We are sorry-sick of peaches, 'N' we're full right up of plum, 'N' innards fairly screeches When the tins of apple come.

Back of Blighty piled in cases, Jist as close as they can cram, Fillin' all the open s.p.a.ces, Is the 'jam, jam, JAM!

Oh, the woe the soldiers face is, Monday, Sunday, ruddy, muddy, boundless bogs of jam.

WEEPIN' WILLIE.

WHEY our trooper hit wide water every heart was yearin' back To the little 'ouse at Coogee or a hut at Bar- renjack.

She was 'ookin' up to spike the stars, or rootin'

in the wave, An' me liver turned a hand spring with each buck the beggar gave.

Then we pulls a sick 'n' silly smile 'n' tips a saucy lid, Crackin' hardy. Willie didn't. Willie snivelled like a kid.

At Gallip' the steamer dumped us, 'n' we got right down to work, Whoopin' up the hill splendacious, playin'

tiggie with the Turk.

When the stinkin' Abdul hit us we curled down upon a stone, 'N' we yelled for greater glory, crackin' 'ardy on our own.

Not so Willie. He was cursin', cold ez death 'n' grey ez steel, 'N' the smallest thing that busted made the little blighter squeal.

In the bitter day's that follered, spillin' life be- side the sea, We would fake a spry expression for the things that had to be, Always dressin' up the winder, crackin' 'ardy though we felt Fearful creepy in the whiskers, very cold be- neath the belt.

But his jills would sniff 'n' shiver in the mother of a fright, 'N' go blubberin' 'n' quakin' out to waller in the fight.

In the West we liked the weather, 'n' we fat- tened in the mud, Crackin' 'ardy, stewed together, rats an'

slurry men 'n' blood.

Weepin' Willie wouldn't have it these was pleasin' things abed, 'N' he shuddered in his shimmy if they pa.s.sed him with the dead.

When he cried about his mother, in a gentle voice he'd tell Them as dumb-well didn't like it they could go to sudden 'ell.

There was nothin' sweet for Willie in a rough- up in the wet; But if all things scared him purple, not a thing had stopped him yet.

If some chaps was wanted urgent special dirty work to do Willie went in with a shudder, but he alwiz saw it through.

Oh, a busy little body was our Willie in a crush!

Then he'd cry out in the night about the faces in the slush.

Well they pinked him one fine mornin' with a thumpin' 'unk iv sh.e.l.l; Put it in 'n' all across him. What he was you couldn't tell.

I saw him st.i.tched 'n' mended where he whimpered in his bed, 'N' he'd on'y lived because he was afraid to die, he said.

Sez he "Struth, they're out there fightin', trimmin' Boshes good 'n' smart, While I'm bedded here 'n' 'elpless. It fair breaks a feller's 'eart."

But he came again last Tuesday '-n' we go it in a breath-- "London's big 'n' black 'n' noisy. It would scare a bloke to death."

He's away now in the trenches, white 'n'

nervous, but, you bet, Playin' lovely 'ands of poker with his busy bay-o-net, 'Fraid of givin' 'n' of takin', 'fraid of gases, 'fraid of guns-- But a champion lightweight terror to the gor- forsaken 'Uns!

BILLJIM

DOWN to it is Plugger Bill, Lyin' crumpled, white 'n' still.

Me 'n' him Chips in when the sc.r.a.p begins, Carin' nothin' for our skins, Chi-iked as the 'Eavenly Twins- Bill 'n' Jim.

They 'ave outed Bill at last, Slugged me cobber hard 'n' fast.

It's a kill.

See the purple of his lip 'N' the red 'n' oozy drip!

Ends our great ole partnership- Jim 'n' Bill

Mates we was when we was kids; Camp, 'n' ship, 'n' Pyramids, Him 'n' me Hung together, 'n' we tore Up the heights from h.e.l.les sh.o.r.e, Bill a long 'arf head afore, Fine to see!

Then it was we took a touch- Simple puncture, nothin' much; But we lay 'N' we stays the count, it seems, In a sorter realm of dreams Where the sun infernal gleams Night 'n' day;

Boilin', fryin' achin', dumb, Waitin' till the stretchers come, Patiently.

I hangs on to 'arf a cup.

Which I wants ole Bill to sup.

d.a.m.n if he ain't savin' up His for me!

When they come to lift my head I am softly kiddin' dead, For a game, So's they'll first take on his gills.

Over, though, me scheme he spills- Bli'me, this ole take-down Bill's Done the same!

But he isn't kiddin' now, And it knocks me anyhow Seein' him.

We was both agreed before, Though it got 'em by the score, Two was goin' to beat this war- But 'n' Jim.

Mate o' mine, yiv stayed it through.

Hard luck, Bill-for me 'n' you Hard 'n' grim.

They have got me Cobber true, But I'm stickin' tight ez glue....

Bill, there's one who'll plug for two- It is Jim!

THE CRUSADERS.

WHAT price yer humble, d.i.c.ko Smith, in gaudy putties girt, With sand-blight in his optics, and much leaner than he started, Round the 'Oly Land cavorting in three- quarters of a shirt, And imposin' on the natives ez one d.i.c.k the Lion 'Earted?

We are drivin' out the infidel, we're hittin'

up the Turk, Same ez Richard slung his right across the Saracen invader In old days of which I'm readin'. Now we're gettin' in our work, 'N' what price me nibs, I ask yeh, ez a qualified Crusader!

'Ere I am, a thirsty Templar in the fields of Palestine, Where that hefty little fighter, Bobby Sable, smit the heathen, And where Richard Coor de Lion trimmed the Moslem good 'n' fine, 'N' he took the belt from Saladin, the slickest Dago breathin'.

There's no plume upon me helmet, 'n' no red cross on me chest, 'N' so fur they haven't dressed me in a sw.a.n.king load of metal; We've no 'Oly Grail I know of, but we do our little best With a jamtin, 'n' a billy, 'n' a battered ole mess kettle.

Quite a lot of guyver missin' from our brand of chivalry; We don't make a pert procession when we're movin' up the forces; We've no pretty, pawin' stallion, 'n' no pennants flowin' free, 'N' no giddy, gaudy bedquilts make a circus of the 'orses.

We 'most always slip the cattle 'n' we cut out all the dog When it fairly comes to b.u.t.tin' into battle's hectic fever, Goin' forward on our wishbones, with our noses in the bog, 'N' we 'eave a pot iv blazes at the cursed unbeliever.

Fancy-dress them old Crusaders wore, and alwiz kep' a band.

What we wear's so near to nothin' that it's often 'ardly proper, And we swings a tank iv iron sc.r.a.p across the 'Oly Land From a d.i.n.kie gun we nipped ash.o.r.e the other side of Jopper.

We ain't ever very natty, for the climate here is hot; When it isn't liquid mud the dust is thicker than the vermin.

Ten to one our bold Noureddin is some wad- dlin' Turkish pot, 'N' the Saladin we're on to is a snortin'

red-eyed German.

But be'old the eighth Crusade, 'n' d.i.c.ko Smith is in the van, d.i.c.ko Coor de Lion from Carlton what could teach King d.i.c.k a trifle, For he'd bomb his Royal Jills from out his baked-pertater can, Or he'd pink him full of leakage with a quaint repeatin' rif1e.

We have sunk our claws in Mizpah, and Siloam is in view.

By my 'alidom from Agra we will send the Faithful reelin'!