Chapter 4
In search of them we vainly roam Through distant, foreign states, Then find a people nearer home With all the Hebrew traits. They seize the heathen nations' land, And hold it by the sword, And deem themselves a righteous band. The chosen of the Lord.
They deem themselves a righteous band, And for religion's sake They bravely compass sea and land One proselyte to make. They drive poor Hagar from their homes The wilderness to search, While Abraham, forsooth, becomes A pillar in the church.
They scorn their dreaming brother's right To visions he may have, And to the warring Ishmaelite They sell him as a slave. Unmoved they hear the cry of pain, Old Jacob's wailing note, "An evil beast my son has slain, There's blood on Joseph's coat."
When wearied on the desert track, With hunger faint and weak, Egyptian flesh pots lure them back, The garlic and the leek. The fruitful promised land they view, But fear to enter in. And wander still, a faithless crew, The Wilderness of Sin.
Their enemies before them flee. Their foemen's gates they hold, But Esau's birthright still we see To crafty Jacob sold. They worship Aaron's golden calf, But scorn his priestly rod, And when from Marah's springs they quaff, They murmur against God.
Though David's sceptre still remains With Judah's royal line, On Leah's sons are bloody stains, And Ephriam's drunk with wine; Blind Sampson, by Delilah's shears, Is made grind Dagon's corn, But only in a thousand years Is there a Moses born.
RELIABILITY
Britannia's word was spoken The feeble to defend, That promise was not broken, She kept it to the end. Britannia's word is good, Tried, tested, proved in blood, In every land, 'mid snow or sand, She for the truth has stood.
Britannia borrowed millions In thrifty days of old, Now, when she asks for billions, She always gets the gold. Britannia's note is good, She signs it with her blood, Each promise made, she fully paid, Let cost be what it would.
Britannia's sons are falling, The proud, the strong, the gay, They heard their mother calling, They would not say her, nay. Britannia's sword is good, She draws it when she should, The flag that flies 'neath all the skies A thousand years has stood.
THE McLEANS
The heather's on fire. McLeans from the byre, The hamlet, the city, the wide open plains, The lairds and rapscallions fill up the battalions With blue blood, with true blood, the loyal McLeans.
They hear the drums rattle, they rush to the battle, (Each man in the clan a base coward disdains), They die in their glory, the trenches are gory With red blood, with shed blood of gallant McLeans. Afar on the heather, where hame folk foregather, The pibroch is wailing a dirge for the slain, The women are weeping, their lane vigils keeping, Sair, sair, are the hearts in the clan o' McLean.
But mony will stick it, till Kaiser Bill's lickit, And doontrodden people get back a' their ain, Then Maids will stop greeting, for soon they'll be meeting The bonnie brave lads o' the clan o' McLean.
FARMER JOHN SPEAKS HIS MIND
May, 1917
Those fellows down in parliament Have kicked up such a fuss, That now we seem election bent To clean up all the muss. The Grits are sharpening their swords To give the Tories fits, While they, with scorching bitter words Denounce the faithless Grits.
All out of doors is fresh and green, But no more green than we Who help to run the Grit machine, Or bow the Tory knee. We hear the strident party call In words no one believes; The Liberals are traitors all, The Tories all are thieves.
The birds are singing in the trees, Old Summer's back at last, The lilacs scent the morning breeze, The crops are growing fast; Why should we leave these peaceful scenes, And don our vests and coats, To hear those chaps who spilled the beans Slangwhanging for our votes?
If we give heed to every tale Told when the campaign's hot, The Tories all should be in jail, The Grits should all be shot. Let's raise more chickens, calves and shoats, The politicians shun, Let's grow more beans and wheat and oats, And help defeat the Hun.
WHEN THE GAME ISN'T FAIR
As we struggle up life's hillside Where the road is hard and long, Weak, discouraged, tired, lonely, And everything gone wrong. When we see some men refusing Their allotted load to bear, While their brother's back is breaking, Then we know the game's not fair.
When we see some men grow wealthy, While their brothers die in France, We rebel at the injustice, And demand an even chance; When we see some children hungry, With no decent clothes to wear, And some other stuffed and pampered, Then we know the game's not fair.
When we have to pay high taxes On our little wooden shack, Though the mortgage isn't settled And the interest is back, When the rich man's stately mansion, Doesn't pay its proper share, And he lies about his income, Then we know the game's not fair.
When we read in all the papers How our boys are strafing Fritz, Throwing bombs into his trenches For to blow him all to bits, When we think of him that started This vile war, then we declare If the Kaiser goes unpunished We shall know the game's not fair.
HEINIE'S HOLLER
Britty soon now fife years vill pe done Since ve march into Belgium von day, But since den some beeg rifers have run Troo de pridges, I tink all de vay, Den already de tings seemed so blain, Ven ve shtart oudt to lick de whole vorld Ve vas sure dat us Shermans vould reign Shoost verefer our flag vas unfurled.
For to see dat some tings can't pe done All dose Junker man's heads vas too tick, Und, inshtead of a blace in de sun, Ve haf got, vot you call, armyshtick. Vot dot armyshtick baper's aboudt I can't get troo dis headpiece of mine But dose fellers dot von wrote it oudt, Und us fellers dat lost had to sign.
Shoost so soon vas dat Armyshtick made Den dose allies dey run de whole show, For already deir plans vas all laid Ven ve back into Shermany go. Dere vas fellers from England und France, Und Yankees, Italians und Japs, Mit some hoboes dat all get a chance From some blaces not marked on de maps.
For six months now dey talk und dey shmoke, Mit no Shermans at all in de game Und dey tink up von pully goot shoke, Den dey tell us to write down our name. Dey vould take all our money und ships, Und dose blace in de sun dat ve got. But we ain't handing oudt no free trips, Und won't sign no beace dreaty like dot.
WHAT WE WON
Was it for this, I want to know, We saw our boys to Flanders go; For this that Belgium suffered so, That France withstood the ruthless foe, And said "No further shalt thou go," That Serbia was plunged in woe, And women wept along the Po; That Poles were herded to and fro, And Anzacs died at Gallipo; That Britain let her plans all go, Laid bare her breast, and took the blow, And held the seas 'neath sun and snow Danger above and death below; That Uncle Sam, though rather slow To scrap the doctrine of Monroe, Got busy at the final show?
For years of blood and tears, although We boast the Kaiser's overthrow, The net results seem these, I trow, That profiteers pile up the dough, And gather where they did not sow, That scythes of death fresh harvests mow, Where Bolshevists fierce whiskers grow, And no Hun yet has eaten crow; That Wild Sinn Feiners, fallen low, Plan proud Britannia's overthrow, Save these the world can little show, But wooden crosses, row on row. In Flanders fields, where poppies blow.
THE HOME COMING
July 1st, 1919
Now that Heinie is licked to a frazzle, And Fritzie is clipped in the comb, We're holding a big razzle-dazzle To welcome our soldier boys home. They bore themselves brave in the battle They kept themselves clean on parade, They herded the Bosches like cattle In many a nerve-racking raid.
In order to do the boys justice, We need all the help we can get, Without it the contract will bust us And swamp the committee with debt. So we want all old timers of Wingham, (Although the good town has gone dry) Fast as railroad or auto can bring 'em, To come on the first of July.
Perhaps you've grown rich on the prairies, Your farm in town lots you have sold, Or, with products of wheat fields and dairies, Have lined all your pockets with gold, Or it may be your harp strings are rusted, Your measures all halting and lame, Perhaps you're discouraged and busted, And tired of playing the game.
If so, come to Wingham this summer, Forget the world's trouble and strife, Our program will sure be a hummer, We'll give you the time of your life. We'll make no untimely suggestions, Concerning the length of your stay, Nor ask you impertinent questions About what you've done while away.
=The Opinions Of Fritz=
FRITZ FINDS FAULT
("Canadians are using lacrosse sticks to throw hand grenades into German trenches."--News Item.)
"Dere is some tings not right in dis schrap, For dose English and French don't fight fair Ven dey pring in de Turco and Jap Und de Hindu and beeg Russian bear; But already us goot Sherman mans Ve vas ending dot var britty quick, Till dey shtart oop some more dirty blans, Ven dose poys vill trow bombs mit a shtick.
Ve don't mind some old rifles und guns, Nor dose airships und Dreadnoughts und tings, Ve don't care if dey call us de Huns, [1] Und ve laugh at de song dat dey sings: But dose teufels from Canada come, Dey vould blay us von mean shabby trick, For ve can't get avay from de bomb Dat dey trow from de end of a shtick.
Ven ve tink ve are safe for de day, Mit goot sausage and saurkraut filled, Dose Canadians shtart oop to blay Mit a game dat ve nefer haf drilled. Ven ve see dose tings fly troo de air Den already ve feel britty sick; If dey hit us dey don't seem to care, Ven dey trow dose old bombs mit a shtick.
Ven ve shoots all our cartridge avay, Und de vagons don't pring any more; Ven our shells get more scarce efry day, Mit our shirts und our breechaloons tore, Und de shmokes und de limburger done (Dot is spreading it on britty tick), Den I tells you it isn't no fun Ven dose poys vill trow bombs mit a shtick."
[Footnote 1: Tipperary]
FRITZ HAS ANOTHER GROUCH
(The Germans say that if it hadn't been for the Canadian Rats they would have got through to Calais.--News Item.)
Dere's a ting dat I'll nefer furshtay. Ven ve shtart oop dat goot poison gas, Vy dose Rats don't get oudt of de vay, So us Shermans to Ypres can pass. Ven ve shoots all our cartridge avay, Dat's already deir time to retreat; Vot's de use so ve make de beeg fight, If dose Rats don't know ven dey get beat?
Mit de gas dey gets britty soon killed, Den ve send dem de shrapnel some more, Und de bombshell mit limburger filled, Dat vill shmell vorse dan Duffeldorf's shtore; But dose beggars come back mit a rush, Und I twice mit deir bay'nets get pricked; Vot's de use so ve make de beeg push, If dose Rats don't know ven dey get licked?
I soon made some goot running, you pet! Ven dey come like vild teufels behind; All my life I vill dream of dem yet, For I tought sure mine bapers vos signed. Dey came on mit a yump und a yell Till right into our trenches dey dashed; Vot's de use so ve trow de beeg shell, If dose Rats don't know ven dey get smashed?
Ve haf tried efry blan dat ve knows, But to scare dem no vay haf ve found, (How ve vish dey had shtayed vere de snows Blow dose maples und pines all around). Day und night dey vill put oop de shcrap, Und already ve lose vot ve got; Vot's de use for us setting de trap, If dose Rats don't know ven dey get caught.
THE KAISER CONSULTS FRITZ
October, 1915
Ven der Kaiser vould shtart some beeg shtunt, All dose shwells den soon come to de front, Und de prince, und de king Seem to be de whole ting, Mit old Fritz at de heel of de hunt.
But somedimes ven de Kaiser's in doubt, Und already can't find his vay oudt; Ven dose hard shpots he hits, Den he say--"Mine dear Fritz, Vot you tinks of dis peesness, old Scoudt?"
So it vas mit dose junkers so shlick, Dey vould soon end dis var britty quick; But, shoost after de Marne De crawl unter de barn, For already dey feel mighty sick.
Den der kaiser say--"Fritzie, old chap, Let me know vot you tink of dis schrap; Vill ve lick dose beeg shmoke, Or go britty soon proke, Mit de faderland viped off de map?"
Den I say--"Dat's von very hard case; Can tree jacks beat four kings und some ace? Ven ve hafn't de card Ve must bluff britty hard, Or shoost trow down our hand in disgrace.
If like checkers ve blay, don't forget Dey got more men dan ve haf, you bet! If ve makes some beeg schore, Und not man off no more, Ve may shtop mit a draw, maype yet."
Den der Kaiser say--"Tanks, Mr. Strauss, On your back dere don't grow any moss; I'll shoost blay some more pranks On dose silly old Yanks" Den he gif me von nice iron cross.
FRITZ IN THE HOSPITAL
Ven der Kaiser his var bugles blow, Und say: "Fritz, to de front you must go," Den it vasn't so strange, I vas glad for de change; But I hope mine Katrina don't know.
Britty soon ve're de whole of de show, Und like vater dose goot liquors flow; Ven, mit vine und champaigne Ve got drunk in Louvain, Dere vas tings mine Katrina don't know.
Soon already, ve fight mit de foe, For von year, und it seems britty slow; If I'm killed in de trench By dose English und French Den perhaps mine Katrina von't know.
So dis time, ven dose hand grenades trow, Den I tinks soon it's time for to go; If mine back's full mit lead, Not mine breast, nor mine head, Dat's von ting mine Katrina don't know.
Ven dey takes me some blace down pelow, Mit tree hundred vite peds in von row; For dose nice English nurse [2] I forget dat beeg curse, But I'm glad mine Katrina don't know.
[Footnote 2: Gott Strafe England!]
FRITZ PHILOSOPHIZES
Since I'm held in his hospital up, Mine poor back full mit shrapnel und lead Ven I tink of der Kaiser und Krupp, Dere's a ting dat von't come troo mine head. Vot already I'm tinking aboudt, To pelieve in mine heart I can't yet, But de more dat I knows I find oudt Vy dose Englishmans frightened don't get.
Ve haf guns dat vill shoot forty miles, Dat de fort und de city desthroys; Ve haf Zepps. of de latest new shtyles; Ve haf millions of men und more poys; Ve haf hundreds of unterseeboots Dat all ships from de ocean vill drive, Und ve kills, und ve burns, and ve shoots Till dere von't pe no English alive.
But for none of dese tings vill dey shcare It's deir nerve (dat's, I tink, vat they call), Ven ve tink ve haf licked dem, I shwear Dat dose English shoost laugh und play ball. But ven Shermans get oudt from de trench, Den ve crawl avay somewhere to shmoke, Mit some schooners de beeg thirst to quench, For already our hearts vas near proke.
Ven dose English come on mit a run, Den deir officers lead all de vay; But us Shermans get chained to de gun, Vile de boss in some safe blace vill shtay, Maype dat's vy ve gets de cold feet, Und dose English don't scare vort a cent; For a private vil nefer redreat From de blace vere his leader first vent.
FRITZ WRITES TO HIS FRAU
Dear Katrina--Dis letter I write From von hospital, somevere in France, For I get so proke oop in de fight Dat dis maype vill be mine last chance. Vell, I hold von whole trench py mineself, Mit some poys dat shoost come to de front; Britty soon dey get laid on de shelf, Den your Fritz have to do be beeg shtunt.
Ven I shoot all dose English and French, Den already I tinks I vill shmoke, Den I hunts von safe blace in de trench, Vere de rain mit de ground doesn't soak. Soon I vake mit a punch from a gun, Und I hear von Canadian say: "Come mit me, you darned shleepy old Hun," Den he shteal mine seegars all avay.
Den de next ting I know I am here, For already de vorld had turned plack; Dat Canadian certain vos queer, For he carry me in on his back. From mine preast so mooch hardvare got oudt Britty soon I can shtart von shmall shtore; If dere's any old junk mans aboudt Dey might call at dis hospital door.
Now Katrina don't vorry some more, Keep de grubs from de cabbage avay, Und pe sure dat you lock oop de door, Ven alone in de house you must shtay. Put some flowers on leetle Karl's grave; All de time now I'm glad he is dead; Vot's de use to grow oop shtrong und prave, Only shoost to get shot troo de head?
Mine truly, Fritz.
KATRINA REPLIES TO FRITZ
Mine dear Fritz: It shoost makes me feel plue Ven I get me dat letter you write, For already mine fears haf come true Dat you maype get hurt in dis fight, Vot's de use so you make de beeg splash, Und you hold de whole trench py your self? Dat don't put no more meat in mine hash Und not any more pread on mine shelf.
Do you tink dat der Kaiser vill care? If he gifs you von cheap iron cross, Ven I lose mine own Fritz I can't shpare, Vot vill dat do to make oop mine loss? Britty soon all de men haf gone oudt, Und von't maype come back any more; Dere's shoost left yet old Hans, mit de goudt, Und de Duffledorf poy at de shtore.
You vill now shtay von prisoner yet, Till already de var is all done, But perhaps dat's more safer, you pet, Dan to shtand in de front of de gun. Dere's shoost von ting I tell you; bevare Of dose nurse mit de shining plack eyes, If dey got some pink cheeks, und brown hair, Your Katrina is double deir size.
Vot you tink, Fritz? Der Kaiser's men come, Und de cherries all pick from de trees, Den dey take all mine apples and plum, Und mine carrots und cabbages seize; De potatoes dey got mit de rest, Und, pecause I vould raise von beeg row, Dey shoost tell me, pull down mit mine vest Und dey call me von noisy old frau.
Yours yet, Katrina.
FRITZ WRITES AGAIN
Dear Katrina,--Dis letter you get So already you know how I vas; Vell, dere's von ting dat troubles me yet, Und I tells you de reason pecause; Dose nurse doctors you tink vas so gay Haf de heaves, und blind staggers und gout, Und dey trow dose nice cabbage avay Dat vould make me some goot saur-kraut.
Und de limburger cheese dat you sent, Dat vas making me feel shtrong und vell, Britty soon mit the garbage it vent, For dose nurses dey don't like de shmell. Ven I ask for pork sausages vonce, Den dey say, (vot I tells you is true,) "Don't you know, you fat-headed old dunce, Dose vill gif you de tic-doul-our-eux."
Dey von't let me no liverwurst eat; For dey say it ain't fit for de crows. Ven I ask for some shmiercase so shweet, Den dey laugh und dey turn up deir nose, Dey shoost feed me some custards und jell Und some broth dat I drink mit a cup, How dey tink I vill efer get vell If dey don't keep mine stomach filled up?
Ven dis var vill get ofer you pet! Den some pickled pig's feet I vill buy, Mit bologna and shnapps, maype yet, Und some coffee to drink ven I'm dry, Britty soon to mine bed I musht go, So no more I can't write you shoost now; Gif mine luf to dose beeples ve know Und take some for yourself, mine dear frau.
Mine truly, Fritz.
KATRINA REPLIES
Mine dear Fritz,--Vot to tink I don't know, Ven dose hospital letters I get, But mine tears dey vill run britty shlow, Till I hear some tings different yet, Ven you're sick like you tries to make oudt, Vot you vant mit some shmeircase to eat, Und pork sausages, coffee and kraut Und limburger und pickled pig's feet?
I shoost tink you contented might shtay, Till de var is all ofer und done, Mit some custards und jells like you say, Dat is better dan facing de gun. Ve get nefer such goot tings like dese Here at home in de old Faderland, For dose English shut up all de seas Ven to shtarve us goot Shermans dey planned.
Ven de men und de poys vent avay For to fight for de goot Faderland, Den de vomans must vork all de day Mit a piece of plack bread in deir hand. Dere's no meat now, nor butter at all, Shoost de tings ve can grow in de ground; Und already I'm getting so shmall, Dat mine dress vill go twice times around.
All dat cash in de bank dat ve haf, Ven de Kaiser's men need it, dey said, If dey takes efry cent dat ve save, Schraps of baper dey gifs us instead. But I fool dose chaps vonce, britty soon, For I put all de gold in a sack, Mit your vatch, und mine brooches und shpoon In de garden I bury dem back.
Yours yet, Katrina.
FRITZ LEARNS ABOUT CANADA
Vot's de use for some beeples to blow, Und to make some beeg fools mit demselves Ven already de tings dey don't know Vould soon fill all de books on de shelves? Ven I'm oudt in de hospital yard, Und go unter de tree mit de rest, Den I shmoke, und I blay some more card Mit von chap from de Canada Vest.
Dis here feller, his name is Von Krink, Und his fader from Shermany go, He vill tell me some lies I don't tink, From de blace vere dose maple leafs grow. Dat beeg farm of his dad's is so vide Dey musht drive all deir horses mit shteam, Und it take dem, to plow down de side, Von whole veek mit a buffalo team.
Und to cross dat beeg country, he say, Dey go five or six days on de train; Dey could shtick in von corner avay, De whole Faderland, England und Spain. Dey haf rivers more beeg as de Rhine, Und some forests as vide as de sea, Und dose veat fields, mit homesteads so fine, Dey vill gif von for notting to me.
Vot's de use den ve fight, I don't know, For von shmall shtrip of land py de sea, For if dis feller tells me vot's so, Den already beeg fools ve must pe. Ven dis var vill get ofer, you bet, So dat me und Katrina can go, I vill get me von farm maype yet, From de blace vere dose maple leafs grow.
FRITZ CAN'T FURSHTAY