: Writ in Barracks by Wallace Edgar - English poetry; Great Britain. Army Military life Poetry

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WAR ARMY DOCTOR NICHOLSON'S NEK MY PAL, THE BOER SONG OF THE FIRST TRAIN THROUGH THE NAVAL BRIGADE THE ARMOURED TRAIN MAKE YOUR OWN ARRANGEMENTS GINGER JAMES 'HER MAJESTY HAS BEEN PLEASED--' ARTHUR LEGACIES T. A. IN LOVE TOMMY ADVISES THE NUMBER ONE BRITANNIA TO HER FIRST-BORN TOMMY TO HIS LAUREATE THE MISSION THAT FAILED THE PRAYER CEASE FIRE TOMMY'S AUTOGRAPH AT THE BRINK! THE KING OF OOJEE-MOOJEE THE SONG OF THE TOWN BY SIMON'S BAY THE SQUIRE THE SEA-NATION NATURE FAILS THE COLONEL'S GARDEN THE PEOPLE TO CECIL JOHN RHODES, JULY 18, 1899 WHEN LONDON CALLS! CAIROWARDS ODE TO THE OPENING OF THE SOUTH AFRICAN EXHIBITION, 1898

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Army Doctor! Army Doctor! 'Ere's some 'cruities for inspection,-- Some in rags, an' some in cuffs. Some in shirts, an' some without 'em, Wot a blessed strange collection! Served before? You needn't doubt 'em, Bloomin' muffs!

Army Doctor! Army Doctor! Gold an' velvet! 'broidered lacin's, 'Oldin' 'igh your bloomin' 'ead! 'Seen you peel that coat so winnin', 'Seen you stain them pretty facin's, 'Seen your 'ighly glossy linen, Splattered red!

And perhaps it is good That we change our mood, And perchance it is well to blame, And to seek elsewhere, For some men to bear, The weight of our foolish shame. But the fight hard fought, Must it go for nought Because of its hapless turn? Must we then withhold, For the life hard sold, The Honour it died to earn?

When hot and tired, With the last round fired, And never a ray of hope-- What then the shame? They were just the same Who charged Talana's slope! You may give and take, As the shrapnels rake, When your batt'ry has replied; But you cannot live When there's too much give, From the guns on the open side.

Good men are they, Who gain the day,-- And victory is sweet,-- And just as brave Who do not rave At every small defeat. For the fight hard fought Must not go for nought, Because of its hapless turn; Nor we withhold, For the life hard sold, The Honour it died to earn.

'My pal, the Boer! You're a prisoner of war' ; 'You can't escape me, can yer? In the name of Rule Britannia, I commandeer your 'orse an' Mauser rifle!'

My pal, the Boer, Ain't used to proper war, But tho' 'e scorns the flag an' does the grandy, The 'igh an' mighty scorner, When we get 'im in a corner, 'E FINDS A FLAG OF TRUCE IS MIGHTY 'ANDY!

Line Clear to Witteputs! I wind around the guarded hill, And thunder o'er the lean long bridge that spans the sombre stream; No uptorn rail to devastate, no culvert gap to fill, And where the outpost feared to ride, I gather up my steam.

Line Clear to Belmont: and I feel the ballast shaking down: My flanges bite the new-laid rail and prove the new-thrust pin. On either side the purple ridge, the veldt land sickly brown, The 'distant off' says 'Welcome,' and the 'Home' says 'Come ye in.'

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