Free The Happy Warrior by Kerry B. Collison Page B

is fierce & deadly & hot
    The bayonets are dripping red,
    And the air is heavy with shell & shot
    While the ground is strewn with dead
    But the battle is over the victory ours
    The enemy is in full flight
    And we look back with pride & the last few hours
    As the eastern sky turns bright.
    Though many a comrade has fallen tonight
    And our hearts for their loved ones bleed,
    We know that they fell in a glorious fight
    In the hour of their country’s need.
    In the hour of their country’s need, my lads,
    No braver you’ll find here;
    Through the world will run those deeds they done,
    Those comrades tried & dear.
    As the rising sun mounts into the blue
    And the shadows swiftly fly,
    The stretcher bearers come two by two
    As they bring the wounded by.
    While the men go back to their well earned rest
    Proud of the victory won,
    And the land for which they gave of their best
    Will bless each Mother’s son.
    N. C. Lord
    NA.25906
    (AWM PR 00526)
----

    The ‘Isle of Doom’
    Here I sit on the Isle of Crete
    Bludging on my blistered feet,
    Little wonder I’ve got the blues
    With my feet encased in big canoes
    In khaki shorts instead of slacks
    Living like a tribe of blacks
    Except that blacks don’t sit & brood
    And wait throughout the day for food.
    â€™Twas just a month ago — not more —
    We sailed to Greece to win the war
    We marched and groaned beneath our load
    While bombers bombed us off the road.
    They chased us here, they chased us there,
    The bastards chased us everywhere
    And while they dropped their loads of death
    We cursed the bloody RAF.
    The RAF was there in force
    â€” They left a few at home of course —
    We saw the entire force one day
    When a Spitfire spat the other way.
    Then we heard the wireless news
    When portly Winston, gave his views
    He said the RAF’s in Greece
    Fighting hard to give us peace.
    And then we scratched our heads & thought
    This sounds distinctly like a “rort”,
    For if in Greece the Air Force be
    Where the bloody hell are we?
    And then at last we met the Hun
    At odds of thirty-three to one
    And though he made it bloody hot
    We gave the bastard all we got.
    The bullets whizzed, the big guns roared
    We howled for ships, to get aboard,
    At last they came and on we got
    And hurried from that cursed spot.
    Then they landed us in Crete
    And marched us off our bloody feet;
    The food was light the water crook,
    I got fed up and slung my hook.
    Returned that night full of wine
    And next day copped a fiver fine
    My paybook was behind to hell
    So when pay was called I said, “Oh hell!’
    They wont pay me I’m sure of that!”
    But when they did, I smelt a rat.
    But when next day the rations came
    I realized their wily game,
    For sooner than sit down and die
    We spent our ‘dough’ on food supply
    So now it looks like even betting
    A man will soon become a Cretan,
    And spend his days in black & gloom
    On Adolf Hitler’s ‘Isle of Doom’.
    Anon
    (AWM PR 00526)
----

    AIF Brigade
    Cherished sons and bloody crooks,
    Oxford Dons with learned looks,
    Farmer boys and city rooks,
    Clever clerks and greasy cooks,
Boundary riders, station owners,
    Out of work and fate bemoaners,
    Pianists and poor tromboners,
    Butchers, bakers, float-a-loaners,
    Bagmen, bludgers and school teachers,
    Civil servants, sons of preachers,
    Navvies, touts and social leaches,
    Everything from bush to beaches,
Con-men, cabbies, counter jumpers,
    Men who used to pick up dumpers,
    Paper peddlers, petrol pumpers,
    Policemen, painters, wild wharf lumpers,
    Pugilists and poker players,
    Pensive poets, pious prayers,
    Boarders who were not good stayers,
    Bookies who were not good payers:
We joined the bloody AIF,
    To every warning we were deaf;
    We started off a motley crew
    Like ingredients of Irish stew.
    We consisted of the best and worst,
    Sometimes prayed, mostly cursed,
    From every walk of life became
    Soldiers, treated all the same.
In training