It is thirty moons since I slung me hook From the job at the hay and corn,
Took me solemn oath, 'n' I straight forsook All the ways of life, dinkum ways 'n' crook, 'N' the things on which it was good to look Since the day when a bloke was born.
I was give a gun, 'n' a bay'net bright, 'N' a 'ell of a swag iv work,
N' I dipped my lid to the big pub light,
To the ole push cobbers I give “Good-night!” Slipped a kiss to 'er, 'n' I wings me flight For a date with the demon Turk.
Ez we pricked our heel to the skitin' drum. Square 'n' all,
I was gone a mile.
With a perky air, 'n' a 'eart ez glum Ez a long-dead cod,
I was blind 'n' dumb,
Holdin' do the tear that was bound to come At a word or a friendly smile.
Now I've seen it all,
I may come out dead, But I 'ope never more a fool.
I have scorched, 'n' thirsted, 'n' froze, 'n' bled, 'N' bin taught the use of the human head,
For when all is done 'n' when all is said, War's a wonderful sort of school.
I've bin taught to get 'em 'n' never fret, 'N' to sleep without dreamin' when We have swarmed a slope with the red rain wet;
I 'ave learned a pile, 'n' I'm learnin' yet;
But the thing I've learned that I won't forget Is a way of not judgin' men.
We was shot down there in a dirty place— From the mansions 'n' huts we'd come— 'N' of all the welter the 'ardest case Was a little swine with a dimpled face,
Who a year ago was dispensin' lace In a Carlton em-por-ee-um.
In the moochin' days of me giddy youth, When I kidded meself a treat,
I'd have pass him one ez a gooey. 'Strewth On the track iv Huns, he's a eight-day sleuth, 'N' at tearin' into 'em nail 'n' tooth He's got Julius Caesar beat!
I ain't proud with him ; 'n' I'm modest, too, When dividin' a can of swill With a Algy boy from the wilds iv Kew.
Cos I do not know what the cow will do When a Fritzy offers to sock me through; 'N' it's good to be livin' still.
There you are, you see!
Oh! it makes you sore, When a bloke you despised at 'ome In them pifflin' days of the years before Takes a odds-on chance with the God of War, 'N' he tows you out with his left lung tore, 'N' a crack in his bleedin' dome! 'Twas a lad called Hugh done ez much for me. (He has curls 'n' he's fair 'n' slim).
Well,
I mind the days in the Port when we Puts it over Hugh coz we don't agree With his tone 'n' style, 'n' my foot was free When the push made a hack of him.
Now he's paid me back.
I had struck a snag, And must creep through the battle spume All a flamin' age, with a grinnin' jag In me thigh, for water, or jest a fag.
Like a crippled snake I was forced to drag Shattered flesh till the crack of doom.
When they saw me he was the one who came. 'N' he give me a raffish grin 'N' a swig.
I wasn't so bad that shame Didn't get me then, for the lad was lame.
They had passed him his, but his 'art was game. 'N' he coughed ez he brought me in.
I have tackled God on me bended knees, So He'll save him alive 'n' whole,
For the sake of one who he thinks he sees When the Nurse's hands bring a kind of ease;
And I thank God, too, for the things like these That have give me a sort of soul.
There are Percies,
Algies, 'n' Claudes I've met Who could take it 'n' come agen,
While the bullets flew in a screamin' jet.
What in pain, 'n' death, and in mire 'n' sweat I 'ave learned from them that I won't forget Is a way of not judgin' men.
