Rhymes of a Red Cross Man | Page 7

gang weel content?If I'd tasted that haggis ma auld mither sent."?"That's droll," says McPhun; "ye've jist speakit ma mind.?Oh I ken it's a terrible thing tae be blind;?And yet it's no that that embitters ma lot --?It's missin' that braw muckle haggis ye've got."?For a while they were silent; then up once again?Spoke Private McPhee, though he whussilt wi' pain:?"And why should we miss it? Between you and me?We've legs for tae run, and we've eyes for tae see.?You lend me your shanks and I'll lend you ma sicht,?And we'll baith hae a kyte-fu' o' haggis the nicht."
Oh the sky it wis dourlike and dreepin' a wee,?When Private McPhun gruppit Private McPhee.?Oh the glaur it wis fylin' and crieshin' the grun',?When Private McPhee guidit Private McPhun.?"Keep clear o' them corpses -- they're maybe no deid!?Haud on! There's a big muckle crater aheid.?Look oot! There's a sap; we'll be haein' a coup.?A staur-shell! For Godsake! Doun, lad, on yer daup.?Bear aff tae yer richt. . . . Aw yer jist daein' fine:?Before the nicht's feenished on haggis we'll dine."
There wis death and destruction on every hand;?There wis havoc and horror on Naebuddy's Land.?And the shells bickered doun wi' a crump and a glare,?And the hameless wee bullets were dingin' the air.?Yet on they went staggerin', cooryin' doun?When the stutter and cluck o' a Maxim crept roun'.?And the legs o' McPhun they were sturdy and stoot,?And McPhee on his back kept a bonnie look-oot.?"On, on, ma brave lad! We're no faur frae the goal;?I can hear the braw sweerin' o' Sergeant McCole."
But strength has its leemit, and Private McPhun,?Wi' a sab and a curse fell his length on the grun'.?Then Private McPhee shoutit doon in his ear:?"Jist think o' the haggis! I smell it from here.?It's gushin' wi' juice, it's embaumin' the air;?It's steamin' for us, and we're -- jist -- aboot -- there." Then Private McPhun answers: "Dommit, auld chap!?For the sake o' that haggis I'll gang till I drap."?And he gets on his feet wi' a heave and a strain,?And onward he staggers in passion and pain.?And the flare and the glare and the fury increase,?Till you'd think they'd jist taken a' hell on a lease.?And on they go reelin' in peetifu' plight,?And someone is shoutin' away on their right;?And someone is runnin', and noo they can hear?A sound like a prayer and a sound like a cheer;?And swift through the crash and the flash and the din,?The lads o' the Hielands are bringin' them in.
"They're baith sairly woundit, but is it no droll?Hoo they rave aboot haggis?" says Sergeant McCole.?When hirplin alang comes wee Wullie McNair,?And they a' wonnert why he wis greetin' sae sair.?And he says: "I'd jist liftit it oot o' the pot,?And there it lay steamin' and savoury hot,?When sudden I dooked at the fleech o' a shell,?And it -- DRAPPED ON THE HAGGIS AND DINGED IT TAE HELL."
And oh but the lads were fair taken aback;?Then sudden the order wis passed tae attack,?And up from the trenches like lions they leapt,?And on through the nicht like a torrent they swept.?On, on, wi' their bayonets thirstin' before!?On, on tae the foe wi' a rush and a roar!?And wild to the welkin their battle-cry rang,?And doon on the Boches like tigers they sprang:?And there wisna a man but had death in his ee,?For he thocht o' the haggis o' Private McPhee.
The Lark
From wrath-red dawn to wrath-red dawn,?The guns have brayed without abate;?And now the sick sun looks upon?The bleared, blood-boltered fields of hate?As if it loathed to rise again.?How strange the hush! Yet sudden, hark!?From yon down-trodden gold of grain,?The leaping rapture of a lark.
A fusillade of melody,?That sprays us from yon trench of sky;?A new amazing enemy?We cannot silence though we try;?A battery on radiant wings,?That from yon gap of golden fleece?Hurls at us hopes of such strange things?As joy and home and love and peace.
Pure heart of song! do you not know?That we are making earth a hell??Or is it that you try to show?Life still is joy and all is well??Brave little wings! Ah, not in vain?You beat into that bit of blue:?Lo! we who pant in war's red rain?Lift shining eyes, see Heaven too.
The Odyssey of 'Erbert 'Iggins
Me and Ed and a stretcher?Out on the nootral ground.?(If there's one dead corpse, I'll betcher?There's a 'undred smellin' around.)?Me and Eddie O'Brian,?Both of the R. A. M. C.?"It's a 'ell of a night?For a soul to take flight,"?As Eddie remarks to me.?Me and Ed crawlin' 'omeward,?Thinkin' our job is done,?When sudden and clear,?Wot do we 'ear:?'Owl of a wounded 'Un.
"Got to take 'im," snaps Eddy;?"Got to take all we can.?'E may be a Germ?Wiv the 'eart of a worm,?But, blarst 'im! ain't 'e a man?"?So 'e sloshes out fixin' a dressin'?('E'd always a medical knack),?When