Hello, Soldier! | Page 3

said,
Till we get to think we're nowhere, 'n' arf
fancy we are dead,
'N' the only 'uman interest on the red horizon'
s brim
Is Marshal Neigh's queer faney fer the lad
that straddles him.
Plain-livin's nearly, bored us stiff. The Major
calls on Rowe
To devise an entertainment. What his
charger doesn't know
Isn't in the regulations. Him 'n' Rowe is
brothers met,
'N' that horse's sense iv humor is the oddest
fancy yet.
But the Turk arrives one mornin' on the outer
edge iv space.
From back iv things his guns is floppin' kegs
about the place,
'N' Privit Artie Rowe along with others iv
the force
Goes pig-rootin' inter battle, holdin' converse

with his horse.
Little Abdul's quite a fighter, 'n' he mixes it
with skill;
But the Anzacs have him snouted,, 'n', oh,
ma, he's feelin' ill.
They wake the all-fired desert, 'n' the land for
ever dead
Is alive 'n' fairly creepin', and the skies are
droppin' lead.
When they've got the Ot'man goin', little
gaudy hunts begin.
It fer us to chiv His Trousers. 'n' to round
the stragglers in.
Cuttin' closest to the raw, 'n' swearin' lovin'
all the way,
Is Artie from Molinga on his neddy, Marshal
Neigh.
We're pursuin' sundry camels turkey-trottin'
anyhow
With the carriage iv an emu 'n' the action iv
a cow,
When a sand dune busts, 'n' belches arf a
million iv the foe.
They uncork a blanky batt'ry, 'n' it's, Allah,
let her go!
We're not stayin' dinner, thank you. Lie
along yer horse 'n' yell,
While the bullets pip yer britches 'n' you
sniff the flue of Hell.
Here it is that Artie takes it good 'n' solid in

the crust,
He dives from out the saddle, 'n' is swallered
in the dust.
I got through 'n' saw them pointin' where the
Marshal faced the band.
He was goin' where we came from, sniffin'
bodies in the sand.
Till he found Rowe snugglin' under, took him
where his pants was slack,
'N' be all the Asiatic gods, he brought his
soldier back!
With a bullet in his buttock, 'n' a drill hole
in his ear,
He dumped Artie down among us. Square
'n' all, how did we cheer!
There's no medals struck fer neddies, but
we
rule there orter be,
'N' the pride iv all the Light Horse is old
Marshal Neigh, V.C.
IN HOSPITAL.
IT is thirty moons since I slung me hook
From the job at the hay and corn,
Took me solemn oath, 'n' I straight
forsook
All the ways of life, dinkum ways 'n' crook,
'N' the things
on which it was good to look
Since the day when a bloke was born.
I was give a gun, 'n' a bay'net bright,
'N' a 'ell of a swag iv work,
N' I dipped my lid to the big pub light,


To the ole push cobbers I give "Good-night!"
Slipped a kiss to 'er, 'n'
I wings me flight
For a date with the demon Turk.
Ez we pricked our heel to the skitin' drum.
Square 'n' all, I was gone a mile.
With a perky air, 'n' a 'eart ez glum

Ez a long-dead cod, I was blind 'n' dumb,
Holdin' do the tear that
was bound to come
At a word or a friendly smile.
Now I've seen it all, I may come out dead,
But I 'ope never more a fool.
I have scorched, 'n' thirsted, 'n' froze, 'n'
bled,
'N' bin taught the use of the human head,
For when all is done
'n' when all is said,
War's a wonderful sort of school.
I've bin taught to get 'em 'n' never fret,
'N' to sleep without dreamin' when
We have swarmed a slope with the
red rain wet;
I 'ave learned a pile, 'n' I'm learnin' yet;
But the thing
I've learned that I won't forget
Is a way of not judgin' men.
We was shot down there in a dirty place--
From the mansions 'n' huts we'd come--
'N' of all the welter the 'ardest
case
Was a little swine with a dimpled face,
Who a year ago was
dispensin' lace
In a Carlton em-por-ee-um.

In the moochin' days of me giddy youth,
When I kidded meself a treat,
I'd have pass him one ez a gooey.
'Strewth
On the track iv Huns, he's a eight-day sleuth,
'N' at tearin'
into 'em nail 'n' tooth
He's got Julius Caesar beat!
I ain't proud with him ; 'n' I'm modest, too,
When dividin' a can of swill
With a Algy boy from the wilds iv Kew.

Cos I do not know what the cow will do
When a Fritzy offers to
sock me through;
'N' it's good to be livin' still.
There you are, you see! Oh! it makes you sore,
When a bloke you despised at 'ome
In them pifflin' days of the years
before
Takes a odds-on chance with the God of War,
'N' he tows
you out with his left lung tore,
'N' a crack in his bleedin' dome!
'Twas a lad called Hugh done ez much for
me.
(He has