I ain't transported with delight. Be'ind the pegged barb-wire strands, If I 'ave learned at Waterval The meanin' of captivity. They'll never know the shame that brands- Since I 'ave learned at Waterval They'll get those draggin' days all right, I PIET (Regular of the Line) Do not love my Empire's foes, What is the sense of 'atin' those Ah there, Piet!-'is trousies to 'is knees, 'Is coat-tails lyin' level in the bullet-sprinkled breeze; I've known a lot o' people ride a dam' sight worse than I've 'eard 'im cryin' from the ground Like Abel's blood of old, An' skirmished out to look, an' found I've waited on till 'e was dead (Which couldn't 'elp 'im much), But many grateful things 'e 's said To me for doin' such. Ah there, Piet! whose time 'as come to die, 'Is carcase past rebellion, but 'is eyes inquirin' why. I've known a lot o' fellers go a dam' sight worse than An' when there was n't aught to do But camp and cattle-guards, I've fought with 'im the 'ole day through Long afternoons o' lyin' still, An' 'earin' as you lay The bullets swish from 'ill to 'ill Like scythes among the 'ay. Ah there, Piet!-be'ind 'is stony kop. With 'is Boer bread an' biltong,' an' 'is flask of awful 'Is Mauser for amusement an' 'is pony for retreat, I've known a lot o' fellers shoot a dam' sight worse than Piet. He's shoved 'is rifle 'neath my nose An' borrowed all my Sunday clo'es An' I 'ave crept (Lord, 'ow I've crept!) On 'ands an' knees I've gone, And spoored and floored and caught and kept An' sent him to Ceylon! Ah there, Piet!-you've sold me many a pup, When week on week alternate it was you an' me "’ands up!" But though I never made you walk man-naked in the 'eat, I've known a lot of fellows stalk a dam' sight worse than From Plewman's to Marabastad, Me an' my trusty friend 'ave 'ad, I ain't more proud of 'avin' won, 'Dried meat. Cape brandy. Ah there, Piet!-picked up be'ind the drive! The wonder wasn't 'ow 'e fought, but 'ow 'e kep' alive, No more I'll 'ear 'is rifle crack For countin' what 'e eats an' draws, 'E's gettin' 'alf the Earth, because 'E didn't give us 'Ell! Ah there, Piet! with your brand-new English plough, Your gratis tents an' cattle, an' your most ungrateful frow, You've made the British taxpayer rebuild your country seat I've known some pet battalions charge a dam' sight less than Piet. "WILFUL-MISSING" (Deserters) THERE is a world outside the one you know, You may 'ave read a bullet laid us low, That we was gathered in "with reverent care" And buried proper. But it was not so, They can't be certain-faces alter so We might 'ave seen our chance to cut the showName, number, record, an' begin elsewhereLeavin' some not too late-lamented foe One funeral-private-British-for 'is share. We may 'ave took it yonder in the Low An' they are left past call or count or care. We might 'ave been your lovers long ago, Marry again, and we will not say no, There is no need to give our reasons, though What man can weigh or size another's woe? There are some things too bitter 'ard to bear. Suffice it we 'ave finished-Domino! As we can testify, for we are there, In the side-world where "wilful-missings" go. 1 Vulture. |