Rhymes of a Red Cross Man

<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"></SPAN></p> <br/> <h2> Bill's Grave </h2> <p>I'm gatherin' flowers by the wayside to lay on the grave of Bill;<br/> I've sneaked away from the billet, 'cause Jim wouldn't understand;<br/> 'E'd call me a silly fat'ead, and larf till it made 'im ill,<br/> To see me 'ere in the cornfield, wiv a big bookay in me 'and.<br/> <br/> For Jim and me we are rough uns, but Bill was one o' the best;<br/> We 'listed and learned together to larf at the wust wot comes;<br/> Then Bill copped a packet proper, and took 'is departure West,<br/> So sudden 'e 'adn't a minit to say good-bye to 'is chums.<br/> <br/> And they took me to where 'e was planted, a sort of a measly mound,<br/> And, thinks I, 'ow Bill would be tickled, bein' so soft and queer,<br/> If I gathered a bunch o' them wild-flowers, and sort of arranged them round<br/> Like a kind of a bloody headpiece . . . and that's the reason I'm 'ere.<br/> <br/> But not for the love of glory I wouldn't 'ave Jim to know.<br/> 'E'd call me a slobberin' Cissy, and larf till 'is sides was sore;<br/> I'd 'ave larfed at meself too, it isn't so long ago;<br/> But some'ow it changes a feller, 'avin' a taste o' war.<br/> <br/> It 'elps a man to be 'elpful, to know wot 'is pals is worth<br/> (Them golden poppies is blazin' like lamps some fairy 'as lit);<br/> I'm fond o' them big white dysies. . . . Now Jim's o' the salt o' the earth;<br/> But 'e 'as got a tongue wot's a terror, and 'e ain't sentimental a bit.<br/> <br/> I likes them blue chaps wot's 'idin' so shylike among the corn.<br/> Won't Bill be glad! We was allus thicker 'n thieves, us three.<br/> Why! 'Oo's that singin' so 'earty? <i>JIM!</i> And as sure as I'm born<br/> 'E's there in the giddy cornfields, a-gatherin' flowers like me.<br/> <br/> Quick! Drop me posy be'ind me. I watches 'im for a while,<br/> Then I says: "Wot 'o, there, Chummy! Wot price the little bookay?"<br/> And 'e starts like a bloke wot's guilty, and 'e says with a sheepish smile:<br/> "She's a bit of orl right, the widder wot keeps the estaminay."<br/> <br/> So 'e goes away in a 'urry, and I wishes 'im best o' luck,<br/> And I picks up me bunch o' wild-flowers, and the light's gettin' sorto dim,<br/> When I makes me way to the boneyard,<br/> and . . . I stares like a man wot's stuck,<br/> For wot do I see? <i>BILL'S GRAVE-MOUND STREWN WITH THE FLOWERS OF JIM.</i><br/> <br/> Of course I won't never tell 'im, bein' a tactical lad;<br/> And Jim parley-voos to the widder: "Trez beans, lamoor; compree?"<br/> Oh, 'e'd die of shame if 'e knew I knew; but say! won't Bill be glad<br/> When 'e stares through the bleedin' clods and sees<br/> the blossoms of Jim and me?<br/></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />