LITMIR.BIZ

      A tent that is pitched at the base:

      A wagon that comes from the night:

      A stretcher – and on it a Case:

      A surgeon, who's holding a light.

      The Infantry's bearing the brunt —

      O hark to the wind-carried cheer!

      A mutter of guns at the front:

      A whimper of sobs at the rear.

      And it's War! 'Orderly, hold the light.

      You can lay him down on the table: so.

      Easily – gently! Thanks – you may go.'

      And it's War! but the part that is not for show.

      A tent, with a table athwart,

      A table that's laid out for one;

      A waterproof cover – and nought

      But the limp, mangled work of a gun.

      A bottle that's stuck by the pole,

      A guttering dip in its neck;

      The flickering light of a soul

      On the wondering eyes of The Wreck,

      And it's War! 'Orderly, hold his hand.

      I'm not going to hurt you, so don't be afraid.

      A ricochet! God! what a mess it has made!'

      And it's War! and a very unhealthy trade.

      The clink of a stopper and glass:

      A sigh as the chloroform drips:

      A trickle of – what? on the grass,

      And bluer and bluer the lips.

      The lashes have hidden the stare…

      A rent, and the clothes fall away…

      A touch, and the wound is laid bare…

      A cut, and the face has turned grey…

      And it's War! 'Orderly, take It out.

      It's hard for his child, and it's rough on his wife,

      There might have been – sooner – a chance for his life.

      But it's War! And – Orderly, clean this knife!'

      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!

      Take your sword, an' drop your lancet,

      Teach your nurses 'ow to fight!

      'Ow to march the dead march – solemn!

      'Ow to route march – an' to dance it!

      Teach 'em 'ow to march in column,

      By the right!

      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!

      Army Doctor! Army Doctor!

      'Sun is 'ot – an' we are learnin'

      Lessons in the cholera school,

      We're fear-sick, an' mad as 'atters,

      Throat a-parchin', 'ead a-burnin',

      Seems to me, you're takin' matters

      Rather cool!

      Army Doctor! Army Doctor!

      Spurs and swagger! Cuff an' collar!

      Up to ev'ry bloomin' trick!

      'Seen you – as I've seen none other —

      Go to – where I dursn't foller!

      'Seen you act the man and brother

      To the sick!

      Army Doctor! Army Doctor!

      Things by Engineers forgotten,

      You 'ave got to recollect.

      Tho' you're such a gilded dandy,

      When the meat is goin' rotten,

      Chances are, you're somewhere 'andy

      To inspect!

      Army Doctor! Army Doctor!

      Where the firin' never ceases,

      Where the 'uddled soldier lies,

      Where the Mauser bullets shave 'im,

      Gawd! they're chippin' 'im to pieces!

      Git 'im out of fire an' save 'im…

      Well done, Guys!

      They gave their best at Waterloo,

      For the honour of England's name;

      They threw their best on a hundred fields,

      To put our foes to shame.

      'Tis good that England's soldier men

      To-day can do the same.

      They have proved their worth,

      To the ends of the earth.

      They have striven and won, – and failed!

      They have shown their might,

      On the Dargai Height,

      When the mollah's bullets hailed.

      They have laid their dead,

      In the river bed,

      On the site of their last brave stand.

      They have buried at night,

      By a lantern light,

      In a grave that they scooped in the sand.

      And far and wide,

      They have done and died,

      By donga, and veldt, and kloof.

      And the lonely grave,

      Of the honoured brave,

      Is a proof – if we need a proof,

      They won – and died,

      And we glorified

      The men of the barrack schools.

      They died – and failed,

      And in wrath we railed

      At the fault of the bungling fools!

      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

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