Free The Happy Warrior by Kerry B. Collison Page A

lot,
    With fags unobtainable and no hope of beer
    We all cursed the man who had sent us out here.
    We worked with a will and enjoyed all the fun,
    For the Ities turned tail and started to run,
    But we worked just as hard, we couldn’t relax,
    For our troops reached Bengazi and stopped in their tracks.
    They had fought a long way their strength was depleted,
    When they met Jerry’s army our boys soon retreated
    For Jerry was strong and fresh in the fray,
    We were vastly outnumbered that tragical day.
    You’ve all heard the story of the thin long red line —
    Our boy’s rearguard action was equally fine;
    But the tenth day of April, the bugle was sounded,
    Alas and alack — Tobruk was surrounded!
    We couldn’t surrender, our morale was still high
    When suddenly there came a roar in the sky;
    They machine gunned us and bombed us and shelled us as well,
    To be in Tobruk was like living in hell.
    We all now look forward to that glorious day
    When once more on a ship we shall sail out the bay,
    And as we glide out we shall take a last look
    At the wreck that was once the proud town of Tobruk.
    Sgt John Patrick Hampton  
    9th Aust. Div. Salvage Section 
    (AWM PR 00759)
----

    The Raid Song
    Here they come, their bombs to rain
    Lurid lingo’s merely vain
    So we’ll sing this old refrain:
    â€œThe rotten bastard’s here again.”
    When the sirens weirdly wail
    Even heroes, they turn pale,
    Phar Lap who we never fail
    Funk homeward setting sail
    In the drowsy heat of noon
    Or beneath the silver moon,
    When we hear the dreaded tune
    It’s under cover bloody soon;
    In the night we rise from bed
    When we hear them overhead
    If no pants on, let it be said
    We’ve each a tin hat on our head;
    Loafers drop their tired roles
    It’s a tune when no one ‘poles’
    Rabbits, rats or bloody moles —
    We can beat them to their holes
    When ack-ack starts to roar
    Downwards bombs they start to pour
    Deeper still we try to bore
    No one ever shouts “Encore!”
    Hear the flaming crash of guns,
    Bombs are dropping by the tons,
    Duck your head, now here she comes —
    â€˜Blast’, the Dagoes or the Huns
    But they fall like April rain
    Soon the ‘All Clear’, sounds again
    So once again the old refrain:
    â€œThe rotten bastard’s gone again!”
    Sgt LK Bailey
    4 M Batt.
    (AWM PR 00526)
----

    Action
    The twenty five pounders flash & roar,
    Their defiance they tell to the Hun,
    The mortar bombs whistle, as upwards they roar
    And the fun has only begun.
    Yes, the fun has only begun lads,
    Just wait till the break of day
    For then we shall see at the end of the spree,
    The enemy running away.
    The ‘Vickers’ guns chatter in bursts loud & long
    And the gunners chuckle with glee,
    While the Brens & Tommy guns sing their songs
    Where the bullets are flying free.
    The shrapnel is bursting right overhead
    With a rush of flying steel
    And the air is filled with the droning lead,
    Its breath on your cheeks you feel.
    The Lee-Enfield rifles flare & crash
    And the line is a line of fire
    While the enemy sends his bullets bash
    As our men advance to the wire.
    Our boys go up to his wire by loads
    That fence so cruel & strong
    But the boys are bright this deathly night,
    On each one’s lips is a song.
    And now its the Engineers turn to shine;
    They crawl forward with bated breath
    While away on the right explodes a mine
    And someone meets his death.
    Now the ‘Bangalores’ blow with a deafening crash
    And the wire goes sky high,
    And the charge is reckless & sometimes rash
    As the boys from the South go by.
    The Bayonets flash in the moonlight clear
    As they storm the sangars built
    By the Dago & Fritz in the months they’ve been here,
    And the steel goes home to the hilt.
    Yes, the steel goes home to the hilt my lads,
    And many close their eyes
    In death in the field where they would not yield,
    They will never see sunrise.
    The fighting