'n' other stuff In the enemy's possession. Which I think he's had enough.

That Hun had thirty pockets, 'n' he'd stowed a flask in each, 'N' presently I'm thinkin' I could love him like a brother. He's talkin' fond 'n' friendly in outlandish parts of speech. "You're prisoner of war," I sez; 'n' then we had another. Ten flasks he pours into his hat, 'n' fills it to the brim, 'N' weeps 'n' sez his frau she will be waitin' up for him.

We drink each other's health, 'n' know no henmity nor fear. I see I've got to pinch him, but he's out to do his div. in, 'N' don't care if he don't go home till day- light doth appear. Sez he: "I pud you home to bed upside dot 'ouse you live in." He shakes his finger in me eye: "Mein friendt, you're preddy trunk!" Then arm in arm through No Man's land we does a social bunk.

There's Fear afoot. Comes more than once the glug of sudden death. We're rockin' fine 'n' careless where the rifle fire is breakin', 'N' singin' most uproar'ous, in the bomb's disgustin' breath, Of girls, 'n' drink, 'n' cheerful sprees, 'n' 'Herman thinks he's takin' A cobber home to somewhere in an subbub damp 'n' dim, Whereas I know fer certain it is me is takin' him.

Somehow, sometime, I lands him where he's safely put to bed. I wake nex' day, 'n' holy smoke! I'm pri- soner with the German. Me mouth is like an ashpan, there's hot fish- bolts in me head, 'N' through the barb-wire peerin' is me foreigh cobber 'Erman. "Ve capdure each lasd nighd," sez he "you home haf bring me, boss." For bravery in takin' me, he got the Iron Cross!

WHEN TOMMY CAME MARCHING HOME.

DEVINE came back the other day. We'd planned a great home-comin'. No long trombone we had to play, No fine, heroic drummin'. With two sticks and a milk-can Borne Put up a martial clatter, While Carter blew a bullock-horn Says Tom Devine, with healthy scorn; "Gorstruth! what is the matter?"

We set three colored petticoats From Baker's chimneys blowin' ('Tis not the bravest flag that floats, Yet 'twas the finest goin'); We cheered our hero all we knew, No song of praise neglectin', To show our pride as he limped through He merely spat and snorted, "Who "The deuce are yous expectin'?"

They lured him to my shop somehow, And sued for news of battle. Says Tom: "Who rides the mail track now? Who herdin' Stringer's cattle?" A dint the Turk put in his head. He covers with a ringlet. He'd won a medal, so we read. "I might 'ave 'ad it pinched," he said- "I've sewn it in my singlet!"

Says Cole "But, 'struth, you must 'ave seen A fearful swag of scrappin'." And Tom agrees "Where men are keen That's pretty sure to 'appen. One night a little bloke from Hay Who plugged a Pentridge warder Got such a doin' that at day, Amazed, they ticked him for a stray Distinguished Service Order.

"Then Sydney Bob was rather vexed With Green--who'd pinched his braces, That was 'continued in our next' In half a score of places. McCubbin threw his grub at Lea (You know how sticky stew is); They fought till neither man could see. You talk of fight--Gorstrike me, we Saw stacks of it at Suez!"

HELLO, SOLDIER!

BACK again 'n' nothin' missin' barrin' arf a hand, Where an Abdul bit me, chokin' in the Holy Land. 'Struth, they got some dirty fighters in the Moslem pack, Bull-nosed slugs their sneakin' snipers spat ters in yer back Blows a gapin' sort iv pit in What a helephant could sit in. Bounced their bullets, if yeh please, Like the 'oppers in a cheese, Off me rubber pelt in droves, Moppin' up the other coves. So here's me once more at large in Bay-street, Port, a bloomin' Sargin'. "Cri, it jumbo." "Have a beer." "Wot-o, Anzac; you're a dear."

Back once more on Moley's corner, loafin' like a dook; Back on Bourke, me livin' image, not a slinkin' spook; Solid ez the day I started, medals on me chest, Switchin' with me pert melacca, swankin' with the best Where the little wimmen's flowin', With their veils 'n' ribbons blowin'- See their eyes of bloo 'n' brown Butterflyin' 'bout the town! Back at 'ome-oh, 'struth, it's good! Long, cold lagers from the wood, Ev'ry cobber jumpin' at you, Strangers duckin' in to bat you- "Good ole Jumbo, how're you?" "'Ello, soldier, howja do?"

Back at Grillo's where the nigger googs his whitey eyes, Plucks his black ole greasy banjo while the cod-steak fries; Fish 'n' chips, a pint iv local, and the tidy girl Dancin' glad attendance on yeh 'zif yeh was an earl; Trailin' round the blazin' city, Feelin' all content 'n' pretty, Where the smart procession goes, Prinked 'n' polished to the shows, One among the happy drive- 'Sworth the world to be alive! Dames ez smilin' ez a mother, Ev'ry man ver fav'rit brother: "'Ello, Jumbo, how is it ?" "Arr there, soldier! Good 'n' fit?"

Takin' hozone at St. Kilder's good enough for me, Seein' Summer and the star-blink simmer in the sea; Cantin' up me bloomin' cady, toyin' with a cig., Blowin' out me pout a little, chattin' wide 'n' big When there's skirt around to skite to. Say, 'oo has a better right to? Done me bit 'n' done it well, Got the tag iv plate to tell; Square Gallipoli surviver, With a touch iv Colonel's guyver. "Sargin' Jumbo, good ole son!" "Soldier, soldier, you're the one!"

Back again, a wounded hero, moochin' up 'n' down, Feelin' 'sthough I'd got a fond arf-Nelson on the town; Never was so gay, so 'elp me, never felt so kind; Fresh from 'ell a paradise ain't very hard to find. After filth, 'n' flies, 'n' slaughter Fat brown babies in the water, Singin' people on the sand Makes a boshter Happy Land! War what toughened hone 'n' hide Turned a feller soft inside! Great it is, the 'earty greetin's, Friendly digs, 'n' cheerful meetin's "'Ello, Jumbo, howja do?" "Soldier, soldier, how're you?"

THE MORALIST.

THREE other soldier blokes 'n' me packed 'ome from foreign lands; Bit into each the God of Battles' everlastin' brands. They limped in time, 'n' coughed in tune, 'n' one was short an ear, 'N' one was short a tier of ribs 'n' all was short of beer. I speaks up like a temp'rance gent, But ever since the sky was bent The thirst of man 'as never yet bin squenched with argument.

Bill's skull was welded all across, Jim 'ad an eye in soak, Sam 'obbled on a patent leg, 'n' every man was broke; They sang a song of "Mother" with their faces titled up. Says Bill-o: "'Ere's yer 'eroes, sling the bloomin' votive cup! We got no beer, the soup was bad- Now oo will stand the soldier lad The swag of honest liquor that for years he hasn't 'ad?"

Sez I: "Respeck yer uniform! Remember oo you are!" They'd pinched a wicker barrer, 'arf a pram 'n' 'arf a car. In this ole Bill-o nestled 'neath a blanket, on his face A someone's darlin' sorter look, a touch iv boy'ood's grace. The gentle ladies stopped to 'ear, 'N' dropped a symperthetic tear, A dollar or a deener for the pore haff1ict dear.

The others trucked the wounded to a hentrance up a lane. I sez: "Sich conduck's shameful!" Bill-o took to ease his pain One long 'un and another. The conductor picked his brand; The gripman lent his countenance to wot he 'ad in 'and. And when they moved their stand 'twas Sam Lay pale 'n' peaceful in the pram, 'N' twenty flappers stroked his paw, 'n' said he was a lamb.

The gathered in the tokens and they blooed 'em as above, While Jim-o done the hinvalid 'oom Sammy had to shove. Sez I: "No noble 'eroes what's bin fightin' for their king Should smirch theirselves by doin' this dis- 'onerable thing." But fine old gents 'n' donahs prim They stopped 'n' slid the beans to Jim. You betcher life I let 'im hear just what I though of 'im.

Nine, g.m. at St. Kilder, saw the finish of the prowl. Each 'ad his full-'n'-plentv, and was blowin' in the tow'l. As neither bloke cud stand alone, they leaned 'n' argufied Which was the patient sufferer oo's turn it was to ride. Each 'eld a san'wich and a can. Sez I: "This shouldn't 'ave began- 'Tain't conduck wot it worthy of a soldier and a man."

I cud 'a' cried with injured pride. Afore a push the three Got scrappin', vague 'n' foolish, which the cripple boy should be. Sam slips his scientific leg, 'n' flings it in the drain- "I'll auto 'ome," he sez, "or never see me 'ome again." But I am thinkin' 'ard oo he Tucked 'elpiess in the pram might be. Comes sudden reckerlection. Great Gohan- ners, it is me!

REPAIRED

HAULED I was from out the tip Fritz made with his demonstration, All broke up, a fractured hip In me Darby Kell a rip Settn' up a cool sensation Like excessive ventilation

One 'and cluttered up a treat- On me oath you wouldn't know it From a 'andsome plate of meat. They had sorter pied me feet, And a bullet of the foe hit Where no decent bloke could show it.

'Arf a year they've botched me now; Ev'ry scientific schemer In the cor' has faked me prow, Soled 'n' heeled a bloke somehow- Gawd, the last one was a screamer. Wirin' up me flamin' femur!

Comes a guy and pipes you square, Gogglin' at you through his glasses, Swings you in the barber's chair, Tilts you this end up with care, Lets you have a whiff of gasses Chattin' off-hand with the lasses.

Then he slices clean 'n' swift, Like a cobbler cuts his leather, Gives the splintered knob a lift- S'elp me tater, it's a gift How they glues you all together, Sayin' it's bin nicer weather!

Surgeon wipes his 'ands, a verse Chort1e softly as he pitches Probes and sponges to the nurse, Thinks the lunch might have bin worse; Close your little gap he hitches, Whistlin' as he jabs the stitches.

I'm caught in with fiddle-strings, Stuck about with bits 'n' patches, Fixed with ligatures 'n' springs, Lath 'n' plastered, swung in slings Skewered with little wooden matches, Hung with hinges, knobs 'n' latches.

Till I lay behind me screen, Serious 'n' sober one day, Satisfied 'n' all serene, 'Arf a man 'n' 'arf machine What they winds up ev'ry Monday 'N' it tilts all ways by Sunday.

'Ome again I'll come, a neat, Semi-autymatic loafer, Number up, 'n' all complete, Creakin' round on Collins Street, With a licence (which I'll owe for) My own car and my own shofer!

OUT OF KHAKI.

I SLUNG me khaki suit to-day. Civilian now front heel to chin I 'op round on a single shin; At home in peace I'm bound to stay. 'N' so they've took me duds away. It 'urt like strippin' off me skin!

I put it on three years ago, The ole brown rig. There wasn't then A prouder chicken in the pen. Jist twenty turned, me nibs you'd know For how I give me chest a throw, A man among the best of men.

Me little no the touch I give, Me chin's ez solid ez a rock, 'N' level with the Town 'All clock, A five-inch grin across me chiv. "Lor' love us, this is how to live," Sez I, 'n' felt I owned the Block.

Glad eyes was ever on the lurk, 'N' little 'earts was thumpin' warm For nippers trainin' with the swarm To swat ole Kaiser Bill, or work A toe-hold on the heathen Turk. Fair dink, I loved the uniform!

I soused mine in the brine that day When Tophet spilt, 'n' in the roar Of shells that split the sea 'n' tore Our boats to chips, we broke any Up through the pelt of leaden spray, 'N' got our first real taste of war.

They shot me tunic all to rags; Then in the perpendic'lar spree Me trousers wore off to the knee. The right-abouts of many bags Was ground off in the dust 'n' crags A-sittin' in Gallipoli.

I wore the khaki on the Somme- Most time 'twas jist a coat of mud; I once come through the battle scud Stripped mother-naked by a bomb; 'N' once it' took its color from Me own 'n' one good cobber's blood.

They cheered the khaki through the street When we come home with pipers gay, But now I'm jist a bloke in grey. Harf-lost, lob-sided, incomplete, It's nothin' but me spook you'll meet, Ghost-walkin' in the light o' day.

THE SINGLE-HANDED TEAM

WE'RE more than partners, Ned 'n' me, Two sections permanently righted. Yiv seen us on the mooch, maybe, Like remnants lovin'ly united. Ned's only got one stump, the left; By 'appy chance I've got its brother, Of his two dukes he's been bereft; My left was mauled, 'n' had to go, It fortunitly 'appens though, I kept the other.

Ned lost one ear, the left, 'n' struth, He dropped the correspondin' weeper. A Hun he crooled me lovely youth By bombin' out me right 'and peeper. He done a guy too with me ear, The right, 'n' now I dunno whether 'Twas Fate's intention, butt it's clear When trimmed each as the other's mate 'Twas up to us two, soon or late, To get together.

'Board ship there's me like arf a peach, 'N' Ned's the other arf, but soon it Strikes' Bill Carkeek that side by each We makes a satisfact'rv unit. A 'andy cobber on the ship Fakes up for us a set of clutches That damps us firmly hip to hip. In seven minutes we can peg The mile out on a timber leg 'N' two steel crutches.

We now go halves, like Si'mese twins, 'N' as a team I hold we're bosker-- The blighter on the street that grins Has got to deal with Edwin-Oscar. At balls we two-step, waltz, 'n' swing, 'N' proppin' walls no one has seen us. When at the bar I never ring The double on ole Ned. For both One hand must serve, 'n', on me oath, It's fair between us.

We jolt one knife 'n' fork, 'n' find One horse enough for both to ride on, And neither feller rides behind. Some sez we put a pile of side on. Well, where's the single-handed brace Will take us on? We'll put the peg in, Train fine, 'n' jump, or box, or race, Or wrestle them; 'n' more than that To clinch a match, so 'elp me cat, We'll throw a leg in!

He's five feet eight, I'm little less; He's Roman, I'm a sort of Proddy; But no sectarian bitterness Will disunite this sec'lar body-- We're hitched for good, we're two in one. Our taste's the same, from togs to tipple. But, straight, it makes me sad, ole son, To think if he should croak or me, The pore bloke what is left might be A bloomin' cripple.

BATTLE PASSES

A QUAINT old gabled cottage sleeps be- tween the raving hills. To right and left are livid strife, but on the deep, wide sills The purple pot-flowers swell and glow, and o'er the walls and eaves Prinked creeper steals caressing hands, the poplar drips its leaves. Within the garden hot and sweet Fair form and woven color meet, While down the clear, cool stones, 'tween banks with branch and blossom gay, A little, bridged, blind rivulet goes touching out its way.

Peace lingers hidden from the knife, the tear- ing blinding shell, Where falls the spattered sunlight on a lichen- covered well. No voice is here, no fall of feet, no smoke lifts cool and grey, But on the granite stoop a cat blinks vaguely at the day. From hill to hill across the vale Storms man's terrific iron gale; The cot roof on a brooding dove recks not the distant gun. A brown hen scolds her chickens chasing midges in the sun.

Now down the eastward slope they come. No call of life, no beat of drum, But stealthily, and in the green, Low hid, with rifle and machine, Spit hate and death; and red blood flows To shame the whiteness of the rose.

Crack followes crash; the bestial roar Of gastly and insensate war Breaks on the cot. A rending stoke, The red roof springs, and in the smoke And spume of shells the riven walls Pile where the splintered elm-tree spawls.

From westward, streaming down hill, Shot-ravaged, thinned, but urgent still, The brown, fierce, blooded Anzacs sweep, And Hell leaps a up. The lilies weep Strange crimson tears. Tight-lipped and mute, The grim, gaunt soldiers stab and shoot.

It passes. Frantic, fleeing death, Wild-eyed, foam-flecked and every breath A labored agony, like deer That feel the hounds' keen teeth, appear The Prussian men, and, wild to slay The hunters press upon their prey.

Cries fade and fitful shots die down. The Tumbled ruin now Smoke faintly in the summer light, and lifts The trodden bough. A sigh stirs in the trampled green, and held And tainted red The rill creeps o'er a dead man's face and steals along its bed. One deep among the lilacs thrown Shock all the stillness with a moan. Peace like the snowflake lights again where utter silence lies, And softly with white finger-tips she seals a soldier eyes.

THE LETTERS OF THE DEAD.

A LETTER came from Dick to-day; A greeting glad he sends to me. He tells of one more bloody fray-- Of how with bomb and rifle they Have put their mark for all to see Across rock-ribbed Gallipoli.

"How are you doing? Hope all's well, I in great nick, and like the work. Though there may be a brimstone smell, And other pungent hints of Hell, Not Satan's self can make us shirk Our task of hitting up the Turk.

"You bet old Slacks is not half bad He knows his business in a scrim. He gets cold steel, or we are glad To stop him with a bullet, lad. Or sling a bomb his hair to trim; But, straight, we throw no mud at him.

"He fights and falls, and comes again, And knocks our charging lines about. He's game at heart, and tough in grain, And canters through the leaded rain, Chock full of mettle--not a doubt 'T will do us proud to put him out.

"But that's our job; to see it through We've made our minds up, come what may, This noon we had our work to do. The shells were dropping two by two; We fairly felt their bullets play Among our hair for half a day.

"One clipped my ear, a red-hot kiss, Another beggar chipped my shin. They pass you with a vicious hiss That makes you duck; but, hit or miss, It isn't in the Sultan's skin To shift Australia's cheerful grin.

"My oath, old man, though we were prone We didn't take it lying down. I got a dozen on my own-- All dread of killing now is flown; It is the game, and, hard and brown, We're wading in for freedom's crown.

"Big guns are booming as I write, A lad is singing 'Dolly Grey,' The shells are skipping in the night, And, square and all, I feeling right For, whisper, Ned, the fellows say I did a ripping thing to-day.

"Soon homeward tramping with the band, All notched a bit, and with the prize Of glory for our native land, I'll see my little sweetheart stand And smile, her smile, so sweet and wise-- With proud tears shining in her eyes.

"Geewhiz! What price your humble when Triumphant from the last attack, We face a Melbourne crowd again, Tough, happy, battle-proven men, And while the cheer-stormed heavens crack I bring the tattered colors back!" . . . A mist is o'er the written line Whence martial ardor seems to flow; A dull ache holds this heart of mine-- Poor boy, he had a vision fine; But grave dust clouds the royal glow; He died in action weeks ago!

He was my friend--I may not weep. My soul goes out to Him who bled; I pray for Christ's compassion deep On mothers, lovers--all who keep The woeful vigil, having read The joyous letters of the dead.

BULLETS

AS bullets come to us they're thin, They're angular, or smooth and fat, Some spiral are, and gimlet in, And some are sharp, and others flat. The slim one pink you clean and neat, The flat ones bat a solid blow Much as a camel throws his feet, And leave you beastly incomplete. If lucky you don't know it through.